This I Know Is True
The clanging of the MRI machines lulls me to sleep as I await my fate. It wouldn’t be the first MRI. It wouldn’t be the last. Rather it is an intermission on a life that has somewhat derailed or maybe careened off the tracks some years before. I have been treading water, sometimes literally, for years since my separation. A mom to three young sons- ages 8, 9, 11, I keep us afloat. I am the tie that binds, and yet, here I am encapsulated- waiting. Helpless. Hopeful. Honest.
When you wake up in the morning and you can’t move like you did the day before, it is a clear sign the universe is telling you to take notice. When your day begins at 5:00am with a stack of papers and ends at 11:00pm with endless scrolling on Facebook, you know something has to give. For the last three years, I have been that waiter balancing plate upon plate. I have insulated my young sons from the horrors of addiction. I have started a new life for us. I have painted our walls. I have tied shoes, and learned to throw a spiral. I have explained the birds and the bees, climbed mountains and fallen more times than I can count. I have quelled fears- theirs, but, mostly my own. I have opened my heart, and I have had it broken. Mostly, I have kept moving and moving and moving- because when you sit, it resonates. When you stop- you feel.
Now, life is forcing me to sit. Ironically, it is not allowing me to feel as the lesion brings numbness to my entire left quadrant. It brings uncertainty , and yet it also brings possibility. It brings an army of love.
The drawer slowly opens and I slide out like the donuts on the Krispy Creme conveyor belt. The quiet, awkward transport man rolls me back to my hospital room with mindless banter about cookies and milk. I am so exhausted, I climb into bed, put on my ear phones. I wait. I have not cried one time. I am done crying.
Morning comes and two young doctors that look like they could be my students come into my room, “You have no new lesions. Your lesion is at T10, and it is causing you all the trouble,” the neurologists explain. “It is right below your belly button.”
I know this place. It is the Manapura Chakra- essential to our vital organs. Mine is damaged. I need to heal they explain. MS is a tricky disease. One day you will be fine, the next not so much. They recommend I take a break and heal fully; they are telling me to stop.
So, I am being forced into wellness, and one can only hope forced into wholeness. It is time to reflect, time to make plans, time to move forward. Mostly it is time to just be. The news was not planned. It was not expected, but it is here and it is real. One thing I have learned is that we cannot control the past, and we certainly cannot predict the future. There is only one thing that is real is now, and no matter how much we try to control- in the end, we can really only adapt.
They argue that Manapura is directly linked to your sense of self. This I know is true.