In-Between

A couple of years ago I got the word ‘hope’ tattooed on my wrist. I remember thinking to myself: “what happens when life is unbearable? When hope feels contradictory? What if I want to scratch the permeant ink off my skin?” Little did I know that just a year after getting it done, I would find myself sitting down with an infertility doctor, but during that journey I found comfort in the four letter word. Now here I sit, staring at those same four, permanent letters, sometimes feeling mocked by the utter hopelessness surrounding our situation and crumbled dreams. I find myself questioning the actuality and depth of hope. I’m finding out all that it doesn’t mean. Hope doesn’t mean healing, health, or harmony … it can’t be achieved, felt or encompassed. In the midst of my darkest hour, I hear the faint whisper in my spirit to push just a little bit further. I am finding that it isn’t a feeling to chase after, but a choice to make. I am tired of choices. I want answers … I want my oasis in the desert heat. I keep throwing my hands up in dismay, unable to utter prayers … but maybe that’s right where I am supposed to be. Hope doesn’t take the pain away, but I am finding it to fill in the void between expectations and reality. A drink of water in a desert of desolation and despair. What if hope doesn’t mean an earthly answer, but rather, an eternal mindset? Life is full of in-betweens, where opposites coexist … beauty and grief … joy and pain. I am finding hope to be the same. A dimensional bridge between the now and to come.

If Brock could see himself today he would be mortified. He isn’t living, yet he is alive. Life is frustrating and confusing as his mind constantly plays tricks on him and he is unable to differentiate fact from fiction. His therapists have helped me set up countless tools or cues to help when he is confused, but the problem is that he doesn’t think he is confused … you can’t help someone who doesn’t believe they need help. He is aware that there is an issue, but unaware of what that issue is. A smile is a rare occurrence. I have heard brain injuries being compared to an iceberg; few people see the whole picture. Our house is his safe place to unleash his frustration. He’s able to put on a front when out in public; but as soon as the car door shuts behind him when we leave, the facade fades away. He would never physically hurt us, he does not have a violent bone in his body … it is, however, emotionally taxing as a family to try and sustain someone who is ill-tempered. This is not Brock, and I find myself grieving the loss of my husband, even though he’s still alive … it feels wrong.

Updates are increasingly hard to type, because it seems like everything I’m told/hopeful about shatters into pieces before my eyes. Doors open just to slam shut again, and a little voice in my head uses the disappointment as ammunition to pack up and run away. This week’s goal is to board a plane for California on Thursday evening (February 24th) … but sadly it’s not that easy. Blood work last week revealed that Brock's sodium levels are slowly starting to elevate, putting him in danger of hospitalization again. When Thursday comes, will I be sitting on a plane or in a hospital? Plane tickets are purchased, hotel room is booked, and, as a safety precaution, refund insurance. California feels like my last hope for Brock’s memory, short of the Lord preforming a miracle.

I had another zoom call with the doctor in Australia on Thursday (February 17) about next steps. There is a doctor in California who he is currently helping establish this type of TMS treatment with, and he is willing to work with us. If the Australian clinic is a 10/10, best of the best, I was informed California would be a 7/10 because they are newbies. I hung up the zoom call and called the clinic in California … they asked if we can be on a plane by Thursday the 24th to start the treatment process on Friday the 25th. I am excited and terrified. I am tired of getting my hopes up just to have them knocked down. If this treatment is a flop, we have a short list of options.

I don’t want to write through my current pain. I want to jump to my final entry and see how it ends. I want to process the pain and see my victory before I share it. But that isn’t hope. Hope is built in the middle.

Prayer and Praise: Brocks heart rate is back into a normal zone and there are no heart issues!

Please pray for Brock’s sodium levels; this Wednesday (February 23rd) he will have lab work done to make sure his sodium levels are stable enough to fly. He is also experiencing a lot of pain in his tailbone, and has been since his surgery. Please continue to pray for healing for Brock and strength for the kids and I as we continue to live in the in-between.