Ruminating

Have you guys seen the TV series 4400? In the show, one of the guys, Sean, has miraculous healing powers, and can cure anyone with any disease simply by touching them with his hands.

Owen and I have always laughed when we see that, and thought, if only that were possible.

Recently someone I really trust sent me this link: http://members.aol.com/drbgkoopman/ Check this one out: http://members.aol.com/drbgkoopman/#Brain
This doctor talks about a guy called Levashov, who apparently can do what Sean can do – heal people simply by touching them (of course there’s a lot more to it than that, but that’s the gist).

So I called the lady, just out of curiosity, wondering how the whole thing worked. She said Dr. Levashov moved to Russia. I said, that’s not a problem, we can go to Russia to see him. Then she said, he’s really expensive. I said, that’s not a problem, we will find money somehow, somewhere. Well, then she said it would cost at least 6 to 7 figures. At that point I stopped in my tracks.

It made me really stop to think, would I do that? If someone said, I can heal your son if you give me 2 million dollars, would I do it?

How much of Nathan’s beauty and charisma is tied in with his condition? What would life be like if Nathan all of a sudden jumped out of his chair and started running around and talking? How much would he change?

In our journey, I met someone who is a world renown healer. I took Nathan to him last year, thinking he would lay his hands on Nathan and Nathan would be instantly better. Instead, what he told me was, He’s Perfect. I was like, he’s not. He can’t move. He said, doesn’t matter. If he walks, talks, doesn’t matter.

I walked out of there a little disappointed. It wasn’t something I wanted to hear. Deep down the rebellious part of me said, I don’t care what you say, I will fix him, I will make him walk and talk.

This obviously ended in many tears. You can read about my journey to oz here.

I firmly believe Geshela could’ve fixed Nathan if he really wanted. I believe he would’ve fixed Nathan if it MEANT anything. But does it? Would it mean anything if all of a sudden Nathan became a typical child? How would that change him, us, me? In the spiritual realm, in the worldly realm?

It’s a thought I’ve never really had. I’ve always been so focused on fixing Nathan that I never thought of what would happen if all of a sudden he was “fixed”.

My life is so different now. I am so identified with being a “special needs mom”. Who would I be if my crusade were to end? If I had the choice, would I end it? How badly do I want it?

If Dr. Koopman calls me back tommorrow and says, Levashov is willing to take Nathan on as a client, but it will cost you 2 million dollars. Would I try to get that money? Would I go through with it?

I don’t really think it will come to that. She was very adamant that Levashov wasn’t accepting new clients. But what if she did?

What does Nathan’s disABILITY bring me?

I wear my heart on my sleeve. If I even begin to harden my heart, Nathan cracks it wide open. Or I read about another child with special needs, which cracks me wide open.

I am pushed to have patience beyond what I thought was humanly possible. Not just the “I’ll put up with this situation” patience, but the “warmly welcome whatever arises” patience, the patience that can deeply accept even things that seem impossible to accept, with a happy mind.

I am pushed to ask for help, to rely on others, to step on my pride and realize that, unless others help, I can’t do it. We can’t do this unless we ask for help. How sad life would’ve been if I’d gone through it without the beautiful feeling of humility, of asking others for help.

And gratitude. I would’ve never felt the deep gratitude that sits in my heart all day, every day. Gratitude to everyone that helps with Nathan, gratitude for little things like his smiles and his every breath. Gratitude that we get to meet and receive help from amazing people, doctors, therapists, other parents.

Sure, it’s not all rosy dosy. Sometimes I want nothing more than to curl up into a little ball and sleep into a dream world. Sometimes I feel my head and my world spinning so fast I get dizzy enough I want to vomit. Between this appointment and that appointment and calling the insurance and the doctors and the alternative healers and coordinating the schedule and bla bla bla. Sometimes it’s just too much.

And sometimes I hear a 2 year old say the cutest thing, or display another new skill learned, and I have to turn away to hide my tears. I try to honor them, I try to go somewhere where I can shed them, feel them, taste them. Then I walk back out and rejoice in that 2 year olds new skill, I rejoice in their health and in their freedom.

But these moments eventually bring me back to wearing my heart on my sleeve, they throw me on my knees so I have to beg with a heart full of faith, please please help me. Please, I beg you, I need your help.

And then I feel that powerful infusion of blessings and it’s all okay again. And I find myself a little deeper and further along in my spiritual journey.

Often I hold Nathan by the chest and butt and motor him through the act of taking steps. I bear all his weight, my body supports him, my hands guide his movements. Physically, I step for him.

Spiritually, he holds me. He guides me forward, he bears my dead weight, he picks up my feet and helps me take one step, then another, then another. And when my body gives out, he’s right there with a smile or a tantrum that brings me to my knees with love or a prayer for help.

Would I change this life? Would I, Marcela De Vivo, trade my spiritual guide for a life of normalcy? Would I raise the money, would I PAY, to make Nathan into something he’s not?

Am I so damaged, so broken, that I would go through such lengths, to turn gold into coal?

Honestly, I don’t know. I really don’t.

I would do anything to save Nathan from pain. I would do anything to take away painful surgeries and unending frustration for him.

Does life in a wheelchair, non-mobile, non-verbal, mean that he will have a miserable life, full of pain and suffering? If he does have orthopedic problems and ends up having many surgeries, would his life be miserable?

If I pass up the million dollar chance to preserve the gold, would I doom HIM to a life of misery?

Or can I child in a wheelchair who can’t speak or move live a happy, contented life?