As the title says, what follows was my original post for Cherished Blog Fest 2016. I will be posting it below. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I did writing it. It is much shorter than what I am use to writing, but I like the editing I had to do to keep it at such a length. . . Enjoy.
One of my most cherished objects is my heart. It is amazing how it can continue to beat after all it has been through. I know everything I’ve gone through has turned me into the person I am now, but at times, I just want to stop thinking of the future me.
Libby, that’s what I call my heart, has struggled with love since I was a child. In school, I wasn’t the skinniest so I always felt huge. Later I would learn I wasn’t that big, but the wounds were already there. Wounds turn into scars.
Through the tortures of school, adolescence, and eventually adulthood, Libby has continued to beat. Yes, there have been long nights of crying, when that one boy, then that guy, and finally the man didn’t love me as I loved them. With each tear that fell, with each breath that was taken, with each new dawn, Libby continued to beat.
There wasn’t always sadness, there have been joys. The most joyous were the births of my daughter and a son. Each time it felt as if Libby would burst out and wrap herself around those two wonderful beings. Each smile, laugh, look, and touch made Libby grow and grow.
Today Libby still grows when she sees those darlings sleeping. Yes sleeping, because when awake, they are fighting; fighting with each other, with me, or just with themselves. I know they love each other and me, because they show me in their own way. This is when Libby feels like everything is going to be just fine.
Libby had a hard time when her son was just four years old. He was diagnosed with a condition. A condition I knew nothing about. He had a MRI just before Christmas. The doctor said he would call us but he didn’t. The offices were closed over the holidays and it was the worse Christmas Libby has ever had to endure. EVER. Not knowing what was causing a vibrant, young boy to not want to play outside, but instead lie on the couch and not move. He would cry his head hurt so much. I cried for him. I cried with him. I cried at night when everyone else was asleep. I prayed for an answer.
The call to go into the doctor’s office came in a couple of days after Christmas. It wasn’t even the doctor who spoke to us; it was his nurse practitioner; and the diagnoses Arnold Chiari Malformation Type 2.
What was that?
Libby cracked. Libby bled. Libby cried. Libby screamed!
I on the other hand, shed a tear and was trying to be calm for my son.
Libby did not break. Libby still beats. Libby lives.
My son is doing wonderful. Turned out he didn’t have Type 2, but Type 1, it’s a bit of a difference. Chiari, ACM, whatever you call it, is worth looking into. My son lives with it every day, but he is still here, smiling, laughing.