The Systems That Fail Us - Order Pt.1
A day in the life, anxiety, and a new take on Psalm 23
The goals of the day were as follows: get gas, meet a friend for coffee, and go to the doctor.
Then my system for successfully reaching those goals failed: the babysitter cancelled.
That’s fine, I thought. Kai will just have to come with me to my rheumatology appointment. We will just meet for coffee someplace outdoors, where my toddler can run around.
I pulled on a like-new pair of yoga pants a friend gave me, stuffed my new earbuds in the pocket, and ran out the door. As I sat behind the wheel, I realized the leggings weren’t in as good of condition as they looked—there was a hole in the pocket and one of the earbuds had fallen through it. After fruitlessly searching for five minutes, I gave up, wanting to make sure I had plenty of time to get gas before meeting my friend.
The Lord is my shepherd;
I have all that I need.
Psalms 23:1 (NLT)
Mitigation
Driving away, I wondered if I needed a new plan to always check for holes in my clothing. Was that practical or just getting carried away?
I lack the perspective to judge whether these little systems are healthy or out of control as they try to control. I shut down when my mental load racks up and then topples over like Jenga blocks. And so I walk a fine line as I create little rules and systems to “be better,” and “respect others.” But if I’m honest, which I try to be here, I know these are just methods to mitigate my anxiety. Without them, reality is just too scary; too uncontrollable.
As soon as I pulled out, I encountered road work. Rerouting, I was blocked yet again by more construction. Two traffic detours later, I gave up on refilling my tank and decided to just make it to my meeting on time. I’ll get gas afterwards, I decided.
I had been running fifteen minutes early—a major accomplishment for me—and yet was still barely on-time. I debated how much extra time I should plan for in the future to get ahead of unforeseen traffic uncertainties. Apparently, I had estimated poorly.
He lets me rest in green meadows;
he leads me beside peaceful streams.
Psalms 23:2 (NLT)
The best laid plans…
As I unloaded my son with his sippy-cup, snacks, bottle, and the most engaging of his toys, something seemed fishy. Usually my friend would warn me if she was running late. Just in case, I scrolled up our text feed to make sure I was at the right spot.
I wasn’t. The coffee place had opened a new shop I was unfamiliar with. I was at the wrong location, at least fifteen minutes away. And I was also out of gas.
Two systems failed! The echos of my husband’s practical advice whispered into my ear. This is why I always double-check the location, I scolded myself. This is why I am supposed to refill my tank before it is a quarter empty! Now I was going to be exceptionally late, missing out on rare cherished time with my dear friend.
He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths,
bringing honor to his name.
Psalms 23:3a (NLT)
To make matters worse, I overestimated. I never get close enough to the pump when my tank is on the far side of the car at those awkward, but significantly cheaper, pumps at Costco. But this time I was prepared, intentionally scooting in deep. This was when the little “pole meets bumper” accident happened. Rhonda the Honda will never forgive me.
An unfriendly takeover
There is a certain feeling I get when things go wrong. Maybe you feel it too.
Everything seems to zoom quickly and move in slow motion at the same time. I become an observer in a dream. Nothing is real, but the problem is that it is all too real. My heart pounds. My chest grips. My blood is pumping dread and it seems I shouldn’t be able to function at all.
My body moves on autopilot. Thankfully, it usually does the next best thing. It tries to stay the course and keep things responsible—practical even. My mouth moves without my knowledge, spouting either indifference or syrupy, overtly optimistic reframes.
However, my mind is a different beast altogether. My thoughts trickle like the dried up stream in Sycamore Canyon. Either that, or they’re rushing flash-floods, swarming the crinkly flat spaces, giving them no second-chances. There is no room for air. My lungs forget to inhale, and my body remembers it forgot to bring my mind along.
Most of the time, anxiety doesn’t show up in all of these forms at once. But sometimes she does. It is why that picture of a NICU baby showing up in the feed can feel dangerous. It is why I might go into a tailspin after walking into a room that happens to have a similar layout to a hospital room in the acute woman’s ward—or maybe that particular room was in a post-op ward? It is why waking up with a sore throat for the three-hundredth time in the last couple years makes me think I might as well just check myself back in.
Sometimes we experience anxiety as an all-consuming force. Sometimes the only aspect of control we have is whether we let it win.
But there is nothing
that trauma has severed
that God is not presently
holding together.
-K.J. Ramsey
Near misses
Earlier that same week, I almost got into a major accident. The Jeep next to me was also going 65 mph on that part of highway 163 that feels like a race track. Then, as we rounded the bend, there was a sedan sitting perpendicularly in the middle of the Jeep’s lane. There was no way he could avoid t-boning straight into it, which sent the sedan soaring into my lane. I swerved into the lane besides me, missing the rocketing sedan by what appeared to be mere inches. Pumping with adrenaline, I carried on, hyper-alert, but barely reducing my speed.
Oh God, did that just happen?! I didn’t even glance behind me as I plowed forward. Kai was already crying. Only later did I feel slightly guilty that I didn’t return to the scene, call 911, or give the a police statement. I ran. I had to get us safely home.
This feels like a metaphor for a year of our lives. A moment-by-moment, day-by-day, month-by-month continual swerve away from death.
Death never caught us—not then, or now. I didn’t even get hit by those cars. But I did bump into a pole at the Costco gas station pump while pulling in too close.
Even when I walk
through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff
protect and comfort me.
Psalms 23:4 (NLT)
System fail: Why I try not to bring Baby to the doctor's
Although the time with my friend was sadly cut short, I was pleased that I wasn’t running more than five minutes behind to the doctors. And, to make it better, I found a parking spot I could actually walk from!
Sure, Baby had a small silent tantrum when I wouldn't let him run away into the other wing at the medical building. But the floor looked clean and he wasn’t even licking it. I let him rage quietly until it was my turn to go in.
Disappointingly, the doctor only chatted with me a couple minutes and Baby’s presence clawing at medical things around the room kept me too distracted to ask the same questions I always do:
Why doesn’t the joint pain dissipate if I’m not actively flaring?
Do I really have to stay on Benlysta injections forever?
Is my fatigue a sign I need to rest or push myself harder to regain movement?
Are these lupus symptoms caused by fighting off an infection or would they be here regardless, with no germs present?
And like usual, I was too afraid to ask her to fill out the paperwork to renew my handicap pass to use on those bad days. I smiled and left.
Why didn’t my doctor just call me to tell me my blood work was fine? Doesn’t she know how much planning and energy it requires for me to get there? She should know this, I thought bitterly. All her patients have chronic illnesses! She’s a rheumatologist, for heaven’s sake!
When I got home and read the complex lab results for myself, I realized she didn’t even mention the the blood work that had an abnormal result.
You prepare a feast for me
in the presence of my enemies.
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
My cup overflows with blessings.
Psalms 23:5 (NLT)
The elevator
The visit went as well as possible with a toddler in tow. Kai was fine, I was fine, we had made it. Until we got on the elevator.
I hate that the designers put not one, but two huge, bright red buttons at toddler-level. According to this exceptionally detailed article on elevators, supposedly this is for enhanced handicapped accessibility. But after my six-month stint in a wheelchair, I’m calling BS. Even commando-crawling on the ground, I could still reach them! More likely, the designers thought it would be terribly fun to force parents to pretend they’re NBA players.
Trying to shield the red buttons from my son’s octopus fingers while using my legs to block the elevator’s opening doors wasn’t enough to keep my Baby safe. Kai shrieked as his whole hand was sucked into the slot in the wall alongside the stainless-steel slab door. I couldn't tell if pulling it out would break his fingers, or if they were already broken. But I tugged, tugged, and tugged until his little palm was free.
At least we were in a medical building with an urgent care.
What could I have done differently? My hands were too full to have held him. Why didn’t I bring a stroller? There was a reason, I was sure. I just couldn’t remember what it was as I stood there in the open elevator with my crying son, the people in the lobby unsympathetically staring at us.
I could switch doctors, I thought to myself. But that would be so much work and she knows my history. I’ll just insist that every appointment unless absolutely essential is via a video call. That’s a better plan!
Failing systems
Who else depends on homemade formulas for success? Some of us are great at stacking up miniature systems to reduce the chaos. They work to an extent, but no matter how on top of it I think I am, something inevitably goes awry.
And how can I have peace when I know something will go wrong?
The way I function daily can be built on a belief that life is dangerous (which sure feels true). But this denies that I have what it takes to be flexible and resilient. It forgets that I have a Good Shepherd.
Surely your goodness and unfailing love
will pursue me all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house
of the Lord forever.
Psalms 23:6 (NLT)
Epilogue
Just so you know, his fingers were bruised, but didn't break. I threw away my new yoga pants and eventually found my missing ear bud. That is, until Kai lost it again in my room, where it has yet to be found.
I’m trying to walk the line between avoiding danger and planning so unforgivingly that the only way I can have peace is by living in a bubble. When my systems fail and anxiety overtakes me, I try to breathe in and out this poem, Psalms 23, aligning myself with the one who comforts, guides, renews, protects, uplifts, and purses me.
Friend, Life in our world has felt a series of unfortunate events and I am feeling all the feelings and sending you all the love as I read your words. Thank you for sharing your story.