Savoring Another Seven - This Time in Years

Hubby and I are sharing late morning coffee far across the table from each other. He has the plague and I desire health. The sofa afforded a decent nights sleep after pain pills dulled a sharp pain in my back. I pulled muscle in my right shoulder blade yesterday while adjusting my ponytail. Breathing became a challenge. And I wondered if that meant I shouldn't be wearing a ponytail at 43 years of age.

Don't have that answer but we're both a little better today!

We celebrated seven years of marriage Monday night. Seven. Years. I didn't make it past six years and four months last go round. A brain tumor cut my journey with the artist short. And now I'm married to a GA Tech grad who grew up on a farm in south Georgia and lettered in sports in college.

Polar opposites. Very. Different. Men. Which is why it's taken us seven years to figure things out.

But we splurged at The Melting Pot Monday night and as I drooled over the memory, the name took on more meaning. Our families will probably never blend the way we hoped. But after time together on Saturday, I recognized a new peace among us all. Time has melted hearts, leading to greater acceptance.

But seven years? Really? Had I known it would take that long, I might never have walked down the aisle.

One thing I know, God cares more about molding me into His likeness than keeping me comfortable. Living with the artist brought my creative soul to life. My sensitivity had a purpose, an outlet, after years of just stirring confusion.

The Tech grad has done just the opposite. After years of indulging my emotional side, God has used him to bring greater balance. I haven't liked it at times. I've often asked, "How many care buttons must I turn down before I get it?"

But I'm stronger now. More balanced. Less affected by what people think. It really is good. And the Tech guy with a writer's soul has been a crucial part of that.

So I'm grateful for understanding after seven hard years. For a night at the Melting Pot where we laughed, grew, and remembered why we fell in love.

"Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken." (Ecc. 4:12)

PS - I read this to hubby and in true GA Tech fashion he replied, "I have a name... It's Don." : )

The Seventh Week Saturday Miracle

It's now been seven weeks since I underwent back surgery to fuse L-5 / S-1. And something remarkable is happening.

It started a few weeks ago when friends commented that I look more stable, making me realize I'd stopped reaching for my cane or walker as much. But since I was still on extra meds post the procedure, I waited to draw any conclusions.

While cleaning out my closet last Saturday, however, I pulled down the basket of shoes I keep high on a shelf. It's fairly empty since I gave away most of my previous shoes over the seven years I've not walked normally. But I never parted with the dressy black heels.

They adorned my feet the night my left ankle first seemed weak in early Dec. '05. Within months my legs moved forward in stiff awkward motions. By February of '06, I walked through a drug store, holding a buggy for balance and thought, This is why people use walkers.

The feeling came and went for over five years before docs diagnosed mitochondrial disease and cerebral folate deficiency. But a few months before the diagnosis, I fell, requiring ankle and back surgery. I woke from the back surgery with concern for my right leg. And in time, it only grew worse.

I've probably had an MRI of my lower back almost every year since this began. But even when a neuro surgeon discussed the fusion option last summer, conflicting opinions kept me hesitant about moving forward with another surgery. In time, my left ankle gave out and I couldn't avoid a reconstruction. As I recovered from that procedure, the right leg grew weaker still. By the time I headed to the hospital for the fusion in mid-June, it was clear something had to be done or I might end up in a wheelchair.

I recovered much better from this back surgery than the one before. But I never expected to pull out the black heels and walk in my living room like most women... only seven weeks later.

Nina Golby Sandals

I called Don right away and he suggested, "Why don't you take them off after five minutes."

I promised I would and then called my mom while still strutting around the house. After celebrating with her, I called my sister who asked, "How long have you been in them now?"

"Oh, about ten minutes..."

"Take them off, Susan. Right now, "she said in a commanding voice older siblings use, "Promise me you'll take them off."

My family knows my medical  history too well so I obliged.

It's hard to describe the feeling. Hard to explain the thoughts that go through my mind as day after day goes by and my legs keep working and my ankles and feet move forward in smooth motion, absent any sign of foot slap.

I wonder about white water or a stroll on the beach or just a vacation without constant thought as to how long my legs will last. Maybe I'll fly across the country again or take that vacation I've wanted to take with my boys but couldn't figure out how to manage.

I don't know. And even though something seems remarkably different, I'm still cautiously optimistic. I've had swings forward only to have another joint betray the progress.

But I wanted to share my Saturday miracle because so many of you have walked this journey with me and prayed and believed when my faith was small. I don't why one of those MRI's never made the problem clear. But I sure am thankful for the way I feel right now. And that is enough.

"For everything there is a season..." (Ecc. 3:1)