Fear Not...

I used to love parties. My mom always referred to me as a “social butterfly.” I did not have a shy bone in my body. I liked to arrive “fashionably late,” to make an entrance, but I was always the last to leave. A smile came naturally to me; however, ever since the surgery I find it the hardest expression to make…

Last Sunday, I was getting ready for my parent’s annual St. Nicholas Party. I grew up on St. Nicholas street. What kid could be so lucky as to live on a street where Christmas was thought of every time she turned into her driveway? The neighborhood honored this by hosting a yearly parade, followed by a party.

Ever since I could remember, I went to the St. Nick Party. On this special day, the street was closed and every household was filled with children waiting for Santa and adults filling their bellies with delicious food. Even after all of the neighbors, and eventually my parents, moved from St. Nicholas Street, my mom continued to host the party. Every December, I awaited this party and the opportunity to love old friends; this Sunday; however, was different.

The Bible tells me not to fear, for fear is not of the Lord (2 Timothy 1:7), yet I openly admit that this is the commandment in which I struggle the most. When I started work after the surgery, I was in a tremendous amount of pain daily and I did not hide it well. One day, a colleague said to me, “… unless you’ve ever lived with chronic pain yourself, you don’t understand it….” I only comprehended part of what she was telling me that day. In August, I assumed she was merely discussing the physical component of pain. Now, I believe she was also encouraging me to be strong when the “emotional side-effects” took their toll.

This past Sunday, I awoke with a great deal suffering. My lower-back was throbbing. This scared me, because usually when I wake-up I am stiff and barely in any sort of pain at all. The aches and anguish don’t typically begin for hours into my day. This throbbing sent fear throughout my entire being. Notice, I said “typically.” For six months now, pain has been my companion; some days it hides it ugly face and masks itself as stiffness or soreness in my muscles, other days it attacks every part of me. Last Sunday, it was the later.

What I have come to recognize is that it is not only the pain that disables me, but the fear of this pain overwhelms me entirely. Now, I understand what my colleague was saying to me four months ago. When one’s body is in agony, it can be controlling. Not only does it limit one’s ability to physically act, it assaults the mind’s way of thinking.

Because I have experienced agony for so long, I have learned to look for triggers, or precursors, both bodily and mindfully that induce the pain. In preparing for the St. Nick Party, my mind filled with precautions of possible triggers:
1. 60 people are expected to attend this party; do they all know of my surgery?
2. If not, will I be equipped to discuss it with them without getting upset about my slow recovery or suffering?
3. Because there will be so many people, will I be able to sit or stand comfortably in my mother’s house?
4. Will someone give up a chair for me? Will I have the courage to ask them to?
5. What if someone bumps into me?
6. What if I accidentally twist my body?
7. What if someone embraces me for a hug and squeezes me too hard?
8. Of the 60 guests, at least 20 children will be there. What if one of them tugs me?
9. What if one of them plops into my lap without my readiness?
10. Will I be able to hold my friend’s new baby?
11. Will I be able to play with her toddler?
12. Will I be able to maneuver throughout the maze of adults, furniture, Christmas decorations and children to get from one place to another without jolting my body?
13. What if I am unable to help “Santa” (aka my husband) get ready for his grand entrance and the center of this festivity?
14. Will someone else be his “Elf” since I am unable to bend over to reach for gifts, wrapping paper or help a child into Santa’s lap?
15. Will my husband feel like he is “babysitting” me because he knows my fears and will do anything to avoid me facing them?
16. Can my body tolerate the 70 minute round-trip drive on top of attending the party itself?
17. Will my body be able to relax itself once the cold, outside air hits it and my muscles automatically react with tension?
18. What if I slip on black ice while walking to the car?
19. Will anyone be upset if I leave early?
20. Should I even go???

To a person who does not live with chronic pain, these questions probably seem unnecessary – possibly even ridiculous. To me; however, they are a way of life. Every morning that I wake, I have to make a mental note of what the day requires of me. I must plan my schedule, outfit, endurance and medication around it. There are so many times that the mere thought of what the day holds before me is so exhausting that I must force myself not to crawl back into bed and bawl.

I made it through the party, and that is exactly how I feel – like I accomplished something great because I went to a Christmas Party. I cried for a half an hour before we left prior to the event because I was so afraid of all of the “what-ifs” then my husband wiped my eyes, held my hand, walked me to the car, and we found our way to jolly-ole St. Nicholas. Out of all of the fears, only a few actually perspired: my muscles had a hard time releasing from the cold weather’s grip on them once inside the warm house, I was unable to help Santa both get dressed and pass out gifts, I could hold my best friend’s baby; however, when holding an older infant, I assaulted the muscles on my left side (where the baby’s head rested), I twisted one too many times to give a hug or get around the house but always had a cozy seat saved for me, everyone there knew of the surgery so I did not have to re-live it that night through a story; however, I did get the “do you have to go now?” questions when we left about two short hours after arriving. Like I said, I made it.

Christmas Eve is three days away and yesterday, the day after the St. Nick Party, while my body recovered the mere thought of the activities surrounding the next occasion and the events to follow overwhelmed me to the point of near-hysterics.

About two months ago, my sister offered to host the Christmas Eve Party which I had taken on when I moved to a bigger home two years ago. Both offended and, ironically, filled with hope, I declined. My family thought I was foolish. I told them, “I have faith that by Christmas Eve, I will be healed and ready to celebrate with a party.” Sadly, so far, I was wrong. Last night, while in tremendous pain, Gage and I contemplated canceling the party or asking my sister if she were still willing to host; however, even with the extra effort it takes to host the party, I am more comfortable in my own home than traveling around St. Louis to attend a party at someone else’s house. Nonetheless, we decided to keep the party; however, now we are reconsidering the plans for the days following. We do not know if my body can handle all of the demands of the holiday, especially when, because of the large number of invitations from our loving family members, we were invited to four full days of festivities. We do not know which events we should say “no” to, and which would be easiest on my muscles and we should plan on attending.

Regardless of which events Gage and I attend around the holidays, we know that our families and friends will understand. Regardless of what feelings of fear consume me, I know that the Word commands me to live with hope. Regardless of the aches I feel today, a part of me still believes that it is not too late to have a pain-free Christmas. I write today to acknowledge my reservations, and to release them. This year, all I want for Christmas is a day without fear, a day filled with hope and the healing that God has begun in me…

http://www.alighthouse.com/fearnot.htm