I know I stopped the previous story right after we had stopped looking for a house. Let me provide some quick background information that wasn’t mentioned in the previous post. 

My story is going to pick up in March of 2016. I had been working at an outpatient physical therapy clinic full time since the beginning of 2014 as a technician because I was trying to get into PT school, as well as continuing to work 1-2 days a week at Hobby Lobby to make more money. I graduated from ASU in December of 2013, my husband and I became engaged in March of 2014, and we were married in February of 2015. My husband worked for a corporate company in Scottsdale. My husband’s best friend and his fiancé were getting married in Greece in June 2016, and we had been saving like crazy to go, since my husband was the best man (my part time job at Hobby Lobby was basically paying for us to go).

Ok, March 2016. I was working a closing shift at Hobby Lobby, taking one of my breaks, when my husband called me. I walked outside to take the call, and I remember him telling me he was getting laid off, but he still had to work until the end of April. Actually, his last day was supposed to be his birthday. I told him everything was going to be fine, that we would figure it out. My brain went into planning/strategy mode, and I started calculating everything. I didn’t feel overly stressed at the time…I just felt like this was another obstacle we would overcome.

A few months prior to this I had received a denial letter from the PT schools I was trying to get into, which was crushing. And embarrassing. I was typically a good student, but that first year after coming back from Arkansas blew up my GPA, and I only had myself to blame. So, I decided I still wanted to be in the PT world, and I applied for PTA schools. I had an intro evaluation at the end of March for one of the schools, and an in-person interview for the other school in May. Needless to say, I was a little stressed about my future career and where I would be making that a reality. 

One day in March, I was at work at the physical therapy clinic, sitting by the pool taking a patient through their pool exercises, and my leg started gently shaking. I didn’t think much of it, because I had been having a lot of deep groin pain (which I attributed to an old volleyball injury) at the time. Days went by, and the shaking gradually became more pronounced. It wasn’t happening all the time, and it was only in my right leg. I started to notice an odd “thrumming” in my arms and legs, almost like someone had turned up an electrical current. Finally, one day while I was getting out of the pool after doing some aquatic therapy, my body said, “No More”. My leg started shaking and twitching so back I couldn’t walk or even stand without assistance. My boss called my husband, and a group of my co-workers literally walked me across the street to the hospital Emergency Department. Why didn’t they call an ambulance or put me in a car and drive me over? Well, the shaking would actually be more manageable when I was weight-bearing or standing, when they tried to lay me down, my leg would thrash so much I would fall off whatever I was laying on, or hurt someone else or myself. So…we walked across the street…with me wearing a gait belt and walking with a walker…we looked like the characters of Toy Story when they crossed the street to get to the store.

Once I got to the hospital and my husband and dad met us there, they took me back to the ER. My poor husband was trying to help hold my leg still, but I was shaking so hard it kept pushing him back and away from me. I remember the ER doctor coming in; he looked at me, and asked, “Well why don’t you just stop?”. Ok, thanks doc, like I had any control over it at the time. They ended up giving me several doses of Valium, and after several tests were done, they released me, with no more information than when we got there. The whole episode lasted for 4 hours before I finally passed out from the drugs they had given me. 

Unfortunately, these episodes became almost a daily occurrence, and quickly became much worse, with the shaking involving my whole body and head. It was extremely frightening. The doctors didn’t know what was going on. All the tests were coming back negative. So they loaded me up on medications (basically downers) and we continued to see other doctors to figure out what was going on. Yes, we went to Greece, which was nerve wracking, but I only had one episode there, thankfully. My life started to revolve around what I could and could not do that would trigger an episode. I stopped doing a lot of physical work, like lifting, because it would trigger symptoms. I kept working at the physical therapy clinic. I would go to work, have an episode, go home, and then go right back to work the next day. I was in a daze. I actually don’t remember a lot of what happened most of that year. I was living in a fog…a dull version of myself. And no one knew how to help me. I kept asking God why this was happening. WHAT was happening to me. And all I heard was silence. I felt abandoned. I felt like a failure. My poor husband…we had only been married a year. 

I finally ended up getting an appointment at Mayo. My mom went with me because my dad and my husband had gone on a trip to Vegas (long standing tradition for my dad and his best friend, and then my husband was invited after we got married). At Mayo, the neurologists basically diagnosed me with Non-epileptic Seizures. Which means…well…that somehow, some of the wiring in my body got “crossed”, and was misfiring. They said about 10-15% of cases they saw had a version of this disorder. They didn’t know what caused it, but they said it is often triggered by stressful events. There was no specific cure, but they offered a meeting with a biopsychotherapist, to help with bio-feedback training. I left feeling…empty, and relieved. Relieved that it wasn’t necessarily sometime that would kill me, but empty because I didn’t know what to do next. 

I continued to live with these non-epileptic seizures for 8 years. I can tell you, I have never felt more humiliated, or more humbled, then when I have been shaking and thrashing uncontrollably in the presence of co-workers, who only try their best to keep me safe. 

Slowly, over the years, I learned what the main triggers were, such as lifting heavy objects, being overly tired or stressed, loud noises, flashing lights, or being in pain. I learned to suppress the feelings inside my body, like something was trying to break free from inside my skin, until I could allow myself to be vulnerable. After I became a PTA, I would go work with patients, and then, when I was done, I would quite literally fall apart in the back room. My co-workers started to consciously ignore me when I would start to have an episode. For one, they were very busy with their own patient load and I honestly didn’t want to take away from the patients in our clinic who truly needed help. For another, I feel like they thought the more attention they gave me, the worse I would get. Maybe this was true, maybe it wasn’t, but it was humiliating all the same. I wasn’t having the episodes on purpose, and I was trying my best to control them. By the summer of 2023, I was having maybe one really really bad episode every 4-6 months, and small twitchings and such every few days. I was controlling it well, or at least I thought I was. 

I ended up having an episode at work during the summer. It was in the middle of the morning, and I felt my body starting to get out of my control. I started stumbling when walking, I felt like I was in a brain fog, my fingers kept tapping on their own accord. I made it to the back hallway, out of sight of any patients and by the back door, and I lost it. I flopped to the ground (or should I call it ‘falling with style’), and sat there, trying to remember how good God was and how He had never failed me. One colleague walked in the back door, and checked on me, but other than that, no one came. I truly felt alone. One of my colleagues finally came over and asked if I wanted to go home. I said yes. He asked me if I was OK enough to drive. I didn’t have it in me to say “No”. I was so humiliated. I felt useless. I felt like a burden. I felt unworthy of any help. I felt like I deserved what was happening to me. I felt ashamed. So, against my better judgment, I drove home. I don’t remember driving home. I don’t even remember what I told my husband…only that I was afraid to tell him I’d had another episode and that I was driving home. He would have been furious. Not at me, but at me driving. I remember waking up in bed and my husband was getting home from work. It was earlier than it should have been, so I must have finally told him once I got home. I think it was after this last episode that I truly cried out to God, after 8 years of living with this condition, and asked Him why. I was so angry and upset. I was desolate.

A few months later, our church was having a prayer night. My husband and mom and I decided to go, as we had not had the opportunity to attend one put on by our church yet. For some silly reason, I was actually a little nervous to go, but I didn’t tell my husband. We got there, and I let Matt pick the seats. Of course, he decided to pick seats in the second row from the front (I sooooo dislike sitting near the front in any situation). Prayer night began. The Pastor and his wife led us through various prayers and worship, and it was so powerful. The lyrics of all the songs were like the words my soul was straining to cry out to God. I could feel the presence of the Holy Spirit. It was amazing. And then, they opened the time up for people to approach prayer leaders to ask for prayer. I was sitting there, worshipping, and I felt the nudge to stand up and get in line. Silly me, I tried to barter with God. I thought, “There are people here who need prayer and healing far more than I do. If I hear this verse of this specific song again, I’ll go up there”. And wouldn’t you know it, the worship leader transitioned straight into that verse of that specific song. Isn’t it just like God to have to knock us on the head sometimes. I stood up and got in line. I was the last one, and I was in line to pray with the pastor’s wife. My body started trembling. It’s like it was physically protesting my actions. My husband stood up next to me to support me. The line moved up. I was the next one. I was the last one. Suddenly, the woman I was standing in front of stood up and approached me. She asked if she could pray for me. She told me this isn’t something she normally does, but she felt the push to pray for me. I was so stunned, but I said yes. She laid her hands on me as my husband held my hand…This woman, this total stranger…she said things about me she could not have possibly known. She said things about fear and anxiety, about struggling with something inside. There’s no way she could have ever known those things. I hardly told anyone those things. The only people who knew about them were the people who had seen them, and none of them went to my church. While she prayed for me, I felt something inside me break free. I felt light, and airy, like a heavy burden had been lifted. I felt this overwhelming joy pour into my body and I started laughing. I knew, in that moment, I was healed and I was free. There was no doubt in my mind. I knew I would never have an episode again. I knew I wouldn’t feel the shame and guilt and humiliation associated with the episodes again. I was free. I knew it and my husband knew it. On the way home that night, I couldn’t stop smiling. The next day, I couldn’t stop smiling. I had so much joy. Over the next several months, I didn’t say anything to anyone. Co-workers who make comments about me not being able to do something, and I wouldn’t say anything. But recently, I’ve felt the push to share my story.

Yes, it sounds like I’m talking all about myself, and yes, that’s true I am. But I’m not doing it to get noticed, or to get likes, or to get insta-famous. I’m doing it as a testimony to God’s goodness. To His faithfulness. To His love. Yes, we all know God could have made it go away whenever He chose, or not. But He waited until I was finally at my lowest. Until I finally fell to my knees, calling out to God, ugly crying in the middle of my bedroom, alone. This is my testimony. My testimony that even those of us who have known God and walked with His most of our lives can be taught a thing or two. He taught me that He is good, all the time, in every situation and every circumstance. Even when you feel alone, God is with you. Even when you think He isn’t listening, He is. And He answers prayers in His time, not ours. And yes, sometimes the answer to our prayers is “No”. We may not understand why, we may not have the answers in this life. But I can promise you, He is Always Good, and He is Always Faithful. 

It’s been well over a year since that prayer night in September. I have not experienced a single symptom since that night. 

“May the Lord bless you and keep you. May His face shine upon. May He turn his countenance toward you, and may He give you peace.” Numbers 6:24-26