Wednesday, August 12, 2015

Hope, coffee, and a lot of Jesus

     As I ride in a hot car with Three Days Grace blasting in my head phones for the hundredth time that day thoughts run wild in my mind. The moment that had given me so much anxiety and loss of sleep was almost here. The day I had, had panic attacks over and waited months for was in less than 12 hours.
      I was on my way to one of the top hospitals in the United States 8 hours away from home to see if they had something that what feels like hundreds to thousands of doctors didn’t – a cure. As I come up on the 2 year anniversary of my own personal hell, memories of every doctor who said they didn’t know or that it was all in my head or this is going to be as good as it gets ran rampant in my brain. Was this even worth it? Would it just be the same thing I had been desensitized to for all of this time or would it have the similar sting it did 2 years ago? Was I just holding on to false hope?  Was I just being an ignorant child for believing that this doctor could have the thing my other specialists didn’t?
    I wanted to go home. I was doing well enough – I was still alive. This was stupid, I thought. Even though I had spoken to others about having hope many times, all of my hope had slowly been drained after being told thousands of times that my best bet was just to take this lethal medication so I don’t die and try to survive the pain as best as you can. So that’s what I had done the only way I knew how.
       I had so many dreams that I would never reach because of my health. Running in cross country and riding horses were two things I had enjoyed more than anything in the world, but since I had gotten sick I’ve had to quit. I wanted to ride a bike. Go to school. Actually sleep at night. But these where mountains I had deemed unclimbable.

     What had happened to all of the hope I once harbored inside of me?

         As I got closer and closer to the Ronald McDonald House where we would be staying the next few days the fear turned to pure anticipation and excitement. I made a rule with myself a long time ago to never get my hopes up about a miracle cure, but I couldn’t help it. What if they could help me? What if they had the cure I had hoped and prayed for, for so long? What if I’m able to do the things I love again? What if I actually get better?
       Maybe they will have it, or they may not, but either way I had to step out on a limb and try even at the cost of getting hurt again. So that’s what I’ll do. Hope, pray, and step out on faith, because if there’s a chance for a normal life out there then I’m determined to find it.
       As I sit in the room writing this while listening to the same Three Days Grace album thoughts still run wild in my mind, but this time they’re thoughts of hope, the future, and dreams. The hope I once had was more alive than ever as I prepare for the nearly 5 hour appointment awaiting me in the morning. The anxiety still flows through my veins to the point where my teeth chatter, but I know that even if they don’t have the answer to my prayers, I have something that illness, depression, or anything else life throws at me can’t take away  – hope, and with hope, coffee, and a lot of Jesus anything is possible.

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