Nancy Holte

Encouraging women to grab hold of God's plan for their lives

Brave

I Don’t Feel Brave

I don’t feel brave. Not one bit. Let me explain.

Last week I went to the Mayo Clinic for some tests. The day did not start well. Personally, I’m of the opinion that starting a day at 6:00 a.m. with an alarm ringing in my ears is just bad from the get-go. But there was more. My appointment had been made for this particular day because my husband also had tests scheduled, and why make two trips when you can make just one, right? However, shortly after arriving at 8:00 a.m. and handing my paperwork to the receptionist, she looked at me and said, “Your appointment isn’t until tomorrow.” I simply looked back and said, “No. It was scheduled for today to coincide with my husband’s appointments.” Seriously people, don’t mess with me in the early morning hours. It can get ugly! (She’s just lucky I wasn’t fasting!)

This wise woman immediately went to work to see if she could get me scheduled that day. She sent a message to one person, called someone else, and I suspect there might have been a note passed that said, “This girl is going to blow if I don’t get her in today!” Within ten minutes I was rescheduled for 8:30 a.m. Praise God!

Next up, I met with the technician who was going to run the tests. The purpose of said tests was to determine if my parathyroid glands (behind the thyroid) are functioning properly, which apparently requires contrasting dye. So, at 8:30 a.m. I had a little iodine cocktail. Yum! Actually, it was tasteless, so no big deal there. It was at this point, however, I had to discuss with the technician the possibility of having a sedative for the tests.

Generally, any tests that are referred to as “scans” freak me out a bit. It seems easy enough: lie on a table and wait for some machine to take pictures of you. But during scans a person is required to lie completely still. Whereas some people struggle with the camera’s close proximity to their face, l am done in by the prospect of not being allowed to move. You see, I struggle with restless leg syndrome, and basically when I stay in one position for more than about a minute it is physically painful. Thus the whole talk about a sedative. After a great deal of discussion and tears, I chose to proceed without a sedative, which was a mistake. Big, BIG mistake!

Two hours later, after waiting for the iodine to do its thing, I was shown to the room for the first set of scans. The “bed” for my test measured about three-fourths the width of my actual body. Clearly it was designed for an undernourished teenage girl. It curves up a bit on the side, I suppose to keep you from falling off, but in reality those curves only make it more uncomfortable. To her credit, the technician offered me a warm blanket (which I consider to be the ONLY benefit of being in a hospital – other than that whole saving your life thing.) She then gave me a pillow to put under my knees, which helped ever so slightly.

I lay on that table for almost an hour as four pictures were taken, each one requiring ten minutes of complete stillness. My plan was to focus on scripture and prayer, but as my body started screaming at me that plan became increasingly difficult. Mostly I just repeated, “Lord you are my strength and shield” over and over like it was the only verse I knew. (And at that moment, I had no idea where or even IF it was in the Bible. It is – Psalm 28:7) Eventually my mind wandered and started focusing on how much I hated this whole situation. And then I started to beat myself up. “You’re being stupid. Other people go through far worse things than this. Stop being a baby.” There were moments when I contemplated the general inhumanity of the medical community too. (I told you, I can get ugly early in the morning.)

In the move from the first torture chamber (I mean procedure room) to the room with the second million-dollar camera, I went into the bathroom and sobbed silently, wanting more than anything to run away. And once again, I reminded myself that I was being less than brave. To her credit, the technician took extra measures to make my second set of scans more comfortable, and I guess it worked because mercifully I feel asleep.

As I sat and ate lunch after the whole ordeal was over, I continued the self-berating internal dialogue. God must have grown weary listening to the words I was speaking to myself because right there, in the Mayo Clinic cafeteria, he reminded me of something Susie Larson wrote in her newest book, Your Sacred Yes, “Nancy, I will not love you less if you get this wrong.” (Granted, she didn’t use my name in her book, nor was that line about a similar situation. Nonetheless, it’s what I heard.)

Never once had God said, “If you take a sedative for your tests, I’m going to think you don’t trust me.” He never said, “You are such a wimp.”

Instead he whispered:

“I love you.”

“I am here for you.”

“Stop beating yourself up.”

“You are my precious daughter.”

Oh, what a great and merciful God I serve!

As for the test results, more have been ordered. We do know, at this point, there is nothing life-threateningly wrong. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that even when I’m not brave, my God will still be with me. On that I can depend.

“But each day the Lord pours his unfailing love upon me, and through each night I sing his songs, praying to God WHO GIVES ME LIFE.” Psalm 42:8

Two People – Fighting the Fight

I have been a bit of a slacker in the blogging department lately. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write about, it’s just that I haven’t had time to sit down and put it into words. But, enough of the excuses, I’m back now, hopefully, without so many lapses between my blog posts.

Yesterday I had the opportunity to volunteer for a few hours answering phones at the local Christian radio station, KTIS, during their annual fundraising “Sharathon.” I’ve been doing this for years and I always meeting interesting people in the process. Yesterday was no exception.

As you might expect, the phones don’t ring constantly throughout the day so there is opportunity to read, or chat with the people around you. Early in the day I spent the time between calls doing some reading. When the phone rang I’d set down my book, moving the “gas receipt bookmark” to my current location. Next thing I know the guy next to me, Dave, mentions that perhaps my bookmark could use an upgrade and hands me a new one that says “Donate Life.” Thus began our conversation on organ donation.

Now, I already have “DONOR” listed on my driver’s license so it’s not like Dave had to convince me, but still, he came up with some pretty interesting stats. Did you know, for instance, that one donor can save ten lives and help improve as many as 50 lives? That’s pretty remarkable. I had a friend tell me once that she didn’t want to be a donor because she wasn’t convinced the doctors would wait until she was REALLY dead to do the transplant. My feeling is that should the doctors goof up, that just gets me to Jesus a little bit sooner, so I really have nothing to fear. But, I digress.

Dave, as it turns out, is waiting for a heart. I can’t remember exactly what is wrong with the one he’s got but I believe it’s some sort of congenital defect. He told me that there is about a four year wait list for a new heart and it’s hard to qualify as a potential transplant patient. I wonder how they figure that out; not the qualifying part, but the wait time. Is it anything like the method they use to determine how long it will be until your table at the restaurant is ready? (We think the people at table 26, 42, and 65 look pretty full, which means you’ve got a 15 – 20 minute wait.)

Many people will die waiting to get their needed organ. If you aren’t already listed as a donor, perhaps you’ll consider it as a possibility.

It seemed to be medical day at KTIS because the woman on the other side of me, Sarah, has late stage Lyme’s Disease. They believe she’s had it for nearly eight or nine years, but she was just diagnosed this past year. The doctors in Minnesota are stymied as to what to do for her. Yes, even the renowned Mayo clinic has suggested that she go somewhere else. When I read Sarah’s Caring Bridge site last night I found out that she has a t-shirt that says “Lyme’s Disease ticks me off.” At least she hasn’t lost her sense of humor.

Sarah is a wife and mother of three kids. She is also a woman of amazing faith who has, by no means, given up. She heard of a doctor in New York who specializes in this particular disease but doesn’t have the means to finance a trip to visit him. Still, she felt that God made it clear to her that she should go; so, in faith, she made her appointment. A few days later someone called her and offered to finance her entire trip! I LOVE THAT! Only God could pull that off!

So, here I am at the end of my blog, wondering if anyone besides me will find all this to be fascinating stuff. I simply admire Sarah and Dave’s spirit and their willingness to continue “fighting the fight.” I am richer for having met them.