Woman Who Was Born Dead

      They say that once an individual suffers a stroke, it is an emergency.  “A typical patient loses 1.9 million neurons per minute after a stroke occurs.” (Stroke. 2006 Jan;37(1):263-6. doi: 10.1161/01.STR.0000196957.55928.ab. Epub 2005 Dec 8.)  That is millions.  Per minute.  What is incredible in all of my musings and writings concerning living with a disability, it has for the most part been in the context of how God hasn’t healed me, and moreover, the frustration with failed expectations.  However, when I took a trauma-informed class for my SPED endorsement, I realized that God was at work more than I first knew. I’ve always had a chip on my shoulder, living with a disability.  I never wanted to be short-changed concerning what I was capable of, so I pushed myself.  I pushed myself beyond expectation.  I pushed myself beyond my boundaries.  If there was a physical challenge, I stepped up.  If someone told me they thought I couldn’t do something, I made a point to prove them wrong.  Even if I failed, I had much rather show that I wasn’t one meant to stay on the bench.      Truth is...despite all my “exploits”, I still couldn’t shake off the anxiety that I was still the “handicapped” one of the group.  It would rise and fall with every challenge that revealed itself wanting of both sides of my body.  I played softball, and though I knew my team didn’t doubt how well of a player I could be, I wondered if the other teams would feel sorry for me.  When I dared to swim across open water independently, I worried my family (or at least, the adults.  I was seen as really cool by the kids).  I always wanted to summit mountains, but waited until I was 31 years old, because I was afraid that if I found a mountain too hard, then I would burden friends in assisting me to make the top.  When I lined up for the Spartan Race in 2018, I wondered how many murmurings I would receive for being one not “physically apt” for such a feat.     Some may comment on the actual physicality of certain things.  Maybe some of it is worth noting.  Nevertheless, the issue wasn’t really whether or not I could do something, but rather my approach to things.  Even in the situations where I was physically apt, I still had a mindset to prove to the individuals in front of me that I wasn’t lacking in my worth.  Living with a disability wasn’t a physical problem as it was an identity crisis.     I refused to join any kind of support that I could use.  I quit physical therapy, because it felt too much like a doctor’s office.  In college, as much as I had empathized with other disabled friends, I never joined their club, because I didn’t want to be one of them.  You know...The ones who are different, and whose worth is somehow diminished, because of what they couldn’t do.  Maybe it was my junior high experience of a PE who made me run when my right hip was extremely hurting.  When I got a doctor’s note saying to not push me, the teacher made me stop running altogether (the goal was to allow me to run until I knew my body couldn’t push any more, not to have me quit physical sports altogether…)  Whatever the reason, I grew up hating myself, and honestly, my body, because of the fear of what I could not do.  And I would be damned if I had to ask for help.     I hid my right arm from pictures.  I never showed my right foot which has a bunion, due to an imbalance in my step.  I hated videos, because I saw my limp gait and my limp fist. Furthermore, I found ways to strengthen my left side in such a way where it didn’t matter if I had my right side or not.  I used my teeth to open things.  Taught myself to type one-handed, as fast as any two-handed individual.  When I worked out, I only strengthened my left side.  Because if I could become the titan that I wanted to believe I was, then I was convinced that no one else could question my worth.     But I was still neurologically dead.  Okay.  Maybe not all of me.  However, I suffered a stroke before I was born (we don’t know when), and didn’t find out until after I was born.  So, we don’t know how long I went without treatment.  How many minutes I went without help.  How many millions of nerves died. Maybe I am slightly exaggerating (I hope not), but understanding how time and stroke work.  The atrophy my body endured was a sign that not everything was alright.  That being said,  I received speech therapy and can walk.  There was some level of rescue in my situation.      Nevertheless, going into my adulthood, I was stuck in my pride and offended, because God had not healed me.  Or so I thought.  By the time I was nearing my 30s, I loved the strength that I was exemplifying muscularly, however, I was greatly cognitive of the fact that the joints and tendons on the left side of my body were being stretched more than what may be healthy.  My left knee could get sore after an intense workout.  All these years of beefing up one side of my body left that one side in danger of being disabled itself, if I didn’t take any care.     The problem wasn’t the physical activities I participated in.  Rather, it was the absence of inviting the other side of my body to participate.  By the time I took my trauma-informed class, there was NO WAY anyone would catch me in a brace to help the weaker parts of me.  But what I read about neurology started my journey to soul healing.  One point nine million nerves die every minute.  The synapses are cut off.  Yet, if the body is treated, and put through therapy, the nerves can - wait for it, this is the actual neurological term - resurrect.     They can resurrect.  Raise from the dead.  What was once gone can come back again, if just given the chance.  And I failed to give my right body the chance to heal...to resurrect, because I let my worth be defined by my ability.  It took some time after taking the class, but slowly, I realized where God’s glory still could be manifested in my situation.     God was not absent in healing me.  The manner for which He chose to heal just wasn’t instant.  In today’s society, we want miracles.  The sign within the moment.  But often, God likes to weave His handwork in the subtleties of life.  He showed me in June of 2020 that I needed to let go of the pride of being strong.  I had to be honest where I was weak, in order for His strength to come through.  All the while I was on a track of disarming my body (pun may be intended) of what strength I needed, but God has challenged me that what strength I need to be equipped for the work that He gives me must include the parts of me that I had previously wanted to stay hidden and forgotten.    

Coming down a mountain I summited this year.
  Note the ankle brace I wore to support my balance.

  I eventually began wearing a hand brace.  I found that my right arm has some strength, but the wrist was weak and needed to be supported in order for my arm to be strengthened as it should.  I also began wearing a brace on my right ankle.  It is amazing what a resurrection can do.  Now, I can hold a bowl with my right hand.  I can open certain bags of chips.  (My fine motor skills are finally coming back!!!!)  I don’t have to resort to using my teeth all the time.  I can carry more on my right arm.  The muscle tone in my right biceps and triceps are growing.  My balance has improved, and the other day, I was even able to stand on my right tippy toes...even if it was just for two seconds.  It is more than zero.      Subsequently, I am learning to strengthen my entire body, and my left side isn’t as worn out as it might have been.  My entire body is being trained to be healthy and carry me through whatever the day may bring.  And yet, I would have missed it, if I remained stubborn that my identity was grounded in my ability.  There are moments I still am guarded (such as if there is mention that people with disabilities should be aborted or left out of activities), but I’m slowly learning to put my stake on what God has told me, rather than what people perceive me, or what I fear they may perceive.  God is active.  He still heals.  And He does it in such a way that will glorify Him most.     A little more than a week ago, I attended an Encounter Weekend.  A woman prayed for my right hand, and said, “Do not look at this as a hindrance.  May [you] not even notice when God heals you.”  I had to laugh to myself.  With all the grave digging that God has been doing in my neurological pathways, it wouldn’t surprise me if how my hand is opened little by little.  That no longer bothers me, though.  Seeing the gradual growth of what my right side is able to do...it’s almost like surprise Christmas gifts.