Trigger...

Once again, ashamed and embarrassed, I bawled my way through another visit with the good Dr. S. Each time I see this man, I PROMISE myself it will be different. I give myself pep talks. I pray. I breathe deeply. There is something about visiting this man that “triggers” a grief buried…waaaay down deep.

I see Dr. S. a few times a year. He treats my recurring trigger finger. (I should be thrilled with how easily I am getting off…diabetes for over 30 years and my only complication is trigger finger.) Yes, TRIGGER finger…perfect name. But first, the history...

Before finding the sweet, godly Dr. S who explained "how God designed my hand,” I visited a masochist. Note, I have been around needles for over 30 years...with few tears and virtually no anxiety. Enter Dr. I'm-Too-Busy. You see, the way you treat trigger finger initially is with cortisone shots. Somewhat painful…but when the area is numbed prior to the injection, no BIG deal. My first "hand doctor" turned out to be Dr. I'm-Too-Busy. Our encounter scarred me. His office was packed...my appointment was an hour behind schedule...so the man skipped the numbing portion of the appointment (to shave off five whole minutes). I didn’t see it coming....I thought he was giving me the numbing shot…NO. He gave the real deal sans ANYTHING to take off the edge. He literally brought me to my knees. I walked away feeling completely violated...and just the tiniest bit afraid of needles.

Blessedly, I found Dr. S. He is so gentle and kind...visiting him used to cause me little anxiety. And then Chuck died. Somehow the two events are intertwined. I can no longer bear to get injected...not without a major axiety attack. I’ve not been able to go to Dr. S without a complete breakdown. Yesterday's visit left me in tears...POST appointment...meaning THERE WAS NO PAIN...the appointment was done...finito...no need for tears. TWO hours I cried. I find that hilarious...and odd...come on! It's not that big a deal. I think it has something to do with 1) being nervous about a medical situation; 2) knowing that I am at the mercy of someone else’s gentleness or lack thereof ; 3) being scared and NOT having Chuck to comfort me; 4) thinking that there's no way Jesus is gonna show up to comfort me for such a RIDICULOUSLY simple procedure; 5) realizing how TINY this situation is compared to the ones Chuck faced DAILY (for well over a year). I am just undone…humiliated, embarrassed, scared, alone…ashamed of my weakness...which leads me right to God's lap.

God brings me home during these breakdowns. These little episodes are reminders...reminders to cry...reminders to run to God...reminders to give my pain and my grief to Him. Yes, He has brought merciful healing, but there is buried pain...awaiting a safe time to come up...pain that I can pretend does not exist...that I can ignore for months at a time...until God brings them forth...to remind me that "time does NOT heal all wounds...God does." There are still lingering doubts and fears that God wants me to offer him...and He patiently waits until I'm ready. He gives me these ridiculous experiences (that make me laugh right through my tears) and whispers, "Yes...I know, Jan. I know how you feel about Chuck's time in the hospital. I know. I know you doubt my goodness...my mercy. And when you're ready, I'll show you that I LOVED HIM MORE THAN YOU DID. Yes, I did. But before you can really know that, you've got to walk through all this doubt and sorrow. You have got to share these doubts...take them out, dust them off, and present them to me. So, each time you feel vulnerable and afraid, I am giving you the chance to remember your untapped pain. And each time you tap in...give it to me. We'll reach the bottom. And I will give you beauty for ashes. I promise."