Ruptured and Here Three Years Later

I hope this next phase is God making me exactly who I am supposed to be.

I don’t even know where to start. I’ll start here: thank You, Christ Jesus, for working alongside our Father and allowing me to be here three years later. Three years… Thankful. Grateful. Blessed. AND incredibly sad some days—a good amount of days—because, simply put, the shit is hard. Well, let me not speak for other survivors. It has been incredibly hard for me. Three years later, I hope my words can effectively mirror my feelings of thankfulness and disappointment in myself and God. Hear me out before you shake your head in disapproval.

My feelings don’t always feel coherent and easy to express. I spend a good number of days mournful and heartbroken. Although some may think I should be over it by now, I simply am not. I don’t know how not to have sad days. I don’t know how to only see the good. Maybe because most of my days are physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally draining, that is not to say every situation that causes those feelings is automatically “bad” or tragic, no. The days, whether high or low, take a lot out of me mentally and emotionally.

The more I try to prioritize my faith in God, the more questions I have. The more I am left to compare my journey to another person who has experienced the same tragedy, the more I wonder why they have a different outcome. More days than not, I wonder if I’m still allowed to care. I wonder why God feels the need to have me experience so much with this recovery, whether that be medical situations related (but not related?) to my rupture, memory struggles, depression, confusion, or insecurities. WHY do all of the things hit me all of the time? Why can’t my story be I survived a rupture and life went back to normal–no, better than normal? Why? My asking why is not a complaint, I promise.

When I can get out of my head to step back and look at the whole picture, I see just how lucky I am, and tears of joy fall. Walk with me as I list my journey from the last three years:

• I could not stand up on my own or sit up in a chair, bed, wheelchair, etc. Look at me now.

• I could not move my arms or legs independently.

• I could not hold my head up. While I chuckle at this because I have a big ass head in real life, the magnitude of my head was not the reason I couldn’t hold it up, lol.  

• I could not bathe myself.

• I could not moisturize my body.

• I didn’t always know how to speak up for myself and my needs (I'm still working on this one, but I’ve come an incredibly long way).

• I could not turn over in the bed (I still have to put significant thought into this).

• I could not count money.

• I could not retell a story (it depends on the day now, lol).

• I could not see ANY light.

• I was depressed. Let’s be clear, I will likely always deal with some level of depression, but it doesn't permanently cripple me like before.

• I couldn’t dress myself.

• I couldn’t push myself in a wheelchair.

• I couldn’t walk with a walker or rollator.

• I couldn’t do my hair or put on jewelry because there was no significant sensation in my right hand or arm. This is so much better, but there are still substantial sensation issues.

• I could not independently transfer to/from the bed, couch, shower, toilet, car, or wheelchair. 

• I couldn’t live in my house on my own.

• I couldn’t walk up and down the steps with handrails.

• I couldn’t cook. Again, to be very clear, I don’t like cooking, but I still have the choice and my body is able.

• Etc. …  

There are many more details, but, time and I have respect for your reading eyes, lol.

I feel ashamed when I think about everything I didn't allow myself to do in my old life. How dare I have been so caught up in my ego to see how blessed I was? The circumstances have changed drastically, but I am glad I can carry that lesson with me today. 

Let me not be so consumed with what isn’t going well enough to my standards that I miss how beautiful and how much of a blessing my life is; how the mere existence of my life is a testament to God’s love and miracles at work. I am grateful that I get to try to do it all again–albeit a little differently–I am here to try. Maybe I’ll mess up, but I get to TRY and TRY AGAIN until I am satisfied. My prayers on this side of things sound a little different. Most of my time in prayer is spent thanking God and asking Him to get me out of my own way. I want Him to use me to show myself and others how His love covers and heals every hard thing in life. I want people to see my sadness and bloom despite the darkness, and know with total certainty it is possible to keep trying and living. I hope my story lets someone know that the world and science may say your time is over, but God controls the final play.

I want people to see me fully loving myself, not because of my own strength but because God is in the midst of every thought and movement I make. I hope this next phase is God making me exactly who I am supposed to be. I hope it is a better year for me to be proud of my story. 

Video of my first time back in the pool. I have more footage, but this is fine for now. Long story short, “Yikes!”

Prayer for myself as I enter the next year of recovery:

Lord, keep me safe and sane. Give me the perseverance to fight tough battles and the wisdom to know I am never alone during those times. I always have You as my protector and guide. Help me to lean not on my understanding of life but on Your grace and mercy. Please continue to show me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made and that everything You touch is wonderful. Help me know that as absolute truth. Especially on the days, I can’t see You or the beauty in my story. Allow me to be used for Your grace, and I will continue to give You all the praise. As I continue this journey, make me confident of myself in You. Make me know that my story will have a beautiful ending and that people will see Your grace through me; people will know life is hard but worth it.