Invisible
Those are the scars that I carry on the inside of my body…literally. They are invisible.
Today we hiked 1 1/2 miles down into the Grand Canyon, which meant that we would have to climb that to get back out. Over a mile uphill. On the way down I was pretty sure that I would handle that uphill hike pretty well. I have been working on my cardio more. I have been walking/jogging on the treadmill at an incline at least two to three times a week <cue laughter here>. I was sure that I would be able to handle the hike back up the canyon with relative ease.
Whelp…
On the way back up I started to feel that old familiar stabbing pain in my lung. It’s the lung that took the brunt of the damage in my accident. When I start to breathe heavily for an extended amount of time, the scar tissue left behind by the burns starts to become inflamed and causes some pain. I ignored it for a bit hoping that it would go away. But, as I climbed, it slowly became more and more difficult to catch my breath and I would have to stop and rest. Meanwhile, my daughter and her friend were yards ahead of me. Other hikers were speeding past (sometimes running) and I started to feel defeated. I started to feel lazy. I started berating myself for not working out hard enough or long enough. I should have been on that treadmill for 15 more minutes, I told myself. I was giving myself “the look.” My invisible injury was starting to get the best of me.
I have seen veterans with missing limbs hike steeper hills and climb bigger mountains and people give them much praise for such incredible accomplishment. Others can see the injury that the soldier had endured and what they have overcome. It’s inspiring and astounding to witness anyone with an injury or disability do some magnificent feet. But at that moment, when I had to step off the trail for the 9th time to rest, in my eyes, when I look at myself, I don’t see the terrible injury that I have overcome. I see a regular person that doesn’t quite look like they belong on that trail because they appear out of shape.
Invisible.
I hate the invisible because I can’t see my scars either and that makes me become harder on myself. I can’t see the scars that the fire left behind but I sure can feel them, literally and figuratively. And, if it’s a feeling, I can overcome it…mind-over-matter (insert enneagram 3 descriptions and military mindset here). At least I think I can overcome it. If soldiers with missing limbs and brain injuries can overcome their physical wounds, then surely this firefighter with damaged lungs and a brain injury can do it too.
But, I can’t always overcome in the way that I want to overcome. The damage, though invisible to the human eye, can’t be beaten down and subdued with sheer willpower. That’s not how this kind of injury works. Burn scars don’t just disappear. They are with you for life.
The me three or four years ago would have berated myself all the way up that canyon trail. I wouldn’t stop to enjoy the view. I wouldn’t slow my pace down. Instead, I would punish my body more. I would focus on the ground and my feet and force myself up that hill. Then I would pay for that choice and suffer from intense pain for several days. But, I have been doing ‘my work’ for a few years now and today, as I felt the urge to start saying angry things to my lungs and throwing an internal hissy-fit, I started thinking about all that my body has been able to accomplish despite my wounds.
For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. Ephesians 2:10
The extra cardio exercise that I have done over the past 18 months allowed me to climb the mile-and-a-half up that canyon better than I would have two years ago. Sure, I had to stop and rest quite a bit, but those breaks were not nearly as long as they used to be. That more intense cardio also allowed me to do more physical labor on a fire scene. My lungs are strong enough now to do salvage and overhaul and to drag hoses around a fire scene without losing my breath. My lungs also survived COVID. I was considered high risk because of the damage to my lungs but I worked unafraid as a front-line worker in the thick of it for all of these months and somehow, I managed to escape unscathed. I was one of the lucky ones that were asymptomatic. It’s a small miracle. When I started reframing my situation and looking at myself through a more compassionate lens, I was able to adjust my attitude much quicker and take on the spirit of gratefulness and mercy. Sharing my frustrations in a conversation with God, instead of myself changed my doubt into hope. Even after all of these years post-injury and working on myself physically, mentally, and spiritually, the invisible scars still cause me a great deal of pain. It’s just now, I handle that pain much differently. I have allowed my invisible wound to become my greatest strength. I can do so much with severely compromised lungs and a brain injury. My “battle wounds” have given me a greater sense of pride. I should have died…many times over and yet here I am, today, climbing over a mile, uphill, at the Grand Canyon. I am so proud of myself. I am so proud that my body is becoming healthy enough that I can hike hard trails, and work hard on fire scenes, and work through a pandemic without being deathly ill from the virus. Praise God for my invisible scar!