One of my (top 5) favorite things to do is make Top 5 lists. I make them for pretty much everything. (For instance- Top 5 best names of US presidents- that kind of thing.) I don't know why I do it, but I guess it beats biting my nails or collecting stamps. So anyway. I compiled one this week as I made my way from one side of the world to the other because, ironically, I didn't have much else to do.
(In chronological order)
1. The late-50's bear-of-a-man next to me on my overnight flight falling asleep on my shoulder. Multiple times. (Ok, disclaimer: sometimes I employ sarcasm in the Top 5 as a coping mechanism, but all the rest are serious.)
2. Reading Wendell Berry's Window Poems in the Amsterdam airport at 6 am- wrapped in the awesome blanket I stole from my KLM flight, with a Dutch coffee, as it poured the rain outside, planes shuttled in and out of bays, and people were everywhere, scurrying around. Here's an excerpt from "Window Poem #5":
Look in
and see him looking out.
He is not always
quiet, but there have been times
when happiness has come
to him, unasked,
like the stillness on the water
that holds the evening clear
while it subsides
- and he let go
what he was not.
3. Learning in SkyMiles magazine that jousting has made a comeback as a recreational sport in recent years! I was pretty excited about that. I also learned there are all kinds of jousting now, along with the traditional medieval kind- including (get ready!)...bicycle jousting. I would love to see this. Or participate.
4. On my flight from Amsterdam to Detroit, the "inflight entertainment" was a little mischievous. Every time you selected a movie to watch, some other movie you hadn't selected started playing, usually in Chinese or Spanish. It became a game to me, trying to find the movie I actually wanted to watch, and instead being surprised by a lot of hilarious, strange things. At one point though, someone in First Class "happened across an adult film" (as the stewardess explained over the intercom), and because it somehow then began playing on everyone's personal screens, the entire system was immediately shut down. It was mayhem for awhile, as I'm sure you can imagine. Small children crying, their parents furious and fuming, old women scandalized. The poor stewardesses.
5. Flying through a terrifying lightning-and-rain storm from Detroit to Canton and seriously wondering whether I was actually going to make it home- only to arrive safely and find my parents waiting for me, at the end of (what I'm convinced is) the longest hallway ever constructed, with a bouquet of roses.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Monday, July 11, 2011
.you have our faith with our bodies.
You have our trust, Father,
and our faith,
with our bodies
and all that we are and posses.
Father, help us to do with our bodies what we proclaim,
that our faith be known to you
and to others,
and be effective in all the world.
-excerpt from a prayer by the Masai in Tanzania-
(Disclaimer: this will be a long entry, but it may also be interesting.)
How do I even begin to tell you about the last week and a half? This prayer seems a good starting point, as it's become very important to me these last weeks, as I've read it over and over again since July 1st. Without being too dramatic, I think I can safely say that on July 1st my life changed forever. Maybe someday I'll feel differently, but my life seems divided into two eras now- pre-July 1st, 2011, and post-July 1st, 2011.
After work on July 1st, I went to Rossyln, a private school in town, to exercise with my roommates. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, except that while we were there I unexpectedly suffered a severe seizure and was rushed to the ER. My life since has been surreal and unrecognizable to me- a series of doctor's appointments, brain scans, blood tests, and big, hard, life-altering decisions. I can't believe it's been so long since everything happened- it feels like one long day. I've only just begun to recover from the side-effects of the seizure, and have finally begun to feel somewhat like myself again.
I spent July 4th in a neurologist's office, and after an hour's conversation Dr. Hooker (lovely name, and my new favorite person) diagnosed me with epilepsy. I've since had multiple tests which confirmed his diagnosis and have catapulted me into a world I know nothing about- after a CT Scan, MRI, EEG and ECG, we learned that I have a very rare developmental brain disorder called "periventricular heterotopia". If you're dying to know more, keep reading. =)
Apparently, this condition forms during a person's early development in the womb, and the cause is completely unknown. As best I can understand, parts of my brain that were meant to move to the outer cortex during development never did, and instead took up residence in my inner brain, in the fluid-filled areas where no brain matter is supposed to live. Thus, somehow, mysteriously, seizures. This condition is usually, but not always, hereditary. The bad news is- because it's developmental and probably genetic, it will never go away. I will have epilepsy for the rest of my life. I will be on medication for the rest of my life. But there's good news too- the condition doesn't require surgery. The out-of-place "gray matter", as the doctor called it, will never grow or morph or become life-threatening. (Very good news.)
This has been a lot to digest, especially for someone who can count on two hands (maybe one) the times she's been to the doctor. I've realized in the last week how little of my life I spent thinking, worrying or caring about my body. As most of you know, I've had what I self-diagnosed as "night terrors" for at least 6 years. It was kind of a joke with my friends- "Hannah's weird night episodes"- but several people encouraged me to have them checked out, and I never did. As it turns out, I should have, because I've actually been having seizures in my sleep for the last 6 years. (Jeremiah- I deserve an "I told you so" from you especially. =)
So. I'm coming home, to learn to accept and understand my diagnosis. It was a hard decision; neither coming home nor staying here for the next few months seemed wholly satisfactory. I want to be here- I love MOHI, I love Mathare Valley; there are so many pictures yet to take, and so many good, untold stories. But I want to be fully present here while I'm here, and I can't be right now. And there's something about learning you have a chronic illness that makes you ache for the familiarity and safety of home. When your own body suddenly becomes a mystery, an unknown to you, everything seems unknown, and the need for something known becomes ever-present and urgent. I need to come home, and learn how my world still makes sense. I need a big, long hug from my mom, I need to work in the New Seeds garden, I need to be at Hopwood, and I need to be able to cry on some of your shoulders as I struggle to understand what it means to live with a chronic illness. (I'm also hoping to have a Lifetime original movie made about me. Just kidding...maybe. =)
There's a good possibility that I'll be able to return to Kenya in September, after taking the next few months to adjust. If I receive medical clearance from an American doctor, CMF sees no reason why I couldn't return. And the possibility of being able to return is greater since I already have a good neurologist and have gotten my first few months' worth of medication here.
Although the last week and a half has been traumatic, my overwhelming feeling is one of thankfulness. God is so faithful, and He's teaching me so much. He has made His presence known to me in unmistakable ways. He's placed good people around me to cushion the blow, so to speak- to protect and encourage me. He's ordained my steps throughout this whole process- leading me to a good, kind doctor, and granting me time and space to recover from the trauma. He's impressed on me the need to take care of myself, and has given me peace about the decision to return home. He's also given me a strange peace about, and a new love for my body, the body He created, mysteriously, with epilepsy.
A few nights ago I was reading Psalm 139, and I broke down, because I realized that for some strange reason I believe it more deeply now than I ever did before:
You hem me in- behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me. (vs 5)
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be. (vs 13-16)
and our faith,
with our bodies
and all that we are and posses.
Father, help us to do with our bodies what we proclaim,
that our faith be known to you
and to others,
and be effective in all the world.
-excerpt from a prayer by the Masai in Tanzania-
(Disclaimer: this will be a long entry, but it may also be interesting.)
How do I even begin to tell you about the last week and a half? This prayer seems a good starting point, as it's become very important to me these last weeks, as I've read it over and over again since July 1st. Without being too dramatic, I think I can safely say that on July 1st my life changed forever. Maybe someday I'll feel differently, but my life seems divided into two eras now- pre-July 1st, 2011, and post-July 1st, 2011.
After work on July 1st, I went to Rossyln, a private school in town, to exercise with my roommates. Nothing at all out of the ordinary, except that while we were there I unexpectedly suffered a severe seizure and was rushed to the ER. My life since has been surreal and unrecognizable to me- a series of doctor's appointments, brain scans, blood tests, and big, hard, life-altering decisions. I can't believe it's been so long since everything happened- it feels like one long day. I've only just begun to recover from the side-effects of the seizure, and have finally begun to feel somewhat like myself again.
I spent July 4th in a neurologist's office, and after an hour's conversation Dr. Hooker (lovely name, and my new favorite person) diagnosed me with epilepsy. I've since had multiple tests which confirmed his diagnosis and have catapulted me into a world I know nothing about- after a CT Scan, MRI, EEG and ECG, we learned that I have a very rare developmental brain disorder called "periventricular heterotopia". If you're dying to know more, keep reading. =)
Apparently, this condition forms during a person's early development in the womb, and the cause is completely unknown. As best I can understand, parts of my brain that were meant to move to the outer cortex during development never did, and instead took up residence in my inner brain, in the fluid-filled areas where no brain matter is supposed to live. Thus, somehow, mysteriously, seizures. This condition is usually, but not always, hereditary. The bad news is- because it's developmental and probably genetic, it will never go away. I will have epilepsy for the rest of my life. I will be on medication for the rest of my life. But there's good news too- the condition doesn't require surgery. The out-of-place "gray matter", as the doctor called it, will never grow or morph or become life-threatening. (Very good news.)
This has been a lot to digest, especially for someone who can count on two hands (maybe one) the times she's been to the doctor. I've realized in the last week how little of my life I spent thinking, worrying or caring about my body. As most of you know, I've had what I self-diagnosed as "night terrors" for at least 6 years. It was kind of a joke with my friends- "Hannah's weird night episodes"- but several people encouraged me to have them checked out, and I never did. As it turns out, I should have, because I've actually been having seizures in my sleep for the last 6 years. (Jeremiah- I deserve an "I told you so" from you especially. =)
So. I'm coming home, to learn to accept and understand my diagnosis. It was a hard decision; neither coming home nor staying here for the next few months seemed wholly satisfactory. I want to be here- I love MOHI, I love Mathare Valley; there are so many pictures yet to take, and so many good, untold stories. But I want to be fully present here while I'm here, and I can't be right now. And there's something about learning you have a chronic illness that makes you ache for the familiarity and safety of home. When your own body suddenly becomes a mystery, an unknown to you, everything seems unknown, and the need for something known becomes ever-present and urgent. I need to come home, and learn how my world still makes sense. I need a big, long hug from my mom, I need to work in the New Seeds garden, I need to be at Hopwood, and I need to be able to cry on some of your shoulders as I struggle to understand what it means to live with a chronic illness. (I'm also hoping to have a Lifetime original movie made about me. Just kidding...maybe. =)
There's a good possibility that I'll be able to return to Kenya in September, after taking the next few months to adjust. If I receive medical clearance from an American doctor, CMF sees no reason why I couldn't return. And the possibility of being able to return is greater since I already have a good neurologist and have gotten my first few months' worth of medication here.
Although the last week and a half has been traumatic, my overwhelming feeling is one of thankfulness. God is so faithful, and He's teaching me so much. He has made His presence known to me in unmistakable ways. He's placed good people around me to cushion the blow, so to speak- to protect and encourage me. He's ordained my steps throughout this whole process- leading me to a good, kind doctor, and granting me time and space to recover from the trauma. He's impressed on me the need to take care of myself, and has given me peace about the decision to return home. He's also given me a strange peace about, and a new love for my body, the body He created, mysteriously, with epilepsy.
A few nights ago I was reading Psalm 139, and I broke down, because I realized that for some strange reason I believe it more deeply now than I ever did before:
You hem me in- behind and before;
you have laid your hand upon me. (vs 5)
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be. (vs 13-16)
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