I woke up about 5 hours after falling asleep and was wired; I moved to a new bed with a giant blanket and slept on my side as I covered my face and tried to avoid thinking about the day ahead of me.
A few hours later I woke up to my mom calling down the stairs, wondering where I was.
"It's ten to ten!" She said, "Elise has an appointment in ten minutes, way out in Meridian!"
I rolled over and hopped up, rubbing my eyes and frantically patting down my hair where it was sticking out like a fuzzy tree on the left side of my head. Five minutes later I was out the door, trying to drive carefully in the fresh snow, but praying for help to not arrive too late to my appointment.
Only 7 minutes late, I slid into my favorite comfy couch and started pouring out my problems to my favorite friend who lets me yell when I want to and doesn't question the emotions I'm still working through from the incidents of the past year.
I sped out of his office an hour later, and drove way out into Eagle. It was a quiet drive. This was more than a routine check up; this was the appointment where they would discuss the results of my MRI with me. I reflected as I went upon how far I had come since making this same drive so many times over the summer, in varying states of physical and emotional health. I thought about the many who had been praying for me; it is a humbling experience to have people pray for you. It is beautiful to see how powerfully the Lord responds to the prayers of the righteous and faithful.
I pulled into that familiar parking spot and bowed my head. I prayed for strength. I was going in alone, but with my eternal Father at my side.
I entered the doctor's office, and took some forms from the smiling receptionist who wore a cross around her neck. I was early, for once in my life. That, in and of itself, was a miracle.
After about 20 minutes of paperwork, and then some personal scripture study off of my phone, I was called back. They took my weight and blood pressure (which has come back up, thank goodness- it got really low again last week) and told me the doctor would be with me shortly.
I sat.
The white walls of this office brought back memories; I thought of my past and my future. A young girl had once sat in these chairs, but she was now a woman with a sure knowledge of who she was and what the more important parts of life were. I could not be distracted from the fact that I was tense. I had waited 12 days for those results. I could wait a few more minutes, it was only slightly excruciating.
50 minutes later, there was a knock. To my disappointment, the nurse again entered the room. The doctor was still behind, would I mind if another member of the practice came in and reviewed the results with me?
That was a good sign, right? If the results were devastating, the doctor would be sure to speak with me herself, right? And they wouldn't have let me wait this long, right? 12 days, and an hour later than they scheduled my appointment?
I quietly consented, and a smiling woman not much older than myself entered the room. She flipped open her laptop, greeted me, and I slowly became aware of how near the edge of my seat I was as I seemingly bore holes into her face with my eyes and awaited her next words.
"Elise. The doctors who took the images reported that the cyst on your pituitary gland has completely resolved itself. In fact, by the end of this report, they state that there are no more abnormalities, and that they don't feel there is anything you need to be concerned about regarding your brain any longer."
The thirty pound weight that had been pressing against my lungs inside of my chest for several weeks evaporated. My mouth hung open, and I managed only a quiet, "Wow. Thank you so much. Thank you. Thank you so much." I had no other words. She congratulated me, then prayed with me, I gave some blood, and I left the office. No return appointments necessary; no more tests. No more testing.
The tests were over. The test was over.
I turned on our fancy car that I feel too ghetto to drive with the small push of a button, and tried to see through the tears that sprang to my eyes as I backed out of that cramped stall in the bright sunlight of a now slushy early afternoon. The tears gave way to sobs that tore from my mouth as I began to speak to God aloud.
"Thank... you... Thank... you.. Father..."
My body seemed to have let go of something that had been deeply stressful; as I continued to let out the emotion, the words came spilling from my heart:
"That was hard, Father... That was so hard. That was long for me, Father. That was so long. It was so difficult. It's over, now, Father."
It's over.
God and I had a nice long chat for the rest of the drive home. I continued to cry, not caring what other drivers thought of me, as I communicated with Him.
I am a witness that God performs miracles. My highest hopes were for a cyst that had not changed; for future MRI's that monitored it's unchanged state.
My reality is a brain without a cyst. My reality is a completely healthy brain, a brain that is back to normal. No more abnormalities. No more testing.
My body has been rather weak the rest of the day. I know that our physical bodies are intricately connected with our spirits. My spirit finally got to rest, and my body has followed suit. I am in bed, and I will be asleep shortly.
I testify that God performs miracles. I testify that He walks us through the trials we experience. I testify that He catches us when we get through the trial, weak from the energy it has taken to stay strong throughout it. I testify that God weeps with us and is proud of us when we conquer something we never thought we could do.
God is real. He is a reality. He will never leave us alone. And even if something is hard, He will listen as we tell Him that it's hard. He will listen, He will let us cry. And then He will comfort us as individually and intimately as you can imagine.
And you know what He will whisper when we cry to Him in gratitude for everything He has given us, and everything He has made us through the trial? He will whisper:
And once we have stopped crying, we will feel echoing in our hearts the familiar scripture that can be so hard to remember when our walls are crashing down around us:
Tonight, my soul is still.
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