What a very long year this has been. In most ways, it feels like it’s been much longer than one year.
Last April, I was just starting to get sicker, and it was gradually becoming clear that something wasn’t right. Last May, I continued to get slowly even sicker, with a significant change for the worse the weekend after Mother’s Day, and by the end of that month I had an official diagnosis of congestive heart failure — caused by unknown reasons.
I won’t go through the whole timeline, but by October, I was so weak and tired, and struggling so much to breath, that I had to begin using a wheelchair for any movement outside of our house. I felt like it was very possible that I was going to die. I became aware of an almost ethereal, but still tangible and very personal, slowing of everything, and it felt very real that 2023 just might be my last autumn on earth. I recognized (then and now) that this sounded dramatic, and Scott is the only one I shared these thoughts and feelings with, but I felt certain that the acknowledgement that it could be true was something I needed to face. And moving through that process seemed to heighten all of my senses, allowing me to savor all aspects of life around me, and making me keenly aware of a precious connection with God as he taught me new and deeper things about myself, about him, and about our relationship with each other. I felt more tuned in and more alert as I drank in that fall in a way I’ve never done before. It seemed like I was able to see every vibrant color, smell every earthy smell that is part of nature moving into its winter slumber, hear every exquisite sound as the leaves dried out and rattled against each other on their branches, and feel most acutely, on my face and deep in my soul, every breath of wind that tossed those leaves. It was a strange mix of sadness and peace, and a feeling of being safely held by God as I just waited to see what was coming next.
Then as 2023 rolled into the past, and 2024 opened before us, I started noticing improvements in my health. Testing showed that I was right; things did seem to be getting better, although no one knew why. More testing was ordered, and then almost two weeks ago, it was definitely confirmed. My heart is healing. It is fully recovering, and I am unquestionably returning to full health! The PVC’s are completely gone, my left ventricle is now working well, the wall thickness of that ventricle is looking almost normal, and my ejection fraction has returned to the normal range. My cardiologist was glowing, and practically giddy as he shared this news. He really cares about his patients and was so concerned and frustrated that they couldn’t find any answers. The testing this time clearly showed that I had been suffering from myocarditis, which is an inflammation of the heart:
“Myocarditis is usually caused by a viral infection. A severe case can weaken the heart, which can lead to heart failure, abnormal heartbeat, and sudden death. Symptoms include chest pain, abnormal heartbeat, and shortness of breath.” ~ Mayo Clinic
It’s pretty certain now that the virus which caused myocarditis for me was Covid. I contracted Covid in February, 2023 — just a few weeks before all of this started. But that inflammation of my heart is now gone.
As we left the clinic that evening and headed back to our hotel, I was feeling such a collision of emotions in my brain and heart that I couldn’t sort them all out. I was definitely happy and couldn’t wait to tell our kids — a number of whom had shared with us that they have been afraid I was going to die. But once Scott and I climbed into bed with a pizza and got ready to start a movie together, I dissolved into tears. Bubbling to the surface was a feeling of so much sadness for dear friends who have also been struggling all year. Who have also been praying for healing. Whose children are also fearful of losing them, as they watch them grow weaker and less able to do everyday things. I leaned against Scott and poured out bitter tears over the unfairness of life in this world. What about K, and H, and B, and J, and others I pray for every day — dear ones I communicate with fairly regularly?! Some of us have formed a kind of bond this past year in our shared struggles and uncertainties. I suddenly felt like I was now shut out of that room where we had been able to fellowship together with a common understanding, and I wanted them to come with me. I didn’t want to leave them behind. Why me, God, and why not them?! Why would you bring healing to me? I am certainly no more deserving than they. Their children and grandchildren and loved ones want and need them just as badly.
I spent much of the next week just being quiet about my news and trying to sort through all that I was feeling, and asking God to help me accept the things that I can’t understand and to believe that he is good. Good beyond anything we can comprehend even when things don’t make any sense at all.
I came across this verse and have been holding onto it as a promise while I continue to process my healing and to hold onto those still waiting for their answers as they walk whatever path God has for them now. I don’t want to lose my connection with them. I want to share their pain with them, and cry with them, and pray for and with them.
“I will restore you to health and heal your wounds, ’declares the Lord. . . . In days to come you will understand this.” Jeremiah 30: 17, 24
And now spring is here. The purple wild flowers I watch for every spring are appearing in all their glory, and while spring can’t come even close to rivaling fall’s beauty (Scott disagrees with me about this), I’m trying hard to keep really seeing the beauty God has for me going forward. And barring any unexpected events, I will be here to greet autumn 2024 with open arms when it arrives.
Unfortunately, the breathing challenges have continued in spite of the healing that is taking place in my heart. Strangely, I recently had to do a month-long course on a muscle relaxer due to some complications after an oral surgery, and during that month, my breathing returned to normal. Normal! I noticed this immediately after starting the muscle relaxer, and that month, aside from the constant sleepiness caused by the medication, was glorious. I was astounded by the miracle of breathing every single day as I would sometimes just sit and marvel over the miracle of air moving in and out of my body so effortlessly. I hadn’t even fully realized how hard I’ve been working all year to make this happen until I no longer had to do so. It was such an amazing feeling. And it was a disappointment when that all went away within two days after I stopped taking that medication.
I knew this had to be significant, and after doing a little research, I felt sure it must have something to do with some kind of diaphragm dysfunction. But would my doctor listen to a graying old lady who might just appear desperate for answers? Yes! He did. And he agreed with everything I had to say. And it turns out that this is one more area that can also be affected by Covid — the function of the diaphragm.
We return to Cleveland Clinic on May 30 to do some testing to try to narrow this down a bit, and we’ll meet with my pulmonologist there again. So we are continuing to pray for answers for this last piece. This isn’t my favorite doctor, and I don’t know exactly what to expect. But it’s a next step.
In the meantime, my cardiologist has given me full permission to push myself now as I help my heart move forward with its recovery. He wants me to try hard to fit in both a cardio workout and a separate brisk walk every day. This is hard with the difficulty breathing, and as the temperatures and humidity are both rising (unseasonably so!), it’s getting even harder. But this past week, I managed about 4.5 miles a day, five days out of seven. He warned me that relapse is a risk for this first year, so he doesn’t want to begin backing off on any of my medications until I’ve gone a full year continuing to recover, So those will all stay in place for now.
I’m so grateful to all who take time to read my rambling (and sometimes long) thoughts poured out here. I thank God for all of you who pray for me and our family and who help provide needed support for the kids here at home when Scott and I have to travel for my care. And for all of the words of love and encouragement throughout this hard year. Thank you. I do pray that, somehow, these ramblings provide some encouragement for someone who needs that, and at least make you feel not so alone if you also sometimes question the confusing ways of God that so often seem to contradict his assurances of love for all of his children. He welcomes our questions and our doubts. He wants us to come in deeper and to know him better.
Owning My Nothingness 