Emotional Marathon

I am exhausted. I feel like I've been running on this emotional merry-go-round for half of the year, from diagnosis on February 8 through today. I live in limbo, waiting to move forward and get back to my life, and trying at all times to make the best of a shitty situation. 

There, I've said it. It's a shitty situation. 

My transplant schedule has been pushed several times now. First, it was to be on July 5th, but the donor fell through. Then July 15th pending donor confirmation. Then 22nd with donor confirmation. Then 26th because I'm so much stronger than I was (yay!) that I can handle radiation (that's a mixed boo and yay, because ultimately it's a good thing). Then it was August 2nd because, surprise!, I tested positive for COVID. I've been chasing a negative test and got one on Thursday, but City of Hope's swab goes as far as your brain (or so it feels) and detected lingering virus, so yes, you guessed it. Pushed again to August 9th pending a negative test.

So today I rant and complain and cry and feel angry and frustrated... and that's a lot of 'ands' without any commas in between. My English teacher would fail me. 

The days blend into each other, and I feel like I accomplish nothing. It's a study in patience, a virtue I don't have and one for which I try not to pray - the Lord has ways to send you reasons to become patient instead of just injecting some of the stuff into you. 

It's a study in trust, as I try really, really hard to let go of the things I can't control and trust that God has a reason for allowing this to happen, and his reasons always will be better than mine. I'm on a schedule, and He reminds me I can't control life. I hold tightly onto the wheel instead of letting Him drive, knowing fully well that I don't have the roadmap and without it I wouldn't know where to go. 

He's cleared the way for me, surrounded me with people who are integral in this journey, placed me with an amazing medical team, and I think He's asking me to let go, to rest, to go to Him, as I'm weary and burdened and need rest. He's asking me to take His yoke. Some days, like today, it's harder. 

It is hard to reach deep into oneself to find the strength to prepare for the next step. I don't want to go back to the hospital. I am traumatized from my first visit, which as we all remember was less than ideal and brought with it serious complications. That said, I cannot sit here forever in eternal pause. So, I dig deep in preparation, and while I know I'm not ready, I mentally get myself there. And it gets yanked right from under my feet. And here I find myself, asking why I have to wait. 

Until I got COVID, I had not asked "why me?" Self-pity is not conducive to anything good. Today I didn't ask that, but I asked why. I felt deflated, defeated, and at times like a total ass because at the very least I woke up today and I have a fighting chance. 

Summer was the better schedule, before school starts, while Larissa is home. I wanted to be discharged before she goes back to college. Instead I get another week with her here before she leaves. That's the silver lining. 

And maybe I can learn to finally let go of the wheel and take a rest, trust the process, and hold on to His hand while he leads me up this very steep mountain, where the terrain is uneven and difficult, where the fog is so thick I can't see beyond my nose. He sees. That should be enough. 

My word this year has been hope. It's chased me from the moment I was diagnosed. It's fueled me and given me wings. It's seen me through the worst of it. 

Now I have to let go of the anger, frustration, disappointment, and focus on hope. And on all the things I have for which I am grateful. Even in days like this.