We Saw the Truth

Reflections After My Swallow Study

There are certain appointments that carry emotional weight long before they ever arrive. My recent swallow study was one of those appointments.

Leading up to it, I had mentally prepared myself for anxiety, fear, and uncertainty. But interestingly enough, walking into the study itself, I was calmer than I expected to be. I think part of that peace came from simply knowing it was finally time to see the truth clearly.

The speech pathologist conducting the study immediately helped put me at ease with her genuine interest in my history and in understanding what brought me there. That meant more to me than she probably realized. My mom and my own speech pathologist were also there to observe the study, which brought another layer of comfort and support.

During the Study

As part of the swallow study, we worked through various items from the food tray while following specific swallowing instructions. One of the swallowing methods had a long clinical name, but the basic process involved holding my breath, swallowing, coughing, and then swallowing again.

That was the pattern I followed while trying different liquids and pudding consistencies.

Watching the study unfold in real time was both fascinating and emotional. There is something very strange about seeing the mechanics of your own body displayed on an X-ray screen. Things that you cannot normally see suddenly become visible.

What the Study Revealed

Ultimately, I think the overwhelming feeling I walked away with was relief.

The study confirmed what I had already suspected: there had been very minimal improvement since my previous study. While that may sound discouraging to some people, oddly enough, there was peace in finally having confirmation.

One of the main findings was that my upper esophageal sphincter (UES) muscle is still very tightly closed and only barely opening. We could also see on the X-ray that a small amount of the substance being swallowed was entering my airway.

What made this especially significant is that I did not cough or react when it happened. This is known as silent aspiration.

Part of the reason for this appears to involve my epiglottis, which is supposed to fold down over the airway during swallowing to help protect it. Mine is dropping, but not completely covering the airway opening the way it should.

The study also showed that while my larynx moves upward during swallowing, it is not moving forward properly, which is another important part of airway protection.

Hearing these findings was emotional, but at the same time, there was comfort in understanding what was actually happening rather than continuing to wonder.

Areas That Can Still Improve

One encouraging part of the appointment was hearing that several of these areas may still be strengthened through exercises and therapy.

I also realized something during this process: in previous years, I may not have been physically or mentally ready to fully tackle this kind of therapy. There were so many other areas of life, recovery, and survival demanding my attention at the time. Looking back now, I can understand that sometimes people are simply not in the right season yet for certain battles or responsibilities.

Now, however, I feel more prepared to focus intentionally on these goals in a way I may not have been able to before.

One of the methods discussed was EMST, or Expiratory Muscle Strength Training. I have already started looking into purchasing one of the small handheld devices used for these breathing and strengthening exercises.

For the first time in a while, I felt like we were not simply looking at problems — we were identifying specific areas that could potentially improve.

That does not mean the road ahead will be easy.

There is still a great deal of work ahead of me.

But having direction changes everything.

The Relief of Knowing

One of my greatest fears before the study was not necessarily that something major had happened.

My greatest fear was that something major had happened and I did not know it.

That uncertainty can weigh heavily on the mind.

So in many ways, I was thankful that the study did not reveal some major unseen decline. Instead, it revealed the truth of the situation honestly and clearly.

We saw the truth.

We got the information.

And now we know how to proceed.

Moving Forward

Part of moving forward will also involve revisiting an ENT specialist I saw many years ago, probably at least twelve years ago, for another consultation and updated evaluation.

And honestly, one of the things that brought me the most peace afterward was knowing that everyone involved is finally on the same page.

Now everyone has seen the same study.

Everyone understands the same findings.

Everyone has seen the reality of what is happening and what is meaningful moving forward.

There is comfort in shared understanding.

Even when the news is not perfect, clarity itself can still bring peace.

Faith and Expectation

It may seem strange that I wasn't especially hopeful or expecting a larger amount of the food to move into my stomach during the study. I am always hopeful, because I know the Lord is able to do whatever He wills. At the same time, I was also prepared to accept whatever the study revealed, trusting that truth and clarity would be more valuable than assumption.

Realistic Hope and the Work Ahead

I am a positive person, but I am also a realist. I can sometimes be very factual in my delivery rather than always being emotionally reflective, and I am working on that balance.

Going forward, I know there will be several exercises for strengthening. I think the ones that involve visible movement in my face, mouth, tongue, and speech will not be the hardest for me to stay engaged with. The more difficult ones will likely be the internal strengthening exercises — the ones that I cannot see visible results from and that feel hidden from me. Those may be the harder ones to stay motivated through, but I am determined to do this. That is not in question for me.

I know that everything is a process, made up of small steps. Rome was not built in a day, and everything I have ever learned or improved in my life has taken time, effort, practice, and repetition. This will be no different. I believe I will gain results over time.

The initial goals will likely focus on rebuilding coordination and strengthening pathways that have not been consistently used for many years. In a way, it feels like retraining communication between my brain and different parts of my body. I do not always have the perfect words to describe it, but that is the best way I can explain it right now.

At first, we may even be focusing on something as basic as managing my own saliva. Even that alone would be a significant milestone — not needing to constantly rely on a cup or worry about frequent spitting and management throughout the day. That would be a meaningful step forward in daily life.

What I Walk Away With

I do not walk away from this study feeling hopeless.

I walk away feeling informed.

I walk away grateful for honest answers.

And while the improvements may not yet be dramatic, I am thankful there are still things to work toward.

Sometimes peace does not come from hearing perfect news.

Sometimes peace comes from finally seeing the truth clearly enough to know where to go from here.

John 8:32  “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”

I know there is hard work ahead.

But now we have a baseline.

Now we have direction.

And now we move forward from here.

Looking Ahead

So no, I do not walk away from this study devastated.

And I do not walk away pretending the challenges are smaller than they are either.

What I walk away with is clarity.

I walk away with understanding.

I walk away knowing that there are still muscles that may be strengthened, pathways that may be rebuilt, and goals that are still worth pursuing.

Some of those goals may seem small to other people. But when you have lived with limitations for many years, even the smallest victories can carry enormous meaning.

Maybe one day it will mean less dependence on a cup at my side.

Maybe it will mean greater comfort, greater safety, or greater independence in everyday life.

Maybe it will simply mean progress.

And progress matters.

I know this journey will require patience, repetition, consistency, and faith. There will probably be days when the exercises feel tedious, slow, or invisible in their results. But nearly everything meaningful in my life has required time, persistence, and determination.

This will not be any different.

Most importantly, I know that God sees every hidden struggle — even the ones no one else fully understands.

And while I do not know exactly what the future holds, I do know this:

I am not where I once was.

I am not walking this road alone.

And I am finally in a season where I feel ready to face this part of my recovery with intention, honesty, and hope.

Galatians 6:9 “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.”

So for now, we keep moving forward.
One exercise.
One step.
One small victory at a time.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

When You Need to See it For Yourself

A Study Twelve Years in the Making

In less than a week, I will sit through something I have not experienced in over twelve years.

A swallow study.

For those unfamiliar with it, it is a live X-ray study where foods coated with barium are swallowed so doctors and therapists can visually track what happens inside the mouth, throat, and esophagus in real time. They can watch where things move, where they stop, what muscles respond, and what muscles do not.

The last time I had this done, the foods were simple. Yogurt. Applesauce. Things that required no chewing.

This time is different.

This time, I will likely have to chew something.

Even typing that feels strange.

So lately, I have been trying to prepare myself. Maybe more mentally than physically, though I am doing both. I have been practicing tongue placement exercises. Tongue strengthening exercises. Practicing chewing (gum). Practicing swallowing. Even practicing using a straw more.

Part of me wants to be helpful during the study. Part of me wants to give it my absolute best effort.

And part of me feels almost crazy while doing it.

Because deep down, logically, I keep thinking the same thing.

“What if nothing has really changed?”

The Feeling I Cannot Ignore

Years ago, we already knew part of the issue.

My upper esophageal sphincter muscle (UES) — the muscle that is supposed to open and allow food to pass into the esophagus — was staying tightly closed.

Normally, that muscle opens according to the amount of food or liquid needing to pass through.

Mine did not.

Back then, during the study, we only saw a tiny trickle going down into the stomach. A trickle smaller around than my pinky finger’s diameter.

And now here I am, over a decade later, trying again.

Hoping.

Preparing.

Wondering.

But also noticing things that are hard to ignore.

When I practice swallowing now, sometimes it feels like a little may go down. But after awhile, I can tell something is still sitting there. Not painfully. Not dangerously. Just… there.

I notice it especially when I talk afterward.

It feels like buildup.

Like things are sitting on top of a doorway that still is not opening enough to let them pass through.

And in my mind, I keep thinking:

“If the opening were truly larger… wouldn’t I know?”

Wouldn’t I stop feeling that buildup?

Wouldn’t things feel different?

I do not know.

And maybe that is the hardest part.

Not knowing.

Wanting Hope While Fearing Reality

I think sometimes people assume that when you have lived with something for years, you become emotionally detached from it.

You do not.

At least I have not.

In some ways, this upcoming study feels bigger emotionally than I expected it to.

Because this is not just a medical appointment.

This is a marker.

A milestone.

A visual confirmation of where things truly stand.

Maybe there has been progress.

Maybe there has not.

Maybe there are things happening internally that I cannot accurately judge by feeling alone.

And honestly, I think that is part of why I need to see it.

Not because I distrust God.

Not because I am hopeless.

But because sometimes the mind keeps replaying questions that only truth can quiet.

The Battle Between Logic and Emotion

I keep trying to reason through it.

“If there was improvement, surely I would feel it.”

“If the muscle was opening more, surely I would notice less buildup.”

“If things had dramatically changed, wouldn’t I already know?”

But human bodies are complicated.

Healing is complicated.

Compensation patterns are complicated.

And sometimes we are poor interpreters of our own bodies because we only know what we have experienced.

Maybe there has been improvement.

Maybe there has been partial improvement.

Maybe there are areas that still need work.

Maybe there are approaches we have not considered yet.

This study may answer some of those questions.

Or it may raise new ones.

But either way, I think I need to know.

Seeing What Is Hidden

There is something deeply vulnerable about seeing what is happening inside your own body.

Especially when that body has been through trauma.

Especially when you have spent years adapting, compensating, hoping, grieving, and trying again.

There is vulnerability in watching a screen reveal what you cannot physically see yourself.

But maybe there is also mercy in it.

Because hidden things can torment the mind.

Unknowns can grow larger than reality.

And sometimes clarity — even difficult clarity — gives direction.

Without direction, it is hard to know how to move forward.

If there has been improvement, then I know to keep practicing and pursuing that progress.

If there has not been significant change, then perhaps we approach things differently moving forward.

Either way, avoiding the truth will not help me.

God Sees What We Cannot

One thing that comforts me is this:

Nothing about this is hidden from God.

Not the muscles.

Not the fear.

Not the frustration.

Not the emotional exhaustion.

Not the silent thoughts I do not always say out loud.

He already sees fully what doctors and therapists are only trying to understand partially.

The Lord is not pacing Heaven nervously waiting for results.

He already knows.

And somehow that thought steadies me.

Because while this study may reveal information to me, it reveals nothing new to Him.

Isaiah 55:8  “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.”

Hebrews 4:13  “And there is no creature that is not manifest in his sight: but all things are naked and opened unto the eyes of him with whom we have to do.”

Maybe It Is Okay to Be Honest

I think sometimes we feel pressure to sound fearless.

To sound endlessly positive.

To act unaffected.

But honesty is not lack of faith.

David was honest.

Job was honest.

Jeremiah was honest.

Even while trusting God, they still expressed grief, confusion, fear, and exhaustion.

So here is my honesty:

I am nervous.

I am emotional.

I am mentally struggling with this more than people probably realize.

Part of me hopes for improvement.

Part of me fears disappointment.

Part of me feels foolish for hoping.

Part of me feels foolish for doubting.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that… I simply want truth.

Moving Forward One Step at a Time

Right now, I do not have all the answers.

I do not know exactly what the study will show.

I do not know what the next steps will be afterward.

But I do know this:

Avoiding reality does not create healing.

And facing reality does not remove hope.

Whatever this study reveals, God will still be God afterward.

And I will still keep moving forward one step at a time.

Even if emotionally shaky.

Even if uncertain.

Even if afraid.

Because sometimes courage is not feeling strong.

Sometimes courage is simply showing up willing to see the truth.

Psalm 56:3  “What time I am afraid, I will trust in thee.”

2 Corinthians 12:9  “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

Learning to Carry What Is Beyond My Control

Maybe part of what makes this so emotionally heavy is not only my own hopes and fears.

Maybe part of it is the weight of not wanting to disappoint the people who love me.

The people praying for me.

The people encouraging me.

The people helping me.

The people who genuinely want to see progress and healing.

When you know others are standing in your corner, you desperately do not want to feel like you are letting them down.

And sometimes, without meaning to, you can start carrying responsibility for outcomes you were never actually in control of.

But the truth is, I cannot force muscles to work.

I cannot will my body into healing faster.

I cannot manufacture results because people care about me.

Some things simply remain beyond human control.

And maybe one of the hardest lessons in life is learning that acceptance is not the same thing as giving up.

Acceptance is not hopelessness.

Acceptance is acknowledging reality honestly while still trusting God faithfully.

It is understanding that my value is not measured by medical progress.

It is realizing that I am not failing because my body struggles.

It is remembering that the people who truly love me are not standing beside me only for victories and breakthroughs — they are standing beside me because they love me.

No matter what the screen shows during that study, I have not failed.

No matter what the results are, God has not failed me.

And no matter what comes next, this journey is not over simply because answers may not look the way I hoped.

Sometimes faith means believing God for miracles.

Sometimes faith means trusting Him while living with unanswered questions.

And sometimes faith means surrendering outcomes we cannot control while continuing to move forward anyway.

Maybe this study will bring encouragement.

Maybe it will bring difficult emotions.

Maybe both.

But whatever happens, I want to walk into that room understanding this:

I do not have to carry the burden of everyone’s expectations.

I only have to take the next step placed in front of me.

And God will still walk beside me there.

1 Peter 5:7  “Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.”

Joshua 1:9  “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”

We are not alone.

 Be encouraged. 🧡

A New Goal, A New Journey

There’s been a part of me that didn’t want to seem like I was neglecting my blog during this season. I’ve been focusing on my personal speech work, mouth and tongue exercises, and also recording my new podcast. In the middle of all of that, I realized something important: sometimes it is good to have something written down—something visual that can be read over more than once.

Writing allows a thought to settle. It slows everything down in a way speaking sometimes doesn’t.

As you may have heard from my podcast, this is a new section in my journey. A new path has been revealed in my life. And when I look back honestly, I would say the hardest thing I’ve done up to this point was putting in the work and meeting the requirements to obtain my driver’s license again after it had been medically canceled for 14 years.

That process was not easy. It stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. But now I can see it clearly—it was a stepping stone. It was preparing me for this next part of my story, which may end up being even more challenging than what came before.

The Goal That Changed Everything

Philippians 4:13  “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.”

At one point, I remember praying that I would rather be able to drive than eat. That goal became so important to me. And by the grace of God, I was able to accomplish it in six months, or even a little less. That was a monumental achievement in my life.

But after that season ended, I found myself feeling somewhat unsettled. Not necessarily stagnant, because I was still moving forward and doing things—but I didn’t have a clear direction in front of me. I didn’t have a defined goal to aim toward.

Then, recently, things began to fall into place. I’ve already written about some of this in a previous blog post (He Supplies What We Need). But as it all came together, it felt like a moment of realization—almost like a red flag and an “aha” moment at the same time.

It felt like the Lord was making something clear: this is the next step. This is the next goal. This is where I am leading you now.

Learning to Hope Again

Hebrews 11:1 “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

My current focus has shifted into something very intentional. While I still have physical goals related to strength, grace in my movements, and walking, there is now a deeper emphasis on my tongue—its position, its strength, and how it affects both swallowing and speech.

Right now, I am in two speech therapy sessions each week. On top of that, I am doing roughly 10 to 11 exercises daily, usually aiming for two or three rounds throughout the day. It has become a consistent rhythm, something I am actively building my life around.

And I want to be very transparent about my emotional experience in this season, even if some of it is difficult to admit.

I don’t think I have ever been this hopeful about this part of my recovery before. I find myself actually anticipating possible outcomes that, for a long time, felt distant or almost unreachable. The ultimate goal would be full management of my own saliva—no longer needing to rely on a cup, being able to swallow naturally again, and eventually moving toward eating by mouth. Of course, that would not happen all at once. It would be in small, careful steps. Baby steps.

Even with that hope, I can feel the tension within myself.

I am excited and committed, and I want to demonstrate how serious I am about this process. At the same time, there is a part of me that struggles. It has been such a long time living in this reality that I think I wrestle with how to hold hope without setting myself up for disappointment.

I don’t want to reach a point where I feel devastated if things don’t move as quickly or as fully as I desire.

But I am also someone who believes that you do what you think you can. If you believe you cannot, you likely won’t even try. And at the same time, you don’t truly know what is possible unless you attempt it.

I tend to be an all-or-nothing kind of person. When I commit, I commit fully. I want this next section of my life to become another testimony—not just of endurance, but of healing and change.

Still, I think one of the biggest obstacles I face right now is not physical—it is mental. It is learning how to quiet the thoughts of doubt, fear, or negativity that try to attach themselves to this process.

Renewing My Mind

Romans 12:2  “And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind…”

In about two weeks, I will be having another swallowing study. During this test, I will attempt to swallow things like yogurt, ice chips, or applesauce mixed with barium. The barium allows the process to be seen on X-ray as it moves from the mouth, through the esophagus, and hopefully into the stomach.

I have not had a swallowing study since 2014 or even before that, so there is a mix of anticipation and uncertainty as I wait for what this will reveal.

And I think, more than anything, I am realizing that I need to shift my mindset. I need to bring myself into full alignment with this process—not just physically participating in it, but mentally engaging with it in a steady, grounded way.

Grateful for Small Progress

Zechariah 4:10 “For who hath despised the day of small things…”

This part of my story is not unlike the others that have come before it. My journey has never been instant or overnight. It has always been slow and methodical, unfolding step by step. I expect this season to follow the same pattern.

Very little in my life has changed all at once. Instead, it has been gradual improvement—day by day, sometimes so small it is almost unnoticeable unless I stop and look back. There have been a few moments where things felt immediately restored or significantly improved, but most of what I have experienced has been steady progress over time.

Because of that, I find myself increasingly grateful for every small piece of movement forward that God allows in my body. It may seem insignificant to someone else, but it is not insignificant to me.

For example, there are things I can do now that I could not do before. If I could not make a clicking sound with my tongue in the past, and now I can, that matters. If I could not place my tongue against the roof of my mouth before, and now I can—even in a limited way—that matters. And even though it may feel small, I am actively practicing so that “a little bit” becomes more over time.

I am learning to take things as they are given, without rushing ahead or dismissing the progress that is already present. These visible signs of change are encouragements to keep going. They are reminders that I am not stagnant, even when progress feels slow.

A Journey Without Limits Spoken Over Me

Ephesians 3:20 “Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.”

There is another piece of my journey that, when I look back on it now, feels unusual—and yet, I cannot help but see the Lord’s hand in it. I have not had a neurologist since 2009. At first glance, that might seem concerning, or even like something that should have held me back. But as I reflect, I see something different.

Because I did not have regular appointments, I was not given a list of things I would likely never do. I was not told where my limits should be set. I was not cautioned in a way that might have caused me to quietly step away from goals before I ever attempted them.

Instead, my progress unfolded slowly—day by day, piece by piece—without those boundaries being spoken over me.

That does not mean wisdom or guidance is not important. But in my personal journey, I can see how God allowed this path so that my expectations would be shaped more by His ability than by human prediction.

And when I consider what I have been able to regain, what I am still working toward, and the things I once might have believed impossible… I cannot help but be grateful that my story was not defined too early.

Trusting God With the Outcome

Psalm 121:1–2 “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.”

And I know, without hesitation, that my strength and my help have come from God. Time and time again, He has shown Himself faithful in my life, sometimes in ways I only fully understand in hindsight. I have seen Him bring me through things I never thought I would come through, and I believe He will do it again.

Right now, I am holding on to that truth. I am waiting for His help—not passively, but expectantly—asking Him to give me the courage and endurance to keep going, even when the process feels long or uncertain.

This is not just about physical recovery. It is about trust. And I am learning, once again, to trust Him in the middle of it.

Be encouraged. 🧡

                             

PS - 👂Listen to my new podcast, Every Breath On Purpose Conversations, Episode 4: Through it All: Faith, Obedience & Growing Trust