I have suffered from serious sinus issues over the last 18-24 months. Each time I get a cold, it turns in to excruciating headaches, face pains and more. Not pleasant. Particularly when three little people depend on me, solely, to run their world.
A few months ago I finally decided I had enough and made a big fuss with my GP. She agreed to refer me to a specialist. This is Canadian Health Care so it takes a while to get anything done. I finally had my 7 minutes with the ENT, she looked up my nose with her less than comfortable camera and concluded I have a deviated septum and possibly some nasal polyps. To confirm her diagnosis, she has referred a CT scan. Upon the results, she will recommend surgery or other options.
I am having this scan tomorrow and, I am petrified. The high levels of radiation don’t bother me. I have no problem with enclosed spaces. I will be lying down in the middle of the day, BONUS. I enjoy visiting the dentist now as I get to lie horizontally and close my eyes, alone, for thirty minutes.
I am scared of what will be seen. I was listening to a CBC radio show called “This is My Music” this weekend and the host was remembering a letter he had received. CBC’s website describes this show as follow “Each Saturday morning, This is My Music is hosted by one of Canada’s foremost international classical artists. The host selects a program of mainly classical music and presents it in a lively, engaging manner enriched with personal anecdotes and insights.” Last Saturday’s host was countertenor, Daniel Taylor. I particularly enjoyed him. He had a very soft voice and spoke so passionately of the pieces and people he had selected to play for the audience. I was hanging off his every word. He spoke of the letter which had been sent to him by a man who’s partner had recently died. During the last few days of his partner’s life, they had been staying at a cabin in the woods. Over the last hours of his friend’s life, he was asked to open all the windows and play one of Taylor’s piece over and over. He knew at that point, the end was near.
None of us know what kind of death sentence we will be dealt. I think the first choice is peacefully in our sleep but I see very few of these recently. Too many are afflicted by horrific diseases, like cancer, or sudden tragedies.
As I drove, alone, I started to think of my own death. I always tell my husband we are going together, he can’t leave me behind. I don’t think I could handle life without him. We are obviously playing around, but part of it is the truth. I want to grow old with him. My own death is so foreign. I like to think I will be going to Heaven. I talk to my babies about Heaven continually, it seems to be the ultimate place, if not right here, with the people I love the most. I foresee it in 60 years.
This evening at dinner, I decided to be honest with my man. I usually would not admit to such dramatic thoughts. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, his back straightened up and he exclaimed to have had the same feeling all day. “My entire life would be shattered” he said.
Tomorrow morning, the staff at our local hospital will be taking images of my head to see if there are any blockages in my sinuses. What if those images show a grapefruit sized tumour in my brain?
The mere fact both of us have that worry hopefully means everything will be fine. But, what if sickness or death was nearer than anticipated.
Would I tell my kids? Would I take the trip I have planned in a couple weeks? Would I speak with my father again? I may take my boys out of school and just play with them. God has a plan. He already knows what’s hiding behind the images and the painful headaches.
I want to ask myself all the “what if” questions. If the pictures are clear, maybe I don’t want to wait for a bitter fruit sized mass to answer and, act up on the kind of questions we leave unanswered, until disaster strikes.
I always hug my babies as if it were the last hug. I kiss them a lot and they hear how much I love them, constantly. My boys would remember. My babydoll would only have images, hopefully, fruitless.
Praying for a clear scan and for God’s guidance in whatever He has in store for us.
Love,
Maman M.
Living Whole 