My Tommy has severe scoliosis that has developed due to several extenuating circumstances. I have watched over the course of the past two years as his spine has twisted and curved. I bear witness as his right hip rotates and lifts to accommodate the advancing curvature. We have been unable to change the trajectory of this advancement, despite attempts. The curvature is approaching the magical degree number that marks the “threshold for surgical intervention,” as the orthopedic specialist calls it. Spinal fusion surgery looms large on our horizon. There are days where I am paralyzed by the fear of that fact. That fear could easily overtake me, if I let it. I could easily be drowned by the possibilities of numerous negative results of such an advanced surgery. Just typing that sentence out has thoughts of permanent injuries due to surgical mistakes jumping into my head. But I have experience with these fears, and I choose to control them before they control me. That’s not as easy as it sounds. But there are some things I do to help myself beat back against the all-consuming thoughts and fears.
First, I recognize and honor the fear. Let’s face it, surgery is scary. Putting a guy with poor pain receptors through a huge and painful surgery with the likelihood that we won’t know how much pain he is in would terrify most. A healthy fear is useful. Fear keeps us from making unnecessary mistakes. We need to honor that fear has a place at the table. But also acknowledge that it needs to be kept in its place, not allowed to consume every thought or action.
Next, I breathe. Big, deep inhalations of peace and calm that can keep oxygen flowing through my brain so that the fearful thoughts can get air. Air can move them along and keep them from taking over up there in my head. I’m not much for yoga routines (I probably should be), but I do practice deep breathing on a very regular basis. And it helps immensely.
Finally I surround myself with positive words. I’m the kind of person who tacks words of inspiration all over. I have stickers on my laptop that say, “Just keep swimming,” and “Life is good.” There is a post-it note on my bathroom mirror that says, “Just Breath!” written in my own big bold lettering, complete with at least five exclamation points. I keep famous quotes, bible verses, and my own words visible to encourage myself as much as possible. Life is hard but positive words help.
Three years ago, I taped a bible verse to my refrigerator that has kept me going and guided my thoughts through the worst season of my life. That verse is Matthew 6:34. The translation I printed from a bible quote website says, “Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” I prefer my own paraphrase, “Tomorrow can worry about itself. Today’s trouble is enough for today.”
That verse got its place on my fridge about a month after my Miranda’s tumor was discovered. I had been talking with a pastor friend and telling him about how scared I was about what the future would bring. My head was full of all the gloom and doom that loomed ahead of us, and it was consuming me. My anxious thoughts of the future without my only girl were preventing me (and my family) from enjoying what time we had left. I needed to focus on planning family time and getting medical equipment like a wheelchair and other mobility devices. My friend directed me towards this verse to help me focus my mind on what truly mattered.
A life without Miranda was our tomorrow at the that point in time. Tomorrow could wait. It would not serve us to dwell on those fears while she was still with us. We needed to live each day and deal with each day’s trouble. And we did. We went to the beach and to Disney World. We got a wheelchair when she started to get too tired to walk. We focused on the degeneration of each individual day and dealt with it on its own day. Comfort techniques were learned to deal with the issues of each day, and we adjusted them as her disease progressed. We left the bigger fears for the tomorrow that was coming. When her last breath came and went, we focused on the trouble of that day, instead of the fears of how it would affect her brothers. We let that be the next tomorrow that could worry about itself.
As I stand in today, I look both back and forward. I let my experience from the past guide me as I glance into the future. Yes, surgery is frightening. I could get lost in that, just as I could have gotten lost in the fear of losing my girl. But getting lost in fear keeps you from taking care of today. Today matters. Taking care of the troubles of today is the most important thing you have to do today. Worrying about tomorrow will not take care of any troubles, either of today or tomorrow.
Today, I will follow up with the referral for physical therapy that Tommy’s primary care doctor made to evaluate his core strength and hopefully provide treatment that will put his body in the best position to handle a potential surgery. Today, I will spend some time playing with this guy and moving around in ways that may be prohibited for a time in the upcoming tomorrows. Today, I will comfort Tommy and help him deal with his own fears of possible surgery, keeping it simple and easy for him to understand. Today has enough trouble of its own. I’ll keep my mind focused here on today. Tomorrow can worry about itself.
