18 years

I can still remember sitting in my car in the parking lot. I was staring at the front doors of the rehab hospital where I began my career as a Physical Therapist. I am not really sure what I was doing. Half praying, half killing time (as I was comically early, this being the first day of my new career). 100% finding the courage to open the door and take that first step toward my future. 

For whatever it was, that moment felt sacred.

With shaky knees and a racing heart, I somehow made it out of my car and into the building that morning. The air of potential in those hallways was nearly palpable. It was intoxicating! Soon, I would find my seat in the Rehab office. Taking my place amongst my fellow ministers of hope.

Spending the whole of my 18-year career in neuro rehab,  I have sat hand in hand (often literally) with those facing the raw, painful reality of hopes dashed, worst fears realized, and future plans derailed. No one with a neurological diagnosis is having their best day when they find themselves sitting in a physical therapy clinic for the first time. 

I will never take for granted the absolute privilege it’s been to journey alongside my patients in some of their darkest hours. 

I have watched as patients have had to begrudgingly set aside long-held dreams. Then watched as they did the work to keep the soil of their hearts soft so new dreams could grow.

I have jumped for joy at a patient’s long-awaited first steps.

I have taken courage from a patient with a dismal prognosis who fought for joy and chose to live his final days in gratitude. 

I have cried with a grieving spouse who helplessly watched her loved one deteriorate. 

I've helped patients relearn how to fish, how to ride a bronc, do the 2-step and throw a leg over a Harley.

I sat silently and listened as anger erupted from a frustrated patient with unmet expectations. 

I have watched as patients shattered whatever expectations I had for them enroute to their own goals. 

I have wrung my hands over patients with so much potential, who just, for whatever reason, didn’t progress. 

I have met some of the most interesting, wonderful people and I have met some of the most angry, broken, hurting people. I have made friendships with colleagues and patients that have withstood the test of time. 

Story after story. Miracles and tragedies and everything in between. Countless moments forever occupying a place in my heart. 

My role as a neuro physical therapist is to teach, train, and guide as a patient is picking up the pieces from whatever threatened to break them and help them to build something new. Something unexpectedly beautiful.

But beyond the rehab is the relationship. 

Therapy sometimes involves cheerleading. Other times, it’s calling out the lies and reminding people of the truth. 

Most often it’s simply being there to meet the person where they are. To join them in crying. To grieve what was lost. To celebrate every milestone-every bit of light breaking through. To help them see how to hope again. And all of this covered with simple whispers of prayers. 

“What now? Help them, Father. Heal them. God help me.”  

Many times, my patients don’t just have weak muscles, they have a weakened will. They don't just feel wobbly and off balance in their body, they feel shaky and unstable to their core. While they physically need help to walk again, they are also figuratively unsure how to put one foot in front of the other. 

How do you confidently move forward in a new unexpected season of life? Sometimes all it takes is just making your mind up to take that first step.  

Sitting in my car on my first day as a therapist, I had serious doubts I’d make it to see day two. But I did see day two, then day three. Now 18 years later, here I am, looking back at what has been a wonderful adventure with high highs, low lows and a whole lot of mundane in between. What an honor to have had a front-row seat to such perseverance, strength and fortitude in my patients. 

These years have seen the birth, the development, the growing pains, and the highlights of my career. And in many ways, of my adult life. 

After 18 years, as seems fitting, it’s time for commencement. 

So here I sit in my proverbial car, once again whispering endless prayers and just waiting a few short weeks before walking into this new season. And yes, maybe a little bit of me is still willing myself to open the car door and take that first step. (Those of you stay-at-home moms can attest, those little ones can be SCARY!)

After many years full of my days being ordered by my patient schedule, I will soon be ordering my days around naps and snack time. I will be trading my office desk for my dining room table. Jessica Schatzle, DPT, will soon be best known as Jessica Schatzle, mom. I couldn't be more excited!

Lord willing, I will continue my ministry of hope at home. I look forward to being there to celebrate firsts, listen, call out lies and speak truth, cry, encourage, and pray with my little ones. A front-row seat to the birth, development, growing pains, and highlights of my children’s lives. 

Life is a gift. Even in the hard and unexpected of change. Even in the sadness of opening your hand to let go of something you’ve held so near to your heart. And especially in the joys of a new and beautiful season unfolding.