Here it is again, the writing awen. When sentences come unbidden to my brain and nothing save writing them down will drive them away. Oddly, only half those sentences make it to the page, but the relief remains. Mind you, this story is not complete, but it is enough to begin to tell, so tell it I must.
I am broken and restored, in ways I don't understand. And I am grateful. Even as I write this it boggles my mind, how can I be grateful for being broken? But there is no mistaking the joy and freedom and thanks in my heart for my brokenness. Let me go back.
I had the perfect life. Glory days of high school, storybook courtship and marriage to a wonderful husband, the gift of a beautiful child, it was much like happily ever after. Of course, I would not have said it at the time. Maybe the recollection is brighter than it should be, but it is there nonetheless. Then one day, my body failed me.
At first I believed I had overextended myself. It would not have been the first time. Rest, I needed rest, so that's what I did. For a week. No improvement. As a matter of fact, it only made the pain worse. So I tried acting normal, still no improvement. The pain and the fatigue from constant pain drained me everyday, until I had nothing to give. No energy to be a mother to my 18 month old. No energy to be a wife to my husband. No energy to be other than a lump that moved from bed to couch and back again. I was an invalid. And I feared it would last forever.
And it seemed like it would. Slowly, reluctantly, I entered the medical world. This world does not run on normal time like the world around it. This world has no sense of time, only pain and waiting. I learned during this time that no matter how technologically advanced we are, how many things we've discovered, so much of modern medicine is poking in the dark, guessing at what might be going on. So many times I was told, “You're too young for this to be happening.” Not really a helpful statement. Or “We don't know what it is, but we could try this.” Also not too encouraging. I felt like a medical experiment as I went through tests and treatments for a year and a half, finding either no effect, excruciating pain that brought no benefit, or a momentary relief, only to return to the now normal pain all too soon.
In my best moments, I prayed for healing. I knew all the stories where Jesus healed people because they asked. So I asked. Day after day. No response. In my worst moments, I imagined a life of this pain. Riding in a wheelchair. The family I was meant to care for now caring for me. Slowly withering away, as my body chewed itself to death. Not a pretty picture. It was during this darkness that I learned to cling to God's promises when I couldn't see clearly. To cling to hope when all is hopeless. It was also at this time that I learned to accept help from others. Being physically incapable of helping another, I found great blessing in accepting the help that I knew I needed.
At long last, the medical community figured out what was going wrong in my body, kind of. To this day, they have no name for it, only it acts like and responds to treatment for rheumatoid arthritis. So I began treatment, and started to find relief. “You will deal with this the rest of your life.” They said to me. I don't know what it is about doctors, but sometimes they say the most unhelpful things. Now the pain was held at bay, but by powerful medicine that came through injections. Did I mention that I'm needle phobic? Week after week, I steeled myself for a moment of terrible pain to avoid the seven days of nagging pain. It didn't always seem like a worthwhile trade off. Because of my fear, I depended on friends to give me my medicine. Without them, I don't think I would have done it.
This state of affairs continued for years. Over time and with technological advances, I learned to give the shots myself, but I always, always put it off as long as possible. By this time, I had given up on praying for healing. Obviously if God hadn't answered my request by now, He wasn't going to. So I agreed to accept it, and learn from it. In this time I learned compassion for others' pain, having never experienced this level before. I learned strength, fortitude and forbearance in ways only chronic pain teaches. I learned about true friendship, that rides the waves with you. These were all gifts that would not have come had I not been through this unwanted degeneration. As I saw and began to appreciate these gifts, I embraced this disease, seeing that I had gained wisdom, understanding and a new heart. I would not reverse time, if I had the choice, and undo this trauma.
I met a woman who shares my particular malady. She did not have the advantage of our modern treatments and her gnarled hands are the result of a lifetime struggle. But that is not what I noticed about her. I was struck by her joy and enthusiasm for life, her energy and effervescence. If she could go through life with my pain and have so much joy, why couldn't I?
I think God is a very funny guy. See the platypus for example one. Once I learned to embrace my lifelong struggle, the disease loosened it's hold on me. Remember, I put off shots as long as possible. Soon I was going for a month between treatments, instead of a week. Over two years, I continued to wean from the dependency on medicine, and now I have stopped taking it altogether. I have not felt this healthy in seven years. The medical, scientific part of me knows that this relief will not last forever, but instead of worrying about how or when it will come back, I choose to be thankful for the reprieve and believe that, for the time being, God answered my long abandoned request.
My doctor says that I'm a very lucky lady. He doesn't know that I am blessed beyond imagining. He doesn't know that my all powerful God loves me, knows what I can handle, and pushes me to the brink and even a little bit further to show me just how far I can trust Him. This disease doesn't travel backwards, but my God is bigger than my disease and He can do what he wants with it, increasing or decreasing pain as He sees fit to show me the world I need to see. That sounds like an amazing adventure that I wouldn't miss out on, for all the pain it may cost.
I am broken and restored, in ways I don't understand. And I am grateful. Even as I write this it boggles my mind, how can I be grateful for being broken? But there is no mistaking the joy and freedom and thanks in my heart for my brokenness. Let me go back.
I had the perfect life. Glory days of high school, storybook courtship and marriage to a wonderful husband, the gift of a beautiful child, it was much like happily ever after. Of course, I would not have said it at the time. Maybe the recollection is brighter than it should be, but it is there nonetheless. Then one day, my body failed me.
At first I believed I had overextended myself. It would not have been the first time. Rest, I needed rest, so that's what I did. For a week. No improvement. As a matter of fact, it only made the pain worse. So I tried acting normal, still no improvement. The pain and the fatigue from constant pain drained me everyday, until I had nothing to give. No energy to be a mother to my 18 month old. No energy to be a wife to my husband. No energy to be other than a lump that moved from bed to couch and back again. I was an invalid. And I feared it would last forever.
And it seemed like it would. Slowly, reluctantly, I entered the medical world. This world does not run on normal time like the world around it. This world has no sense of time, only pain and waiting. I learned during this time that no matter how technologically advanced we are, how many things we've discovered, so much of modern medicine is poking in the dark, guessing at what might be going on. So many times I was told, “You're too young for this to be happening.” Not really a helpful statement. Or “We don't know what it is, but we could try this.” Also not too encouraging. I felt like a medical experiment as I went through tests and treatments for a year and a half, finding either no effect, excruciating pain that brought no benefit, or a momentary relief, only to return to the now normal pain all too soon.
In my best moments, I prayed for healing. I knew all the stories where Jesus healed people because they asked. So I asked. Day after day. No response. In my worst moments, I imagined a life of this pain. Riding in a wheelchair. The family I was meant to care for now caring for me. Slowly withering away, as my body chewed itself to death. Not a pretty picture. It was during this darkness that I learned to cling to God's promises when I couldn't see clearly. To cling to hope when all is hopeless. It was also at this time that I learned to accept help from others. Being physically incapable of helping another, I found great blessing in accepting the help that I knew I needed.
At long last, the medical community figured out what was going wrong in my body, kind of. To this day, they have no name for it, only it acts like and responds to treatment for rheumatoid arthritis. So I began treatment, and started to find relief. “You will deal with this the rest of your life.” They said to me. I don't know what it is about doctors, but sometimes they say the most unhelpful things. Now the pain was held at bay, but by powerful medicine that came through injections. Did I mention that I'm needle phobic? Week after week, I steeled myself for a moment of terrible pain to avoid the seven days of nagging pain. It didn't always seem like a worthwhile trade off. Because of my fear, I depended on friends to give me my medicine. Without them, I don't think I would have done it.
This state of affairs continued for years. Over time and with technological advances, I learned to give the shots myself, but I always, always put it off as long as possible. By this time, I had given up on praying for healing. Obviously if God hadn't answered my request by now, He wasn't going to. So I agreed to accept it, and learn from it. In this time I learned compassion for others' pain, having never experienced this level before. I learned strength, fortitude and forbearance in ways only chronic pain teaches. I learned about true friendship, that rides the waves with you. These were all gifts that would not have come had I not been through this unwanted degeneration. As I saw and began to appreciate these gifts, I embraced this disease, seeing that I had gained wisdom, understanding and a new heart. I would not reverse time, if I had the choice, and undo this trauma.
I met a woman who shares my particular malady. She did not have the advantage of our modern treatments and her gnarled hands are the result of a lifetime struggle. But that is not what I noticed about her. I was struck by her joy and enthusiasm for life, her energy and effervescence. If she could go through life with my pain and have so much joy, why couldn't I?
I think God is a very funny guy. See the platypus for example one. Once I learned to embrace my lifelong struggle, the disease loosened it's hold on me. Remember, I put off shots as long as possible. Soon I was going for a month between treatments, instead of a week. Over two years, I continued to wean from the dependency on medicine, and now I have stopped taking it altogether. I have not felt this healthy in seven years. The medical, scientific part of me knows that this relief will not last forever, but instead of worrying about how or when it will come back, I choose to be thankful for the reprieve and believe that, for the time being, God answered my long abandoned request.
My doctor says that I'm a very lucky lady. He doesn't know that I am blessed beyond imagining. He doesn't know that my all powerful God loves me, knows what I can handle, and pushes me to the brink and even a little bit further to show me just how far I can trust Him. This disease doesn't travel backwards, but my God is bigger than my disease and He can do what he wants with it, increasing or decreasing pain as He sees fit to show me the world I need to see. That sounds like an amazing adventure that I wouldn't miss out on, for all the pain it may cost.
