Although I suppose it's natural to get wrapped up in your immediate surroundings, it's certainly not healthy.
The past couple weeks have been rough.
I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease nine years ago.
Three weeks ago, I spent time in the hospital to have some testing done.
Two weeks ago, I went to my doctor to follow up with the testing.
The testing showed that my Crohn's is more active and more aggressive than my doctor anticipated. This means I need to change my treatment, which is always an uncertain and scary thing.
We discussed the two treatment options I've yet to try:
The first option is a combination of 2 meds. I've been on both medicines before without much luck, but sometimes medicines behave differently when paired with other meds. One of the medicines, though, made me so nauseated the last time I was on it that I had no desire to try it again.
The second option is a relatively new medicine that often causes a brain infection which is usually fatal.
I left that appointment not knowing how to process this information. I had three choices: continue to get sicker, compromise my quality of life by constantly being on the verge of throwing up, or put myself at risk of a fatal brain infection.
I prayed.
I journaled.
I cried.
I thought.
I researched.
I discussed.
But still, neither option seemed great.
And then I started talking to Sarah.
Sarah has Lyme disease.
Now, I didn't know much about Lyme disease before I talked to her, but it's not as treatable as one might think.
Sarah plays violin.
Her Lyme disease is affecting her brain in ways that limit the mobility of her arms and fingers.
Sarah likes people.
Her Lyme disease makes it so she often can't process what people are saying to her.
Sarah celebrates holidays.
Some days she feels fine. Some days she literally can't function. She's had to stay at home by herself for the past several major holidays just because those have happened to be days where she has been especially sick.
Sarah smiles a lot.
She would never let her Lyme disease prevent that.
Today I went to my doctor.
We decided on an alternative therapy for treatment, although it would require me to give myself a shot each week.
I was looking at my calendar to see which day of the week would be best, and I chose my shot day based upon which day of the week intersected with the fewest holidays.
And then I thought about Sarah.
She has to give herself 3 shots every day. On Christmas. On her birthday. On Valentine's Day. On her wedding day.
And that's when I realized what's so terrible about chronic illness:
There's no reprieve. Ever.
It's a constant battle. It's always in the back of your mind. It's always a source of worry.
For 9 years, Crohn's Disease has been somewhere in my brain at all times.
Every single day.
"Any idiot can face a crisis; it's day to day living that wears you out." --Anton Chekhov
Then my dad called me to ask how my appointment went.
I filled him in, and then asked him about his most recent trip to Haiti.
[He got back last night.]
His response was, "It's hard to tell people that they're going to die when their only sin is that they were born in the wrong country."
And here I am being all concerned about whether my meds were going to make me feel nauseated or not.
It's interesting how my circumstances seemed unsurmountable and bleak until I put them next to others.
Next to what Sarah deals with every day, Crohn's Disease is cake.
And when placed side-by-side with dying for lack of accessibility to treatment, the relative unpleasantness of Crohn's Disease is microscopic.
How did I get to a point where the only thing that matters is what's happening to me?
When did I allow myself to get so wrapped up in my own life that I forgot that God is bigger than any of it?
Where along the way did I dismiss the fact that my life isn't about me at all?
"I turn off the news when I don't like what I see. It's easy to do when it's population: me." --Matthew West
