Tomorrow I have an appointment with the neurologist. I love my neurologist. He is kind and compassionate. He never makes me feel out of line with my questions and has done everything he can to help me get my life back. I am however, dreading this appointment with him. Tomorrow, I will ask him to complete the paperwork necessary for me to
return not return to work. Even though in my heart I have known for sometime I am not ready yet, I held a sliver of hope that I could — that I would — get there.
Last week, as I began the process of gathering the necessary information for my employer, the first letter stating my current abilities arrived from my cognitive therapist. It was honest and right but still cut deeply when I read it.
Nancy is receiving cognitive-linguistic therapy secondary to deficits in attention and memory. At this time she has hyperacusis, which has impacted her ability to participate in attention training. Nancy faces some challenges in returning to work including: hyperacusis, decreased ability to cope with both visual and auditory distracters, decreased mental flexibility, and decreased ability to complete behavior management with physical restraint secondary to risk of her head being injured.”
Yuck. There it is on paper. After almost a year of tireless effort to get back to my past levels of abilities, I can’t do the job that I love. I can’t do much of what I once could. I can’t go to restaurants, watch movies with my kids, balance a simple check book, stand in line at Walmart or even get through a grocery run without being frazzled beyond belief. No matter how hard I’ve tried, dreamed, prayed and dedicated myself to the task at hand, I haven’t been able to reach my goal. Feels a little bit like the Broncos playing against the Patriots. The heart is there, but not the ability.
Tomorrow, I will talk with my neurologist and most likely he will agree with my therapists view-point. Over the next weeks I will have appointment after appointment that will seal the deal. My hope of returning to work is pretty much over. I know it, and so does every one around me.
I have been here so many times over the past 11 months – it is nothing new to me yet it still hurts. Just as I cried when I received the letter from my cognitive therapist, I will likely cry tomorrow with my neurologist. I will cry/grieve every step of the way until the door to working with the kids I love – is finally closed for good. I find myself crying even as I type. This loss is deep, real, and heartbreaking .
Even with the tears though, I choose to put the biggest stake I have (my hope and trust) in the ground with Jesus – my friend and savior – and believe His words and promises are true. Though my situations hurts, I believe the Lord has plans for me even though I have no idea of what they are. They may include me being limited the rest of my life or they may broaden over time. They may involve me never working again, or someday a new door might open. The temptation is for me at times like this is to throw my fists up an indignant anger, question the Lords love and walk away from the faith that has carried me through so many difficult times. I have learned however, no matter what I feel, I can choose to believe Him and trust His goodness even though my heart is breaking. As I grab hold of the words in Philippians 1:6, “Being confident of this very thing, that he which has begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ” peace returns to my restless heart and soul.
It is times like this that The Lords Prayer is particularly comforting. In this prayer, taught by Jesus himself ,are the answers I need. “Thy will be done, on earth as it is, in Heaven.” Ah yes, learning to trust the Lord, even when it hurts, is where darkness begins to flee and hope returns. Coming to understand His heavenly view-point and plans are different and far greater than anything I could ever imagine; takes my tiny buds of hope and causes them to bloom. As those buds begin to bloom, I am strengthened and able to take my stake of trust and firmly plant it at the foot of the cross. At the foot of the cross forgiveness begins, strength endures, trust continues to be built and the sickness that comes is hope deferred becomes the health of dreams yet undiscovered.
Thy will be done; not my will be done, is the place a restless and hopeless mind can begin to dream again.
Yes, these days are difficult and disappointing but because of Jesus there is always hope. May I always remember His faithfulness. May my heart be teachable and humble. May I be willing to turn my heartache to praise — even on those days that hurt!