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. 🧡