I woke up last Monday, and Luke said to me, “Write something this week.”

It has been several weeks since I last transformed a thought into written word. The last time I wrote a post, it was to explain that we had been trying to have another child for nearly a year without success.

We have now crossed that one year mark, and there has been no change. While the both of us are at a loss of what to do or say, life must somehow go on.

Unfortunately, for most of January and February, I have been experiencing neck and left arm pain that sometimes turns into complete numbness down to my fingertips. Along with that has been crippling headaches. I have always been somewhat of a headache sufferer, sensitive to weather changes, smells, etc, but my first experience with a headache that kept me from getting out of bed came this summer, on my 34th birthday.

I woke up happy and thankful to be another year older, and then I was quickly hit with the headache from Hell. I spent nearly the entire day in bed while my kids just took turns coming in and out of my room and seeing if I was OK. They made their own meals, watched TV, and even took care of Leo, who was just over a year old at that point. My oldest, who is 8 years old, came to me and said, “Mom, Leo has been crying so I got him out of his crib, changed his diaper, and gave him a bottle since you didn’t wake up.” What a wake up call — literally.

The arm pain and numbness came shortly after, and by the end of that week, I decided I needed to see my doctor. I was convinced I was dying.

We started a treatment plan that included physical therapy for my arm and neck because my muscles seemed extremely tight. But when I had to reschedule my physical therapy four different times (without ever actually going) due to lack of childcare or scheduling conflicts, I decided that I would just deal with it and moved on with life. Why can’t these facilities have built-in childcare options? If IKEA can do it, can’t medical offices do it, too?

Somehow, my symptoms subsided and I made it through the next several months. But after the holidays, my arm pain flared back up, my neck turned stiff, my fingers went tingly, and I have had a severe headache or migraine everyday for almost two weeks. I have been in my bed nearly every waking hour, and I have just been taking advantage of Leo napping twice daily and my other kids being in school most of the time.

I have cried myself to sleep many nights. The pain has been unbearable. No medicine has helped. During the day, I do my best to pull myself together. I splash water on my face, load up on the best OTC pain relievers I can, and get through it 15 minutes at a time.

I went back to my doctor a couple of weeks ago because I knew I couldn’t continue to live like this, and I was referred to a neck and spine specialist. I saw him this week, and we have a plan of action steps to see what will help me (including actually going to physical therapy this time), some different medicine, and working our way toward an MRI if it is necessary.

Every night, I ask Luke to tell me how he knows I don’t have a brain tumor. He goes over everything he knows on the subject and does a few tests on me to help reassure me that he is 99.9% sure I don’t have a brain tumor and brighter days are ahead.

You may be wondering why I am writing about this. You may be thinking I am looking for sympathy or making excuses for not exercising or being in a bad mood all of the time. I am not. Sympathy actually makes me feel really weird. I like to be thought of strong. Unbreakable. Revealing my weaknesses is not easy for me.

The reason why I am writing this is that I have learned a lot through my pain— both the acute pain I have been experiencing for the past several weeks, and also the aching, nagging, emotional pain of this year of trying for a pregnancy to no avail.

We spend a lot of energy avoiding pain, don’t we? If we have an ache, we want medicine to make it go away. We will do everything in our power to keep our children from experiencing pain, both physical and emotional.

We like to be comfortable. We buy comfortable shoes and beds. We like cozy chairs and soft blankets. We learn this at a young age, as my children are asleep down the hallway with the most delightful pillows and blankets.

Avoid pain. Be comfortable.

But pain gives us an incredible opportunity to seek and receive help — from friends, from family, from God. To express that you are in pain and in need allows people to show up for you. It allows them to pray for you. It allows them to understand you. I set aside my discomfort in asking for prayer from the women in my bible study, and I now receive random, yet well-timed, messages of love and support. Sometimes that’s all we need to get over the next hurdle.

To be in pain and in need of comfort gives you a chance to grow closer to God. I have cried out in sadness, anger, frustration, and pure exasperation over the past 12 months, wanting to know why we haven’t had another baby yet. And each and every time, I have been met with the nearness of God.

On Valentine’s Day last week, I was driving my girls to school. I don’t usually do this as my husband’s office is right next to their school so he typically does drop-off, but he had a meeting so it was my job that day. As we were driving, we noticed the most incredible sunrise.

I love sunrises and sunsets. My girls know this about me. I have pulled over on the side of the road and gotten out of my car on many occasions so that I could get a photo, or I have chased a sunset until it fell below the horizon.

Well, that day, the sky lit up in purple and pink. My daughters thought it was amazing since those are “Valentine’s Day colors.” I kept stopping along our drive to get a photo, but then I would turn onto a new road and realize that the view just kept getting better and better. I literally snapped 5-6 photos along the way, until the final photo took my breath away.

God is never finished — not with you, not with me. Pain can be healed. Broken hearts can be put back together.

With every turn, expect something good to happen.