Next week will mark 2 years since my diagnosis (my proper diagnosis, that is, of Lyme).  I can’t say I thought this is where I would be 2 years later. Quite honestly, I thought 2, 3 months max., and I would be done with this. Regardless, it has been quite a journey, and here I am. (Almost) 4 years after being bitten, 2 years after being diagnosed, One year of receiving full and proper treatment, and…? And the rest we don’t know, do we? I’m not sure if I would rather know when it ends or not. Knowing could be quite exciting; give me a goal to work towards; a finish line to keep my eye on. It could also mean depression and despair, I suppose, if the timeline seems too far beyond my reach. Not knowing…well, that takes faith, doesn’t it? I quite like faith. Faith has become more than a practice or a passion; faith has become a lifeline; a routine required to stay alive; a reason to keep fighting. And a reason to keep trusting, when I don’t feel I can fight any longer.

 Quite a lot has taken place health-wise since I last wrote, and as such, there is little else to report of. I have been Herxing steadily since Christmas; and with the die-off happening faster than my body could release it, I eventually became toxic. It took some time to figure out-- I knew only that I wasn’t feeling “normal,” as my Herxes generally consist of the same symptoms each time. This time, I was not only experiencing worse bone pain and fatigue than usual; but also severe headaches, neck pain, nausea, and visual distortion; all so great I couldn’t hardly eat or move. Thankfully, our friends were just a phone call away, and quickly were able to identify and suggest remedies while I waited on our doctors to return my calls. Sure enough, our “honorary doctors” knew exactly what they were talking about, and a week’s regimen of plenty of fluids, a break from the overly-effective antibiotic, and a ton of Vitamin C (along with all of my usual meds) was later confirmed to be the best course of action.

I began feeling better (and by better, I mean able to sit up) within a couple of days—just in time for Jack to come down with the flu. My poor baby has never been so sick in his life (thank goodness)! And after an hour of Matt running around like mad trying to clean up after and care for our boy, I was called in to help. While Matt washed sheets and cleaned carpets I rocked my baby on my lap in front of the toilet, alternating between positioning him when needed (crying only when he couldn’t see me) and reeling him back in for cuddles; until he had nothing left , and all he could do was fall asleep. It was the first time since he was a small baby that he not only fell asleep in my arms, but did so without the aid of his not-so-stuffed elephant.  Matt lifted the both of us to my feet, and I lay him in a bed thrice-changed. He cried out several times, “I don’t want to throw up!” in his sleep. The whole experience was just heartbreaking.

Not at all surprisingly, just a little over 24 hours later, I too was hit with ‘The World’s Worst Flu.’ In one way, I “cheated the system”--by not eating. Can’t get sick if you don’t eat, right? Wrong. Can’t get sick as often if you don’t eat, but besides dodging an all-nighter with the porcelain throne, every other symptom raged. Bone and muscle pain like I have never felt; nausea; a splitting headache; fever; vertigo; chills;  and the most vivid nightmares I hope to never have again. As I lay there, in between dreams, I prayed. I cried. Most importantly, I had two “re-epiphanies” (things I already believed, but was struck with even harder with this time). One: I am SO grateful that I am the one with Lyme disease, and not my son. The saddest part of being sick myself was knowing THAT was how Jack had felt the night before. Two: We can do hard things. Even the things that make us feel like we are going to die. Even the things that make us WANT to die. We can do them. Things that were once deemed difficult can suddenly seem possible in the wake of even larger struggles. I know that is what happened to me, as I wrestled through that flu, without choice of whether or not I would fight on. I just did. My body just did. And as I prayed my mind grew in wisdom; and my heart was softened in a way only suffering can do.

 In case you are all wondering: Matt also came down with the same flu, and bounced back in a way only my husband can. While I was laying here, still delirious, sleeping HIS BIRTHDAY away, he was walking around like a marathon runner preparing for a race, guzzling water and doing whatever needed to be done. It wasn’t until around eight o’clock on his birthday that I snapped out of my delirium long enough to even wonder if it was his special day, or if it had come and gone. And you know what? He could have been really disappointed. But instead, he comforted me when I got upset over missing it. What would I do without him? I don’t ever stop wondering that.

The next weekend, two days after officially being over the flu, we celebrated. Packed up Jack, his beautiful auntie and cousin, and took the closest parking space available at West Edmonton Mall to take in the “Sea Caverns” there. It was a lot of fun (even for someone who detests most sea animals), and watching Jack, and holding my nephew, and being “normal” was wonderful. We even got to go for frozen yogurt , and on to the pet store to dream about which puppy we would own next.  My mom and brother joined us back at home for Matt’s birthday supper, which was amazing to finally get a chance to socialize in what felt like one of the few times since Christmas. And then, I kinked my neck. Not like, “Ow, my neck is tingly and numb. Bummer;” but more like,”OHMYGOSH I kinked my already sore neck beyond any neck pain imaginable and can’t move. Not my neck, not my shoulders-- not even my arm!” (I am not embellishing this: I breathed through it like I was in labour!) I spent the next 42 hours sleeping so as to cope with the pain. I was able to get into the chiropractor, which gave me temporary relief, only to slide whatever he slid into place back out again. Thankfully it isn’t as bad as last time, but it is still difficult to sit up, move my head, etc. And I haven’t been able to stay awake for much longer than a few hours at a time. I miss Jack. And I miss feeling well enough to see my friends.

For a long time now I have been blessed with the patience to be okay with where I am in life, and all that comes with this disease. But I have to say, last night it got to me. I needed to cry about it. I needed to feel frustrated and fed up, and just vent about it. And through all of my tears and emotion, God was there. He was there giving me things to be grateful for. And as I closed my eyes, and felt the hot tears stream down my face, I could see myself. I lay there, crushed under the weight of a giant steel boulder, nothing but my hands left uncovered. My body was ruined. But from my hands rose the grace of God, like smoke; enveloping the boulder until my mind and my heart—my ability to choose, and to love—rose to the top. So as to say, “You don’t need your body, Kate. Don’t give in to bitterness and despair simply because you are being held down. I can carry you up; up, over your pain, and beyond your limitations; and I can help you to think and love so much greater than that broken person can now, if you will let me.”

And so, I will let Him. I will choose to let Him every day, every time I feel like every last bit of life is being pinched out of me, until all I can breathe in is Him. It has been a hard couple of months. It has been lonely, and at times not at all what I wanted.  It has most definitely been what I have needed, though: time in the desert with my Lord. Just as He intended. Time that I may once have seen as wasted I can now see the lesson in. And it only took two years. I wonder how much more I can grow in another two? ;)

Blessings and Hope,

Kate

"Cast your burden on the LORD, and He shall sustain you; He shall never permit the righteous to be moved." Psalm 55:22