Grab God's Hand and Keep Walking

A recent medical crisis led Cassidy Van Slyke Blenke to ponder our need to acknowledge our own powerlessness when faced with emergencies.

“I reviewed your scan, and it looks like your appendix is inflamed, so I am going to diagnose you with appendicitis,” stated the ER doctor, matter of fact, with a hint of sympathy. I noticed his eyes connecting with mine like he was trying to gauge my reaction, bracing for impact. No significant response here, just another exhausted mother of four littles trying to keep the racing train on the ever-swerving track.

After inquiring if I had recently “felt sick,” I explained to him (as I’ve had to do to countless other providers) that my baseline as a full-time caregiver to adventurous little children is much different than, say, a regular patient who isn’t always smacked in the face with secondary illnesses, colds, coughs, and mysterious rashes brought on by their kids and their kids’ fellow schoolmates. He laughed at my response and continued with the medical questions.

This was not in my plan for the evening, let alone the start of the new year. Standing on the other side of this experience, I now realize how I once again had to brace myself and directly confront the situation. However, I was still fearful and worried about my kids at home, wondering who would take them to school and pack their lunches. And then there was the physical pain that was tormenting my lower right side, pulling me out of my quickening worry spiral. The type of such great physical pain that is so fierce the pain numbs itself out as your brain recognizes when your body crosses its discomfort threshold.

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While I continued my middle-of-the-night visit to this particular emergency room, I stared at the corner where, just over a year and a half ago, I sat embracing my husband, holding onto him while his body was slowly becoming paralyzed. We had no idea what was happening and were left in a similar scary waiting period. It turned out that he was diagnosed with Guillain-Barre syndrome, a rare neurological autoimmune disorder that affects the nerves. God willing, he has since recovered.

Five months before his experience, I was a few floors up in the same hospital, finally concluding eighty-plus days of bed rest, nursing my newborn while receiving treatment for preeclampsia with magnesium through IV.

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Despite being at an utter loss in the moment, I accepted that there was nothing I could do but pray, gaze upward, ask for God’s hand, and just be. #CatholicMom

During each of these epically scary moments for me and my family, I focused on the wooden crosses that lined the walls of the hospital. What else can you do when thrown directly into these chaotic moments of utter powerlessness? I do recognize that none of these medical emergencies turned out to be terminal diagnoses, but yes, they were still very frightening periods where I walked directly through fire head-on. As a woman and faithful mama, I must acknowledge the fear, and despite being at an utter loss in the moment, I accepted that there was nothing I could do but pray, gaze upward, ask for God’s hand, and just be.

“Can any of you by worrying add a moment to your life-span? If even the smallest things are beyond your control, why are you anxious about the rest?” (Luke 12:25-26)

I’m not sure why the past few years have been so turbulent, other than I don’t always think God honestly knows either. But I know one thing: God didn’t bring us this far into life to drop us suddenly. So let’s grab a hold of His guiding hand and the hands of our other fellow Mama warriors and pray, “I have the strength for everything through him who empowers me” (Philippians 4:13) and keep walking right on through.

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