The way I ended up in the hospital wasn’t planned or anticipated; it was an emergency.
When I arrived at the emergency room window, what felt like three minutes passed, and they admitted me for some initial tests. I felt physically exhausted, so much so that I fell asleep easily in almos anywhere.
One of those tests was an MRI. For this type of test, the person being examined has to go into what looks like a large tube. The patient needs to remain still for the necessary time, which for me was about 25 to 30 minutes. And I didn’t feel it; I had fallen asleep.
When the test was over, they moved me to the room. I remember that the bathroom door reflected the sunlight very brightly. I even asked the nurse if she could turn off the light. A few moments later, I fell asleep again.
I half-woke up later when a nurse was taking my vital signs. When she realized I was waking up, she told me the doctor would be arriving shortly with some important information.
In those days, my body felt incredibly heavy, and it wasn’t just because of my size. I had undergone some internal changes that I was about to discover. The good thing was that by the time the doctor arrived, I was much more aware and ready to listen.
When the time came for the doctor to give me the diagnosis from the tests, I thought I was awake enough.
I remember that the first thing the doctor did after warmly greeting me was to move a monitor and show me the different MRI images.
And there it was: an image with my head outlined, and a bright center—a tumor, roughly the size and shape of an egg, located at the base of my brain.
If I wasn’t fully awake, this news certainly woke me up. Although I heard the doctor, her words didn’t stick in my mind. The image was too shocking, and I would have benefited from a pause to try to process it. But there was no time to lose.
Two days later I was in the operating room. I stayed in the hospital for almost five more days. In the midst of the pandemic, in my solitude, I had time to think and search for the meaning of what was happening.
One of the thoughts that assailed me was:
Why does my body betray me?
And you, have you ever had the thought that your body betrays you?
In the Gospel, there is a moment when Jesus tells the Jews to destroy the temple, and that he will rebuild it in three days. Scripture also tells us that Jesus was referring to the temple of his body.
We know that Jesus rose on the third day, restoring his temple. That is, restoring his body.
Jesus wanted to restore his body.
Recognizing the mystery of the resurrection of Jesus’ body, can you and I identify if each of us wants to rebuild the temple of our bodies?
Given the state of your body today, do you want to restore it? Would you like to restore it?
The how and when of that longing belongs to God. And for you and Ami, for each of us, the first step is to want it.
Those thoughts I had, especially during my stay in the hospital, about my body betraying me, evoked a feeling of distrust. Common sense tells us that feeling betrayed doesn’t necessarily give us a reason to trust. It didn’t for me.
And you, do you trust your body?
Can your body trust you, that you won’t betray it with distrust?
For me, is a constant call to reconcile with my body. Because now it is me who don’t want to betray it.
What is your relationship with your body?
Do you distrust its performance?
Do you want to reconcile with any feeling of betrayal or distrust?
If the Spirit leads you, share your relationship with your body with Jesus the carpenter. And perhaps you’d like to work with Jesus to restore that relationship.
Marisol
P.S. We can hear about the restoration of the temple of the body in the readings for the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, Year C.
