On Healing

So these are just some thoughts on healing, or what it means to be in the midst of healing; mentally, physically, or spiritually. I am NOT a medical professional. And if you are in physical pain, I would implore you to see a physician. If you are in psychological pain, I would implore you to seek professional care (www.nami.org/ is a great place to start).

My stomach scar is aching this morning. Not bad, just a dull pain. And I’ve been nauseas and not eating. It’s making me think about my path to healing: physically from cancer/the Whipple, and psychologically from the bipolar and psychosis. Here are some thoughts, in no particular order:

a) It’s okay to throw a fit in Christ: I remember in the ICU when I had to do the breathing technique to make sure I didn’t get pneumonia. My abdominal nerves had been severed so huffing out a big breath hurt like the dickens. I remember having a major attitude with God, then feeling so much guilt for being a “bad Christian” and not taking my suffering with a hallmark smile. But in recent years I’ve realized that we HAVE to be able to be us in Christ-fits and all-or it’s not a real relationship. That doesn’t mean I disrespect him, but I can throw a fit when I don’t understand and the tears are streaming down my face and I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I doubt Christ threw fits during his earthly tenure, but he did plead for his cup of suffering to pass. “In bringing many sons and daughters to glory, it was fitting for God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the pioneer of their salvation perfect through what he suffered” Hebrews 2:10.

b) It’s okay to utterly depend on people; they are God’s grace to you. I remember in the ICU I hadn’t been bathed in days since the wound and tubes in my stomach covered a majority of the surface area of abdomen. A nurse brought in a bucket of soapy water and a washcloth and I thought, “oh HELL no.” I am too young for a sponge bath. But, lo and behold, my mom carefully cleaned around my wounds and made me feel 100x better to have been clean. I couldn’t do it myself; I needed her. God’s grace to me. I remember having nightmares and sleep paralysis and anxiety so bad recently that I needed my dad to sit next to my bed at 4am and talk to me until I fell asleep. He had work the next morning, No complaints. God’s grace to me. In both instances, shame had to fly out the window, because I needed to be carried; I couldn’t go on on my own. “Carry each other’s burdens, and in doing you will fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2).

c) It’s okay to not be fine. When we’ve experienced trauma (which we all have to an extent), we can’t pretend we’re okay when were not because then we won’t get the proper care and resources we need. And eventually we become numb to being in chronic pain as Diane Langberg writes, “It is very common for trauma victims to say, ‘I am fine’ when in fact they do not even know what ‘fine’ feels like.” Let a trusted someone know that you are not okay. “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:3-5). There is hope that one day you will be “fine” whatever that means. There is hope. And maybe one day again you won’t be “fine.” There is still hope.

d) It’s okay to do nothing. I couldn’t move for days after surgery, I had to be rolled over for them to check the catheter in my back which caused excruciating pain. As I lay in my hospital bed, my only job was to endure until my body slowly healed itself. In later years, I remember spending days barely leaving my room because my depression and psychosis (hearing voices) got so bad that I couldn’t function in the outside world. So I lied down and waited for my mind to be healed. “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God’ (Ephesians 2:8). Anna’s paraphrase: “For by grace your mind will be healed and whole in Christ through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Healing is a gift of God.

e) It’s okay to celebrate little victories! In fact, it’s what is going to get you though the valley. I have been in and out of school, jobs, and volunteer work since the cancer and the bipolar diagnosis. For a driven, independent woman, this is embarrassing and hard to bear to say the least. I love Arabic (well, all languages really) but I am actively learning Arabic. It makes my heart sing. But sometimes I get discouraged because the one thing I can do within the safe confines of my room also happens to be an attempt at acquiring one of the most difficult languages in the world. But this week I memorized most of Psalm 23 in Arabic and recited it for my tutor’s(friend’s) Lebanese family and his mom started crying. It was a special moment that I will never forget. And it was just what I needed to celebrate my progress and keep moving forward towards my goal of being a translator even with bipolar/psychosis. “Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6).

f) It’s okay to be mad at God, and it’s okay to question him. It’s healthy. It’s why he made us beings with free will instead of deterministic automatons. I promise the rub with God will take you deeper into reality than you ever thought possible. You have permission to wrestle with God. “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, but the glory of kings is to search out a matter” (Proverbs 25:2). (And FYI 1 Peter 2:9 says your are a kingdom of priests).

g) It’s okay to let yourself feel the pain-to completely break down and cry and be overwhelmed by incredible sorrow and agony. I had an incision across most of my abdomen which made even breathing deeply almost too much bear. I also had three tubes (one feeding, two drainage) coming out of my stomach. One day I had some friends over when I suddenly felt a pit in my stomach. I knew that my nightmare was coming true. When you have no ab muscles/severed nerves, the last thing you want to do is throw up. I ran to the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear me screaming in pain and blood came out of my tube holes. It was horrific and second only on the pain scale to the night right after my surgery. It got so uncomfortable and violent that my friends had to leave. But I remember in a moment I paused and thought about God. I let myself fully feel the pain with god. I will not lie and say he took away the pain; he didn’t. But I knew he was there. Later on, I remember when I was undiagnosed and unmedicated for bipolar/psychosis, I was having the most severe depressive episode of my life. It was Fourth of July in 2014 and all my friends were out celebrating, but I sat on the couch at the Portico (younglife community house) and stared straight forward for hours until my father called, awakening from my reverie. He drove straight over and I assured him I wasn’t suicidal. I finally thought that sleep would grant me a reprieve but I lay there for hours in the same state. I allowed myself to feel the agony of nothingness and though I would wish it on no one, I’m glad I did because I now know that when someone is depressed, you’re just supposed to sit next to them. That’s all you do. Don’t talk. Just sit. Then help them find a psychiatrist, some medication, and a therapist, if possible. Strahan has a song called “Feel the Night” with lyrics that read, “So I will feel the night/For the coming of the Lord/I’ll await the light/That I have seen before.” Feel the night, because others are feeling it, too. You might be the only one who knows what they’re suffering. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by god. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also is our comfort is abundant through Christ’ (2 Corinthians 1:3-5).

h) It’s okay to belly laugh. I can genuinely say that I never belly-laughed until I was diagnosed with cancer at the age of 18. I don’t know; it wasn’t that I was unhappy; I had a very happy upbringing (thanks to awesome parents and family). I just had never really experienced profound joy. Like life-or-death joy. That joy is different. Now, I could be in the middle of a depressive episode and hear someone say balls (yes, I am immature) and I will laugh like I’ve never heard a joke before. Recently a little 10 mos, old blew her nose into a tissue at thanksgiving and then proceeded to offer the tissue to every adult in the room requiring them to do the same (and you better believe we sure as heck did to hear her satisfied, little giggle). I lost it at how profoundly simple and happy the moment was. Now laughter pours out of my life like a vivacious fountain of delight. A few years earlier while at church, I asked God what “joy” is. I immediately remembered a scene from one of my long nights in the hospital. My stomach was in so much pain at around 2am but I had maxed out on my allotted pain meds. I tried to charm my nurse into giving me some more. He said no, but a sly smile crept on his face. He came back a few minutes late with a warm towel to lie across my stomach. It was perfect and I smiled. Joy is the smile on a hospital bed. When Nehemiah had returned to rebuild the wall, he had the Levitical priest read the Law to the congregated people. Upon hearing what they had missed out on for so many years, they wept and lamented. “Nehemiah said, “Go and enjoy choice food and sweet drinks and send some to those who have nothing prepared. This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). Proverbs 31 speaks about a godly person smiling at the future (qtd. Proverbs 31:25). I never understood that until I actually suffered something. I have not suffered much in this life, but I can now bravely laugh at the times to come without fear of pain or sorrow.

If you read this far (or know me at all), you can tell that a huge part of my in-process healing journey has to do with God. I love him. That has taken many tears and nights face down on the floor to concede. But he really is the love of my life, my best friend and advocate, and my Savior. I’m no expert on God or suffering, but these are just a few thoughts from someone on the journey with you. Much love, y’all. Anna Jo