Teen Life Stories - Big worry

slid my gown up over my knees, resting it on my thighs. He took my right leg in his hands and began to maneuver it in different directions, seeing if it would catch or lock. Laying it down, he took my left leg and performed the same exercise. I saw a glimpse of surprise in his facial expression. Puzzled, he walked to the

foot of my bed and grabbed my feet. He held my feet together pointing my toes to the ceiling. Then, keeping my heels together, he slowly turned my feet outwards, keeping a close eye on my knees. Grabbing the pen out of his pocket, he wrote numbers and measurements directly on the sheets.What is he doing? Before I knew it, my hips were being examined, pressed, prodded, and twisted. I was turned to my right side and flipped to my left.

First, my legs were in the air, then I was tummy face down looking straight into the bed. What in the world is he doing? “Janet, I’ve discovered that you have a congenital deformity.” “A what?” I said still face down talking into the sheets. “Your knees and your feet don’t line up.” “They don’t what? What does this mean?” I asked while turning myself over so I could see the doctor “It’s a rotation problem.” “It’s a problem?” What? I’ve got a problem? Oh, God, help me! What a shock it was to find out as a sixteen year old that I had an existing congenital defect! It was even a greater surprise to learn the seriousness of it. A few weeks passed and my surgery was successful.

My mother and I went to Dr. Allgood’s office for my check-up. I had hoped I would get the go ahead to ditch my crutches and hear that all was well. Instead, he and his two partners filed inside the cramped examining room. “Janet,” Dr. Allgood said, “you have excessive retroversion of your femur with external rotation of the tibias.” What? I have what?” Putting it in simple terms, your femurs, these long bones that connect to your hips and knees are turned or twisted. Your tibias, the bones between your knees and ankles are also rotated, twisted. Yet they’re rotated the opposite way, outward.” What does this mean?” my mother asked. “Mrs. Hepp, anything surgical we would do to help her would probably be done at the tibial level, cutting and derotating the bones. What? Surgery? “Oh, but Dr. Ulild, I’m not interested in surgery. I think I look fine. Dr. Ulild appeared serious. “Janet, we’re concerned about your future.” I suddenly wanted to cry. My future! What could happen that would affect my future? Factually, Dr. Ulild continued on, “I’m referring to severe crippling arthritis developing in the knee joints. The likelihood of Janet becoming wheelchair bound is great without surgical intervention. Feel free to get a second opinion, but if she were my daughter—she’d have the surgery.”

Wheelchair bound? Arthritic changes? I had gone from a “happy go lucky teenager” to one with an unbelievable worry in a matter of moments. Throughout the next few months, I found it difficult to get my mind off words such as “cripple” and “wheelchair.” To get my mind off my worries, with my doctors’ okay, I signed up to go skiing with the youth group from my church. The snow at Badger Pass was like cotton under my skis. From the top of the slope, I scanned the scenic view and realized that my worries had traveled with me. I can’t imagine being crippled and never walking again! I took a deep breath, and in the middle of giving myself a pep talk, my thoughts began to shout. Janet, you can do this. You’ve got to do this! Agreeing with myself, I continued. If having surgery is what I need, I’ll have it! I’ll do whatever I can to—to prevent.. ...

Then with mounted determination, I pushed off and skied down the mountainside, completing a perfect run. Despite my determination that I could handle my problems, I found myself back in school and unable to concentrate. I’d catch myself “off somewhere” daydreaming about my upcoming doctor appointments “with the best in their fields” while my teachers were lecturing on I don’t know what. My tears were often hidden behind books as the concerns of my future overwhelmed me. Summer arrived and I joined my friends headed for church camp. There tucked away in the San Bernardino Mountains, I did my best to convince them that I was fine and my upcoming surgeries were simply a matter of fact. Yet I knew what they didn’t. I was scared, fearful of both the known and unknown.

One night I sat and listened to the speaker. Don’t you think God is big enough to take care of your worries? He asked. Do you know how good it feels to let go—to let God do your worrying for you as you fall back into God’s arms and experience Him catching you. Immediately I began to cry. I could feel my heart pound as I yelled though my thoughts, No, No, I don’t know! I hid my face trying not to be conspicuous as I fought with my emotions. Failing in my attempt, I snuck out of the meeting and headed straight to an old rustic prayer chapel hidden at the end of a trail. Making sure I was alone I slipped through the door and stumbled as I knelt below the stained glass window. God, I’m so scared. I’m just sixteen, and these worries are too big for me. I need Your help! I need Your strength! I want You to do all the worrying that needs to be done. I guess my job is just to trust that You will. Tears of release streamed from my eyes. Now, for the first time I understood what it meant to have a “trusting cry.” In these few moments I told God that I resigned from worrying and hired Him for the job. It felt good to fall back into God’s arms and now, with expectation, I would watch and experience God as He tended to my every need.

Bio: God did take care of Janet's every need. Today she is an adult writing to teens. You can contact her at Janetlm2@prodigy.net.