I Can’t…and That’s Okay

I can’t. Those are two words I seldom use together. Growing up, my mom was determined to make sure I was never in a position where I would have to rely on anyone (as she had been let down too many times). When I said I can’t, she would correct me and tell me that I could do anything, become anyone, if I set my mind to it. As a child, I just rolled my eyes. Words of affirmation have never been my love language. But somewhere along the way, her words lodged deep within me and I now hate to admit when I can’t do something. So, I generally push myself too hard to prove (to myself) that I don’t need anyone, that I am the self-sufficient woman my mother wanted me to be. I have always thought of that as one of my greatest strengths, and if I was a single mother who had walked in her shoes, it probably would be.

Intoxicated with unbroken success, we have become too self-sufficient to feel the necessity of redeeming and preserving grace, too proud to pray to the God that made us.

Abraham Lincoln

If you remember last week I made the choice to give myself grace and begin adding food back into my diet a day or two early. Shortly after I published that blog post, I went to the kitchen and turned my slow cooker on low. I began washing and chopping some vegetables that a friend brought me from her garden. I was slicing tomatoes when I started to feel a little weak. My first instinct was to push myself, so I paused and took a deep breath, steadied myself, and grabbed another tomato. Just as the knife broke the skin I realized that I wasn’t going to shake this off easily. I found my way to a chair in the living room and sat. My husband asked from across the room, “Are you okay?” Again, my first instinct was to say, “Yeah, just a little dizzy.” At this point my hands had gone numb and I was pouring sweat – and I was scared – so I was honest in my reply. “I don’t think I am,” I said, trying my best to focus on him. My kids were sitting on the couch and I didn’t want to worry them, but I really couldn’t focus on anything. It was then that my husband said my lips were white and I felt a huge rush of pain envelop me. We called my medical provider’s advice line and they had a doctor call us back. Long story short, whatever was wrong lasted about twenty minutes until I ate about a half of a cup of kale and potato soup. By the time the doctor called back, I was feeling much better and we decided I didn’t need to go in. Rather than push through, I listened to my body. I stopped, I rested, I admitted that I couldn’t, and I asked for help.

On Monday, I got a call from my rheumatologist. She wanted to know how the Prednisone was working. I had not discussed my choice to delay taking the medication with her, and had failed to check in. When I told her about my choice to try food as medicine, I expected to get a little grief. When I tell my doctor’s that I don’t want to take medicine, I often get an eye roll (or the respectful equivalent), and I can sense frustration. However, that’s not what I got. She was completely on board. She told me that we were in no hurry, that I had been dealing with mastitis for over two years, and if I wanted to try to use food as medicine she thought it was a great idea. I was relieved – until I asked the next question. “So, I got the results of the ANA test. What are the next steps to diagnose Lupus?” Silence. And then, “That was the test…and it was positive. Now it is just a matter of waiting to see how it will manifest itself.” Wait, what? So I have lupus? What does that even mean? I am not ready for this…I can’t.

That night, I sat down after everyone had gone to bed. I held my Bible in my hand and I prayed a simple prayer. “God, I need you to speak to me tonight. I need this word that you have given me to speak to my life, to my situation.” I sat in silence until I heard, “The word that came to Jeremiah from the Lord, saying.” That was one of my kids’ Bible quizzing scriptures from last year, so I knew exactly where to find it. My first thought was to ignore that still, small voice, thinking it must just have been me, but I figured – what can it hurt? I flipped to Jeremiah chapter 30 and began to read. I stopped when I got to verse twelve. I read it again, and then again. Then I pulled out my phone and opened the Blue Letter Bible app and looked up the scripture there to find out what the word bruised meant.

For thus saith the Lord, Thy bruise is incurable, and thy wound is grievous.

Jeremiah 30:12

Bruise can mean fracture, breach, broken, or hurt (among other things). I looked further and grievous means to be weak, sick or afflicted; diseased; sore; infirmity. I had just been diagnosed with an incurable disease, I have been sick, weak, and diseased for over two years. I kept reading.

There is none to plead thy cause, that thou mayest be bound up: thou hast no healing medicines.

Jeremiah 30:13

Again, I began looking up the words and found bound there didn’t mean what I first thought, but to bandage – as in a wound; a remedy; a sore needing a compress. I kept reading until I got to verse seventeen.

For I will restore health unto thee, and I will heal thee of thy wounds, saith the Lord; because they called thee an Outcast, saying, This is Zion, whom no man seeketh after.

Jeremiah 30:17

There, I stopped and let the tears fall freely down my face. It was as if God – the Almighty, the King of kings – had written this passage thousands of years ago just for me. I went back and read it again, looking up every word. On Sunday night, I had cried out to God saying, “I want to walk out of here whole, God, I want to walk out of here whole.” Both health and heal in verse seventeen mean wholeness, to make whole. I know God is real. I have felt his presence, I have seen the evidence of him in my life and the lives of those around me, many times. When His word comes alive, speaks into my life, the exact situation I am dealing with, and offers hope, something to hold on to, I find myself in awe. I am reminded of a song by Shara McKee, “That’s What Jesus Does.” That is what He does.

I had a great week, I felt renewed both in my faith and in my mind. I felt the darkness leave, the heavy weight of disease decreased. That doesn’t mean that my physical body is healed, or even feels better, but the weight of the disease runs deeper than that. When your body suffers for such a long time, when you have no hope, when you begin to plan your life around your pain, there is a huge effect on your mental health. Studies have shown a link between chronic pain and depression. This week, while I was in great physical pain, I felt like I was walking on sunshine.

On Saturday my husband, a friend, and I took a group of kids to the Marin Headlands near Sausalito. We hiked several miles. At one point, I stopped and took a seat and watched everyone else make the trek down to a beautiful beach. My body wasn’t capable. I wanted to join them, but I accepted the fact that I couldn’t. Near the end of the hike, I was facing a mountain of stairs – literally. I had only eaten a banana, as we were only planning to go on a 3 mile, mild hike. We got side-tracked and ended up going further and on a much more challenging route. I was trying to push myself, I wanted to complete the hike with everyone else. I was taking it slow, holding on to my husband for support. And then I just couldn’t. Well, maybe I could have made it, but it at what cost? I stopped, looked at my husband and said, “I can’t make it. Can you go get the car and pick me up?” I felt feeble, weak – and I hated it. I turned around, holding onto my son and made it back down to a place where he could pick me up. When he got there with the car, I climbed in and thanked him. His sweet reply was simply, “I would walk across the country to get the car if you needed me to.” And he probably would. We spent the afternoon at the beach, listening to the waves roll in, and watching the kids make memories.

It has been two weeks. There have been no changes to the abdomen pain or the granulomatous mastitis. There have been big changes to my mental health and my spiritual well-being. I have lost a few pounds (maybe six or seven) and overall I feel better. I don’t know where this journey will end and what the results will be. I am just taking it day by day and embracing each victory.