Chewing the Fat on Skinny: Limitless Part III

It’s a beautiful evening at the Babe Ruth field, a crisp, clear night. I sit in the shadows, bundled up in layers. What some take for granted, I cherish; the ability to watch my son play baseball. To most, the weather is perfect. But me, I watch the temperature slowly drop as the sun sets. Once the temperature hits the low 60’s I will need to move inside.

Thanks to my trigmenal/atypical facial neuralgia, this is my normal. If I stay outside for too long in the cold, I’m a goner. The cold is my biggest pain trigger and it can result in many different types of pain. The right hand side of my face can turn to pins and needles and feel like I just had a bunch of Novocain shots. I can have shooting pains in my right eye or in teeth. I might get tapping pains on the top of my head, like someone is repeatedly poking me. Or the very worst- excruciating pain, like my head is being squeezed in a vice, or lightning bolt type pains that run down the back of my neck. The severe pains can put me down and out for a day or two, even with medication.

So I pack up my stuff and head for my car. I try my best to ignore the seemingly judgmental stares from the other parents as I leave mid-game. Some families that I’m close to know why I have to leave and the rest…I’m guessing they just speculate as to why I can only make a handful of the games.

I pull around to the other side of the baseball field to get the best vantage point I can to watch the rest of the game from my car. The view is marginal at best.

For a brief moment I feel sad and angry that I’m different. That I can’t be sitting in the stands with the other parents, seeing the plays up close, rooting on my boy. It hurts to be apart from the crowd. I wonder if my son understands? Most times I don’t understand this illness myself.

I breathe and I release the pain…because this is my life.

I settle into my car, keeping it running for a while to warm things up; keeping the window rolled down so I can hear the announcer.

I relax, accepting the moment for what it is. Because I can only see a portion of the field, I let my ears do the talking. I listen for the crack of the ball against the bat. I hear the boys teasing laughter and camaraderie. The coach’s instructions loom in the air. I listen for the thud of the ball as it’s cradled by the catcher- thunk! I hear the parents shouting encouragement as the kids round the bases during a fantastic play.

I breathe and I adjust my point of view…because this is my life.

As I’m sitting there, I think about the book I’m reading by Kathy Gilbert Taylor, With Great Mercy. She too suffered from trigeminal neuralgia and writes about the testing and growth of her faith during her journey. What really stood out to me from her message is the need for us to be able experience joy in between pain. When those joyful moments present themselves, both big and small, we need to reach out and grab them, and clutch them tight to our hearts. These moments are gifts from God. They are meant to sustain us during times of pain. We just need to be still and patient enough to find them.

As the game winds down, so does my anger, it’s gone. I look up and am reminded of the beauty that surrounds me. I watch the wind move fluidly and silently across the American flag at the ball field. What a glorious and beautiful sight. I let God’s grace move fluidly and silently over me.