Five people in my family are at risk of having Huntington's disease. Five battles to be fought. Five battles to lose or win?
One of those battles is in full swing as I type. It is going to be a long, hard fought battle, that to an outsider may seem to have little hope. Sometimes I too see little hope. What hope is there in pain? What hope is there in suffering? What hope is there in watching someone you love go through that? What hope is there in knowing it's only going to get harder?
I am reminded of the Old Testament character Job. What he went through would make most people lose hope pretty quickly. Sometimes I feel a bit like Job and usually that comes with a sense of failure. I often feel like I am failing to hold on to hope. Job knew where his hope and strength came from. But do I?
A second of the five battles was fought this year. One that gave me back my hope.
I had convinced myself that all four of us girls were going to be HD positive. I had let hope die even though logically it was just as likely for us to be negative. The week leading up to the day one of my sister's got her results back was pretty stressful. I was busy with assignments and work and found out I needed a ridiculous amount of fillings (which reminds me I still have to get the rest of those oops). The night before she found out I sat on my bed with my other sister on the other end of the phone and prayed.
Tears well up in me now as I write about this but I don't think I can put into words how overwhelming my emotions were that week.
I remember falling asleep begging God that she did not have this disease. I lay awake begging, I am pretty sure I dreamed begging, and I definitely woke up begging.
Getting the results down in Gore was a bit of a drama in itself but she finally got them. They were negative.
It was so overwhelming the emotions that swept over me at that point. All the stress of the week just poured out in a mountain of tears ( I am 100% positive I cried more than anyone else and more than if it had been a positive result). The hardest thing was not seeing anybody else for the whole day. I needed someone to be there and no one was. I decided the best thing was to get out of the house so I went up the hill with the intention of just walking the Harry Ell track. I was so full of emotion and stress that I needed to let out that I just kept walking long after the Harry Ell track ended. I found this rock that looked out over Lyttelton Harbour and in a mixture of laughing, crying, shouting and just sitting in silence I was able to let everything go and let God take it all. I couldn't believe it, at least one of us does NOT have this disease.
By the time I was lying in the dentist chair a few hours later my stress levels had decreased and my headache was virtually gone.
It was incredible and amazing to know that one of my sisters definitely did not have HD. It reignited hope in me that it was 50/50 not a 100% chance of us all having it. It reignited hope that I do not have it too. It reignited my desire to get tested too. Realising there is a real HOPE that we don't have it was the encouragement and boost that I needed.
Endless days without hope cannot be called living. With God as the victor I have a new strength and resolve to live my life well. To be faithful and loving, humble and caring, selfless and strong. An impossible task but I'll give it my best shot.
“A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo's heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second. He trembled. And then quite suddenly in another flash, as if lifted by a new strength and resolve, he leaped.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
One of those battles is in full swing as I type. It is going to be a long, hard fought battle, that to an outsider may seem to have little hope. Sometimes I too see little hope. What hope is there in pain? What hope is there in suffering? What hope is there in watching someone you love go through that? What hope is there in knowing it's only going to get harder?
I am reminded of the Old Testament character Job. What he went through would make most people lose hope pretty quickly. Sometimes I feel a bit like Job and usually that comes with a sense of failure. I often feel like I am failing to hold on to hope. Job knew where his hope and strength came from. But do I?
A second of the five battles was fought this year. One that gave me back my hope.
I had convinced myself that all four of us girls were going to be HD positive. I had let hope die even though logically it was just as likely for us to be negative. The week leading up to the day one of my sister's got her results back was pretty stressful. I was busy with assignments and work and found out I needed a ridiculous amount of fillings (which reminds me I still have to get the rest of those oops). The night before she found out I sat on my bed with my other sister on the other end of the phone and prayed.
Tears well up in me now as I write about this but I don't think I can put into words how overwhelming my emotions were that week.
I remember falling asleep begging God that she did not have this disease. I lay awake begging, I am pretty sure I dreamed begging, and I definitely woke up begging.
Getting the results down in Gore was a bit of a drama in itself but she finally got them. They were negative.
It was so overwhelming the emotions that swept over me at that point. All the stress of the week just poured out in a mountain of tears ( I am 100% positive I cried more than anyone else and more than if it had been a positive result). The hardest thing was not seeing anybody else for the whole day. I needed someone to be there and no one was. I decided the best thing was to get out of the house so I went up the hill with the intention of just walking the Harry Ell track. I was so full of emotion and stress that I needed to let out that I just kept walking long after the Harry Ell track ended. I found this rock that looked out over Lyttelton Harbour and in a mixture of laughing, crying, shouting and just sitting in silence I was able to let everything go and let God take it all. I couldn't believe it, at least one of us does NOT have this disease.
By the time I was lying in the dentist chair a few hours later my stress levels had decreased and my headache was virtually gone.
It was incredible and amazing to know that one of my sisters definitely did not have HD. It reignited hope in me that it was 50/50 not a 100% chance of us all having it. It reignited hope that I do not have it too. It reignited my desire to get tested too. Realising there is a real HOPE that we don't have it was the encouragement and boost that I needed.
Endless days without hope cannot be called living. With God as the victor I have a new strength and resolve to live my life well. To be faithful and loving, humble and caring, selfless and strong. An impossible task but I'll give it my best shot.
“A sudden understanding, a pity mixed with horror, welled up in Bilbo's heart: a glimpse of endless unmarked days without light or hope of betterment, hard stone, cold fish, sneaking and whispering. All these thoughts passed in a flash of a second. He trembled. And then quite suddenly in another flash, as if lifted by a new strength and resolve, he leaped.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit