So I feel led (don’t cha love it when Christians use those kind of terms?) to share some of my back story that led me here to this place in my life, the one where I trust God whole-heartedly unless He takes more than a week and a half. Then, it’s Him reminding me to trust Him more than me trusting.
I have been dealing with symptoms, (ones that no doctor seems to have ever heard of before) other than to throw me under the “umbrella diagnosis” of chronic fatigue. There is no official diagnosis, but many of my symptoms look a whole lot like something they have read about that looked similar to something someone wrote about. *cue cheesy sarcastic grin.
I really don’t like to talk about what goes on in terms of how I feel but, as I said, I feel (hehe) the need to share what I deal with in the hopes that it may encourage someone somewhere to do something, whether it be something different or something they need to persevere in. It’s also been brought to my attention that the enemy of our souls uses a lot of different forms of chains to hold us down. God gives us freedom in all aspects of our lives, abundantly so. And for this reason, I’m gonna step out in faith.
When this journey of mine started after I graduated college, (I got to work in my field of speech pathology for almost a full year) That day in 2009, I watched as the pen fell from my hand as I was filling out paperwork. Suddenly, I couldn’t move. My face went slack and every fiber of my being was exhausted to the point where I fell to the floor. Fast forward (not too fast though) to hospital bills and pills, low, low blood pressure and blood tests, examinations and reviews, needles and scopes, pokes and prods, sniffs and sighs…every test came back negative. Hip hooray! Right? To a point. (I think anyone who’s ever been in the medical system knows how this feels.) I remember thinking, “What’s to celebrate? That I have no reason to feel like I do?” The negative results…or positive ones…didn’t keep me out of that recliner. I needed help with everything. I would get up (after thinking about getting up for hours) many times with the assistance of my husband, to go to the bathroom. Then I would come back to the chair, exhausted and spent, requiring a “battery recharge.”
I spent so much time in that stupid blue recliner, about 2 years.
I remember wishing I had something to blame all the symptoms on. I still do to an extent. I would anxiously wait for the doctors and specialists, who I pictured sweating over my file in their off-hours, much like they do on House, to have that AHA! moment. Picture it: I get a call as I sit in that chair, short of breath, pain all over, and there ya have it!! A diagnosis, complete with a quick, one-pill cure! I swallow it and before it reaches my stomach, I’m feeling better than I ever have before! Thank you Jesus!! God does care about me!! (Because you begin to doubt this at times. Just being honest.)
This is the scenario that I know isn’t going to happen and yet it still plays out in the back of my mind each time I visit a new doctor (or nurse practicioner or chiropractor or health care professional or gas station attendant.) The “One” that everyone and their dog has gotten results from…all they had to do was walk through their door and they felt better…everyone but me. (See? Right there. It’s those kinds of statements that keep me from writing too much about this. Bleck. It screams pity-party—with pity hats and pity balloons and pity noisemakers and pity cake. But I will continue on…if for nothing other than the hope that this cake I speak of may not simply be a figment of my imagination.)
To be Continued…be careful not to fall off your seat. I know you’re on the edge of it. Have a blessed day!