“The Lord gets His best soldiers out of the highlands of affliction.”- Spurgeon
Rah! Rah! Rah! Fight! Fight! Fight!
And I keep going. Onward bound I fight. What I have won’t kill me, but it also won’t make me stronger. It actually makes me weaker.
‘When I am weak, then I am strong.’
That verse both covers all my fears, and is the thing that I pull away from most.
Fact of the matter is this hasn’t been easy. It took me a couple days after the hospital visit to realize how bad off I am. To know that I was on the brink of death, to know that I had pushed myself that far… To be told that if I hadn’t come in when I did that I would have left this earth in a matter of hours was shattering. At the end of my emergency room visit, the Doctors came into the room, a whole slew of them. They sat there and told me I was in critical condition. That in my sleep I could have had a stroke, and lost my eyesight, my mobility, my livelihood. That I was in such terrible health, that I have no choice but to take a step back from life as I know it and rest, or I wont be able to live it at all. To hear them tell me I most likely have a disease. My body is fighting against itself and I need to drop everything in my life and start fighting with it!
I can deeply relate to Norman Cousin in Anatomy of illness:
“There was first the feeling of helplessness –a serious disease in itself. There was the subconscious fear of never being able to function normally again—it produced a wall of separation between us and the world of open movement, open sounds, open expectations. There was a reluctance to be thought a complainer. There was a desire no to add to the already great burden of apprehension felt by one’s family; this added to the isolation. There was the conflict between the terror of loneliness and the desire to be left alone. There was the lack of self-esteem, the subconscious feeling perhaps that our illness was a manifestation of our inadequacy. There was the fear that decisions were being made behind our backs, that not everything was made known that we wanted to know, yet dread knowing. There was the resentment of strangers who came to us with needles and vials—some of which put magical substances in our veins, and others of which took more of our blood than we thought we could afford to lose. There was the distress of being wheeled through white corridors to laboratories for all sorts of strange encounters with compact machines and blinking lights and whirling discs. And there was the utter void created by the longing—ineradicable, unremitting, pervasive—for warmth of human contact. A warm smile and an outstretched hand were valued even above offerings of modern science, but the latter were far more accessible than the former.”
The diagnosis was endometriosis. Because I was so worried about my health in this temporary situation, this pre-diagnosis just went right over my head.
For those who don’t know what this disease is, that’s normal. There really isn’t that much medically that can be done for endo girls. The only diagnosis is surgery, so it will be years before I know for sure. There’s no cure, no real treatment, most patients have multiple surgeries, and almost all have fertility problems. The problems of women who have this condition make a list a mile long. And again, no cure, hysterectomy is usually the end all for women in my shoes.
There is still so much I don’t know about this disease. I don’t know what’s next.
I know, no one probably expected this out of me, but here it is: this seems impossible!
My body is in pain. Constantly. I would gladly die and go to heaven rather than experience this pain any longer. Pain is a terror. It fogs the senses. It lies to you. It tells you everyone around you doesn’t care, that there is no hope, that you will always remain a devastating version of yourself. It makes you fear. Fear casts out love just as love casts out fear. You are left desolate and to your own devices. And no one, no matter what they have gone though, no matter their current or prior circumstances, no one understands what I’m going through! That doesn’t change the fact that I have to release my control of what others see in me and allow them room to have compassion on me.
I have now chosen the fight. To dive in. A fire has been stirred in me. In all of this darkness, I had forgotten the call. I have forgotten how lowly I am. Through brokenness and humility I reach out in hopes to show you how everything is gift. Praise God that I have been blessed with a disease that destroys my body and forces me to remember that I am just made of dirt. I am in love with a God who has control. Who heals. Praise God that I am forced to be dependant. I am forced to call upon those around me to be compassionate on me. Praise God that I am a proof of grace and that our days are numbered. Life is so fragile. Praise God for the loneliness and depression that accompanies chronic pain. For it forces me to be grateful and seek out every bit of happiness. It forces me to want to love others in a way that produces joy and happiness, that there that I lack of. Praise God that I’m still standing, that my body, the temple wasn’t broken down! I am writing this as proof of a majestic God who will have His glory shown. All power of the earth belongs to Him, praise God!
My fight is not of life and death, not of health and sickness, not of worthiness and acceptance of others, not love and hate, not of loneliness, not fear, not body, not soul, not energy, not of my future, my fight is the Gospel. For God sent His only son, to die for our sins, not that we could be without pain, not that the world would be fair, but so that we can have eternal life in His presence! May every hardship remind us of the hardship we will never endure for our salvation from damnation.
I have been justified, I have been redeemed, I have hope, I have salvation, and blood on a tree did that for ME! And on the other side of this painful life, is a new body, is freedom from affliction, is home.
I will sing praise, I will sing praise, no weapon formed against me shall remain.
I in my own strength am nothing; I praise, worship and live for a God of ultimate strength. May he guide my every step and remind me of His glory daily.
I have endo, endo doesn’t have me.