Wednesday I sat in the exam chair and listened in detail to the procedure they were going to perform on my eyes and all of the benefits and risks of it. I realize that every surgery has risks, especially when you are being put under general anesthesia. But those risks become so much more tangible and unpredictable when there is a preexisting condition to worry about. As I sat there, I tried my best to reassure myself that they were doing their due diligence. I succeeded in my efforts until the health screening portion of the appointment.
The questions were not out of the ordinary. I had to give my entire health history (as I do at every new office) and answer the basic questions they ask everyone. The nurse sat with her back to me at the computer and typed my answers as I recited them. Soon she asked about my stroke; when it was and what caused it. After I explained my condition, she abruptly stopped typing, turned in her chair, looked at me over the brim of her glasses, and said, "You are lucky. You are REALLY lucky." She paused and continued to gaze at me. The emphasis of the word 'really' was so deliberate and the look in her eyes was so serious and full of emotion. It shook me a little.
Do you have any idea how bone chilling that is to hear? I know I am lucky. I am lucky to be alive, let alone at 95% normal functioning. But it never gets any easier to hear it from others, especially from medical professionals that know precisely how I should be because they have seen the other end of the spectrum.
I left the office terrified. Why would I do this surgery when I am fine? I can wear my prism, although not ideal, and carry on just as I always have the last 16 1/2 months. Why would I risk it? I was instantly transported back to the agonizing days after I was diagnosed with my cavernoma malformation. The fear, worry, uncertainty....the list goes on and on.
I thought back to those early days on the ride home. My family and I would have never made it through them without our army; the people in our lives that give us hope and strength when we can't find it within ourselves. The people who open up their hearts and shine their light.
And that is precisely why NLXF Adopt-A-Family is important. It is extremely difficult to navigate through an illness. There are so many emotions to battle and it is a constant struggle to remain hopeful and faithful. I will never be able to cure someone or prevent someone from becoming ill, but I sure as hell can help give them hope. Or as Ryan Downs said to me, "even if it helps make one day of their lives a happier place, it's all worth it." I do have the power to do that. We all do.
At this point we have had two fundraising events for Adopt-A-Family; a week one returners only gauntlet and the black light gauntlet. Both were incredibly successful. I cried happy tears after each of them. I will never be able to adequately explain what it feels like to hear a room full of people scream, "Do Better. Be Better." at the end of a workout or see hundreds of people in neon "Do Better. Be Better." t-shirts. My heart was full. That feeling, that feeling right there, the one that is unexplainable, that is what I want to give people. I am very excited about the future of this program and am even more thrilled to present the monetary donation to the families that have been nominated.
So, to sign off, I leave you with this:
My very first neurosurgeon told me that I was 'spared' in my first post-stroke appointment. I hate that word. I prefer to say that God saved me so I could see the greater purpose for my life. I believe that Adopt-A-Family and the other efforts we are undertaking are my purpose. It's true; life isn't about what you are given, it's what you create, what you conquer and what you aim to achieve.
You can write your own story. Write it with purpose.
