March 2014
A few weeks after leaving the convent, I drove to see my old childhood doctor for chest pain. I’d started experiencing pressure over my heart a few months earlier, and wanted to verify it wasn’t anything serious.
I’d experienced great healing in the convent, both physically and emotionally.
So why is my heart still hurting?
Old Stomping Grounds
Dr. Tobin’s office was located two blocks from the house where I’d grown up. The office building stood behind Bunzo’s Food Store, where my sisters and I used to buy candy and hunt for dropped coins. As I pulled into the driveway, I studied the adjacent field. In deep winter, the pocked surface of the lot would harden into puddles of ice, and we’d go “ice skating” in our boots. My fingers would freeze as we explored the no man’s land, then return to life with a steaming cup of hot cocoa.
I felt stronger, remembering. The memories were like a tree’s roots, an anchor holding me in place. Reminding me of the child I once was, and the woman I was now becoming.
I made the Sign of the Cross in the driver’s seat, then headed inside.
The X-Ray
“Mary Moses!” Dr. Tobin opened the door to the patient room and gave me a warm hug. She was a tall woman about my mother’s age, with dark, tightly curled hair. She’d been my doctor since I was a teenager.
“So, are you home visiting?” she asked.
I shook my head, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No, I decided to leave. I realized God was calling me to get married.”
Dr. Tobin nodded in acceptance, then began her examination. She asked me about my chest pain, and also about my overall health while in the convent.
“Your eating habits in the convent may have caused acid reflux, resulting in chest pressure,” Dr. Tobin said, after we’d finishing talking. “But let’s see what the X-ray shows.”
Soon I was lying down in the X-ray room, listening to the machinery chirping over my pounding heart.
Afterwards, Dr. Tobin and I studied the X-ray. “I think this may be the problem right here.” She pointed towards the center of the image.
I followed her gaze, and saw that a rib bone had shifted, so that it was digging into the area above my heart.
Relief rushed through me. It wasn’t emotional build-up or just my imagination. No—thanks be to God!—there was literally something pressing into my heart.
“What can I do to fix it?” I asked.
“I recommend going to an orthopedic surgeon, to see if they can pop the rib back in place,” she said.
I swallowed hard, wondering what they would do, and how long it would take. I had gone to an ortho before, years ago, to help manage my back pain. Lots of stretches and exercises and manipulations. Lots of expensive appointments.
“A massage therapist might be able to fix it, too.” Dr. Tobin printed off a list of specialists in the area, then sent me home.
The Gift Certificate
The next evening at dinner, my parents noticed my downcast mood.
“What’s up, Mary?” my dad asked.
“The doctor said I should see an orthopedic surgeon or a massage therapist,” I told them. “But the earliest appointment I could get isn’t for another month, and it’s on the other side of town.”
“Hmm. A massage therapist?” My dad glanced at my mom. “Didn’t we win something for that at the school fundraiser?”
“Yes, I think so…”
My mom left the room, then reappeared with a gift certificate: $50 towards a massage therapy session at the local Beaumont hospital.
“Wow,” I held the slip of paper carefully in my hands. “Thank you!”
I drove to the local hospital the next day. The walls in the massage center were painted a deep, soothing purple.
A female therapist directed me to her room. Natural sunlight passed through a few small windows, and beautiful eastern art decorated the walls. She left the space so I could take off my sweater and wrap a towel around my chest. I was grateful to have another woman doing the therapy, but still nervous.
Is this even going to work?
“One of my ribs is out of alignment,” I told her, showing her where I felt the chest pressure. “My doctor said it needs to be pushed back into place.”
Her strong, expert fingers felt along my rib cage. Over the course of an hour, she pushed and moved and massaged the wayward bone back into place.
“If it starts moving again, try pushing your shoulder blades back like this. See?” She demonstrated first, and I copied the movement.
“Thank you.” I took a deep, unobstructed breath. “It already feels so much better!”
Back at the billing desk, I gave the lady my gift certificate.
“How much do I owe you?”
She took it, glanced at the amount. “A one-hour massage is $55. So you owe…$5.”
That’s it?
I smiled and gave the lady five bucks, which happened to be all the cash I had left in my wallet.
It is the Lord, I thought, watching over His Mary.
Radical Obedience, Radical Grace
I left the convent on the Lord’s orders: “Go home and tell your family all that I have done for you.” I’d given Him complete reign of my life: all obstacles removed, no holds barred. And so He acted freely in it, turning even the smallest details of my life into signs and wonders.
Like healing a puzzling injury with a one-hour, $5 fix.
“The Lord, He does everything for me,” I reminded myself on the drive home. “He knows I have nothing, so He takes care of everything.”
I knew how much the Lord loved me. In a sense, He’d given me 19 months in the convent just to heal, learn, and grow closer to Him. I’d thought I was being so generous, when I chose to enter. But now I knew it was really God who had been generous to me.
We know that all things work for good for those who love God,
who are called according to his purpose. – Romans 8:28
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Thank you so much for reading! A few of you may have read my earlier version of this story, which I modified to create this post. May this story bring each of you healing and hope! 🙏
Join me next week as I return to late April 2014, and my first few dates with James! ♥
Also, don’t miss my latest post on Monastery in My Heart: The Girl Within
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