My gut ached with knots. I picked up my wide leg jeans to keep them from getting soaked in the slushy parking lot. What in the world are we doing with all these clothing trends? We are literally wearing skirts on each leg.
I inhaled deeply and went in. The receptionist smiled, and after a short conversation, we both realized I was in the wrong place. “Go to suite A. It’s right across the hall.” I held my breath…does anyone else do that when they are stressed? I don’t even realize I’m doing it. Opening the door, I put on a tentative smile.
The view hit me like a brick wall, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Recliner chairs. Sick people sitting in them. IV’s hanging on stands next to chairs. People scrolling on their phone completely oblivious to the freight train that had plowed into my chest and dumped a myriad of ugly thoughts in my mind.
Suddenly I was there, five years ago in the chair with an IV bag hanging from a stand and the line weaving around and ending in my arm. All those therapies…and no answers. And with each visit callouses formed inside my veins. Did you know that could happen? The needle can’t penetrate a calloused vein.
I caught my breath.
I stood waiting for the receptionist. Thoughts racing. What if this doesn’t work? Why would the outcome be different than it’s been all along? I checked myself mentally, I could feel the tightness in my throat. The tears were gathering behind my eyes. More than anything, I wanted to run. Forget it. Make it all disappear.
I had to skip my supplements that morning. This blood draw had to be fast, otherwise my body would crash. I’d end up sick. In pain. Let’s get this done. I held my breath to keep the tears at bay, and smiled my best fake smile at the receptionist, “Hey, how are you doing?” She asked. “Oh, I’m good,” I told her. Did she really want to know how I was? Probably not. She waved her hand toward the dreaded recliner chairs, “You can choose a seat and someone will be with you soon.”
I played it cool, still trying to keep back my tears.
Sat down. Got my phone and scrolled Instagram, “God.” It was really all I could think. There was no fancy prayer. No answer from Heaven. But in a blip, I noticed a small square on Instagram. It had a quote. I tapped on it to bring into full view.
“Not every thought is truth-but every thought is a doorway. Choose carefully which ones you walk through.” –Joshua Eze
And right there in that recliner seat surrounded by all the memories of so much pain, I did just that. I walked away. Shut the door. I decided not to think about it. Not to walk through it. And whoa. My heart rate calmed. The tears behind my eyes dried up, and the tightness in my chest melted away. It really is crazy how our thoughts can change our bodies.
God was good to answer to me-but He’s good even when He doesn’t.
So I sat. I waited. It took four pokes. I caught my breath a few times as they moved the needle under my skin searching for the vein. It took over an hour for them to collect enough blood for all the tests. Those calloused veins tell a story. But those blood techs did it, and I was grateful.
And the rest of the day, into the night, and the next day my body and my mind recovered slowly. The pain came. And it will probably be a few days until I feel better.
I guess I share all that to remind myself- and maybe you, that we don’t have to open that door and walk through it. We don’t have live in those thoughts.
Shut the door. And walk away.
Or better yet, open a better door.
