Hi! I sure have missed you! I think about you often, blog, so rest assured I haven't turned a cold shoulder on you! :)
I'm writing today in honor of my momma. She recently cleaned out a stack of books and I snagged a few to thumb through. There's one book in particular that I don't have much interest in, but my momma wrote notes inside from cover to cover. It's underlined and referenced and it's in her signature handwriting. Funny how handwriting can create such an emotional swing. Papa wrote all over everything (ev-ery-thing) and spotting his handwriting sends me reeling. It's old fashioned with flowy lettering and the sight of it brings him alive again in the sweetest of ways. I've picked up my mom's book a dozen times, flipped through and grinned because I know I'm holding a treasure and am thankful to posses this precious future gem.
I have terrible, sloppy handwriting. Nothing worth collecting. But maybe these words will exist in some form (in nice type font) and my darling girl will be thankful to have my thoughts, jotted down and left for her to know me once more.
An update on my back... (I starting writing this in February. Finishing is a triumph.)
It's been a year. Over a year actually. I can't believe we've made it this far. I've never had a season of life with so much change and I feel like I've seen a lot of life in my old age....
The stages I don't really remember... :) I was on intense medicine for nerve pain that made me mentally black out, so there are huge chunks of time in the first 3-4 months that were sucked into the space-time continuum, never to be known again. I do remember shortly after the surgery sitting on the couch and thinking, 'I'm going dowwwwwwnnnnnnnn....' and I fell asleep immediately, tilted over in this odd diagonal line position. I have this blurry memory of over-hearing my mom on the phone saying, 'bless her heart'. That medicine was LEGIT.
It also made me forget where I stashed $1,000 in my house as a future vacation fund for Disney World. I wish I could've video taped the adventures of me trying to find it. What. A. Scene. The short story: Prior to surgery, I had a late night tv Seinfeld habit. After months of turning over every rock, looking for a stash of cash, I watched an episode and remembered I hid it where Kramer (from Seinfeld) hides his money... in the freezer. I jumped up, ran downstairs, and found a brown paper bag full of money under some frozen hamburger meat. Lord have mercy.
There may be one particular reader here that has this surgery on his radar. Let none of the next remembrances dissuade you from surgery. There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I promise. I've walked into it. Take heart.
I typically count myself as decently tough. I've got a dose of grit about me (because I trust that the Lord has my back) so I try really hard to fear not. However, there were scary nights. I lost the movement in my hips for what seemed like a long time but in retrospect was only for a month or so. I remember waking up, trying so hard to move and just simply couldn't. I'd feel this puddle on my pillow where the fear would pour out of my eyes, but it never failed that my mom would turn over and lay a reassuring hand on me until I'd fall back asleep. She's a remarkable momma.
My dad had a few important doctors appointments at my 3 weeks mark and my mom packed her bags and moved back to Columbus. THE HORROR!!!! I was terrified. I would've never told her because she needed to go home and be with Dad, but I honestly thought, 'Nope. There's absolutely no way I can do this.' But sure enough, we DID IT! Like a bunch of pitiful champs! WE MADE IT!! (Shout out to Lulu Lane for being a champion for our family. I couldn't have done it without her help and tremendous outpouring of encouragement. You AMAZE me, you little lover. You love so well.)
My worst nightmare was dropping things. (Written with the visceral memory of how much I LOATHED hearing the dreadful thud of something hitting the floor.) I never realized how often I dropped things until it was an EVENT to bend down and pick things up! I'm bent towards the dramatic so I would shake my fists in the air and cry 'Why God Why??' when I'd hear that menacing plop. UGGGG. Just HOLD IT, Taylor!!
There was also a long period of time where it felt like someone had broken off a broom stick and shoved it into my body. The new equipment felt annoyingly invasive and I couldn't get comfortable in a seated position. My doctor said that was a mental response to my body getting acclimated to the rods. Essentially, my physical being wasn't feeling this way but my mind was over-reacting to how it should respond to these new parts being where they don't belong. Weird. I was shocked with how much of my recovery was mental recovery. I'd venture to say half was mental and half physical. Unbelievable what your mind will put you through.
So, I spent a year with a lot of questions. I felt abnormal for a solid year. That made me skeptical that I was healing well. I spent a lot of time wrestling with the fact that I might feel this way forever... and I wasn't keen on the way the 'new me' felt. My doctor promised I would get used to my new body. He said to think of an old injury and how it healed and eventually you never feel it again. He said I'd get there but I didn't believe him.
I went for my year check up... scared. He said everything was great and declared the surgery a success. He said, 'See you in a year.'
A year? That's a long way away. Are we sure I'm okay?
But I had a strange experience during my appointment. While he was proclaiming me healed, I had this heavy sense of understanding how many people had prayed over my health. It was like I could see... or feel... all of the prayers that had been whispered.
It was THICK. Like way too many people suddenly crowding in an elevator and then all filing out and you're left going 'Whoa, what just happened'. It was like ALL these people flooded into this tiny exam room to hear him say, 'The surgery was a success.'
Exhale. Answered prayers. There we were, together, to hear of the faithfulness of the Lord. Then, it was over. Just like that.
I was a little shaken by the feeling so I didn't tell Mom and Dad but after I left to come back to Birmingham, I wept like a baby. Thankful for the knowing.
So many of you prayed. And I saw you. Mrs. T, Sally Fletcher, Sally Pearson, Ms. Linda, Mrs. Hanson, Lala & Barry, Charley, my precious small group, Amanda, Pastor Shawn, Mrs. Joan & Mr. Gary, Amy, my work family, Aunt Bobby, The Garrett's, Mrs. Tammy, the sweet nurse who cared for me, the therapist who encouraged me...so, so many faces were there. Hovering beside me, ever present, blanketing me in protection, and waiting for good news...
How tenderly our Healer comes. And how different He leaves us.
The good news: Around 14 months, I went to bed one night and realized, 'I feel normal.... whoa. I actually feel normal. My doctor was right.' (As they tend to be...) Maybe I don't feel like the old normal, but this new normal is good too. I feel like me, in a body that belongs to me, with a lifestyle that feels perfectly fine. The evidence of surgery is there. The scar is something else. But let it not go undocumented how many times beauty has been spoken over that scar. My loving little girl exclaims excitedly how amazing my scar looks every time she sees it. No exaggeration, she tells me at least 3 times a week that my back is beautiful. And I believe her. :)
I'm not allowed to run again, which I'll miss, but I have full intentions on walking the heck out of some races with my girlfriends! I still look like a turtle lying on my back, putting on my socks and shoes, but that's okay! It gets the job done!
I've been following a friend who had this surgery and it didn't go so well. She writes these heart-breaking, morose updates. They hit so close to home. I'm always left with a quiet spirit. Hurting for her and also overwhelmingly grateful that the Lord held me close. I won't complain of the difficulties because I wouldn't dare miss an opportunity to tell you how great God has been to me through this. He had me the whole way. I never doubted it but now I see his hand so clearly. He wrote this story and I'm honored to be a part of the telling of it.
A million thank you's for your prayers and kindness this past year. Thank you for being my wall of support and for showing up during my final appointment. ;) I owe you a debt of gratitude that I'll never be able to repay.... but I sure will try.
I'm eternally grateful.
Taylor
Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever. 1 Chronicles 16:34
