The in-between

On Dec. 11, my son Christian drove me 40 minutes to Escondido, Calif., where I did something I said I’d never do: Botox.

No, not for the purpose of smoothing out wrinkles, but to treat my cervical dystonia. (If you’re just catching up, that’s the nondegenerative neurological movement disorder I’m living with. It results in painful involuntary twisting of my head.)

Everywhere you look, Botox is the “gold standard” of cervical dystonia treatment. Its chief ingredient, botulinum toxin, is said to target misfiring nerves and convince them to chill out: head-twisting solved, or at least reduced. Still, I long resisted Botox for two reasons, and as I sat in the clinic waiting room, those reasons rattled in my twisting head.

First, I very nearly wrote the memoir of the first person, a physician herself, to successfully sue Allergan, the maker of Botox, after a single cosmetic dose permanently disabled her. In 2010, Dr. Sharla Helton received an eight-figure judgment, compensation for her ruined health and medical practice. The same year, a jury awarded a Virginia man $212 million for his claim that Botox caused him brain damage. Because of these little-publicized judgments, Allergan was forced to include a “black box warning” in its package insert listing potential side effects.

Here’s my second reason for resisting Botox: If there is a rare side effect to be had from any treatment, I am sure to be in the tiny minority who has it. I’ll spare you examples, and instead quote Botox’s black box warning: “The toxin can spread from the injection site to other parts of the body, causing symptoms like muscle weakness, difficulty swallowing or breathing, blurred vision, and drooping eyelids. These symptoms can occur hours to weeks after injection and can be life threatening.”

Hmmm. No thanks.

That’s why, as recently as August, my position on Botox was “No way, no how.” But by November’s end, with my head twisting like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist and my neck wrapped in a horse collar of pain, my tune changed to “Where do I sign?”

At the Escondido neurology clinic, they called me back from the waiting area to a treatment room. Soon, a tiny, cheerful Asian doctor entered, wearing a surgical mask and bearing many needles. She was upbeat when I shared with her some of my concerns. Statistically speaking, she said, she doubted if I’d experience negative side effects.

I thought it over. “OK,” I said finally. “I will trust that you are a brilliant doctor.”

Over the surgical mask, her eyes twinkled. “If you called my mom, that’s what she’d say.”

We laughed. She then proceeded to administer seven injections—five down the back of my neck on the left side and two in my right sternocleidomastoid, that long muscle on the front of the neck. A little constellation of poison.

“How long will it take before I know if it’s working?” I asked. “About seven days,” she said, “with the peak action at about day 14.” So I went home and waited.

How does a Christian properly wait? More specifically, how does a believer endure suffering en route to hoped-for outcomes? How do we traverse “the in-between”?

From Genesis to Revelation, the Bible is packed with waiting believers. Some spent the in-between more profitably than others. As he built his ark, Noah likely waited decades for this newfangled thing called rain. Still he obeyed God. We don’t know whether his neighbors mocked him, but we do know none booked passage on Noah’s ark, so we can assume they were skeptical at the least. Yet Noah persevered.

Abram and Sarai waited 25 years for the son God promised, but Sarai, having long endured the shame of barrenness, became impatient and asked Abram to go in to her maid­servant, Hagar. Thus Ishmael was conceived and enmity erupted between the two women.

The list goes on right up to today, with we ourselves joining the great cloud of witnesses who’ve waited millennia for the return of our Lord. By contrast, I’ve only been waiting a few weeks to see if the Botox works. So far, not much. At first, the dystonia was actually a little worse. But when I’m whining, doubting, and even despairing any return to normal life, I try to remember that Scripture provides a master class in how we ought to travel the in-between:

With confidence, strength, and courage (Psalm 27:13-14). With patience and integrity, keeping His way (Psalm 37:7, 34). With joy, perseverance, and hope (Romans 5:3-4, James 1:2-3). All the while seeking the Lord (Lamentations 3:25, Micah 7:7), without anxiety for tomorrow, for tomorrow will take care of itself.