.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)