This has been an unpleasant morning. All signs indicate that my body is generating endometriosis more quickly than my poor nervous system can tolerate. I know I need to sit down and write about when I was first diagnosed and the 3 and a half years that followed to get my body stabilized, but I don't have the energy at the moment.
I woke up feeling decent this morning, which is typical. I'm rested after a good night's sleep, I haven't been on my feet in 8 or 9 hours, and my body is relaxed. I decided I needed to get some house work done before the day wore on because I never know if it's a good day or bad day just from waking up. (Have I mentioned how much I hate this disease?). Our bathroom was a wreck from me neglecting it for a week, so I hit it up first. By the time I was done with the tub, toilet, and sink, I was in so much pain I was in tears. Not only was I hurting, but I was angry. Very angry. I don't want a repeat of '05-'07. And, for the first time, it clicked why all the doors for us to go to Zambia this summer have slammed in our faces.
When I walked out the door to leave for the History Grant Trip last June, Isaac promised me we'd go see our girl the next summer. Yet, everything I tried to do to plan this trip failed. I have felt incredibly guilty for talking about how we'd go this summer for it to fizzle apart. But now I get it. I'm too vulnerable to travel across the world this summer. If I have to be hospitalized, with my severe allergies, I need to be here with my doctor and hospital that has my records to know what to do. I can't serve to my full potential if my legs have given out and I can't walk. And there's lots of gorgeous, beautiful, fun walking to do in Zambia! Oh, it's amazing! But I couldn't even get down our hallway this morning. And so while I see my Daddy God is protecting me, I'm mad. I don't want to be ill anymore. I don't want to have to think long term before I make plans. I don't want to have to live on a day by day and sometimes hour by hour basis to determine if I feel up to doing something. It's miserable. I hate having to depend on others to accomplish things I can typically do myself.
And yet...through my tears this morning, and the agony that I need to write our girl a letter to tell her I'm too sick to come when in her eyes 'too sick' means death and America means simple cures, all I could think of was "If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus tis now." And it's true.
I woke up feeling decent this morning, which is typical. I'm rested after a good night's sleep, I haven't been on my feet in 8 or 9 hours, and my body is relaxed. I decided I needed to get some house work done before the day wore on because I never know if it's a good day or bad day just from waking up. (Have I mentioned how much I hate this disease?). Our bathroom was a wreck from me neglecting it for a week, so I hit it up first. By the time I was done with the tub, toilet, and sink, I was in so much pain I was in tears. Not only was I hurting, but I was angry. Very angry. I don't want a repeat of '05-'07. And, for the first time, it clicked why all the doors for us to go to Zambia this summer have slammed in our faces.
When I walked out the door to leave for the History Grant Trip last June, Isaac promised me we'd go see our girl the next summer. Yet, everything I tried to do to plan this trip failed. I have felt incredibly guilty for talking about how we'd go this summer for it to fizzle apart. But now I get it. I'm too vulnerable to travel across the world this summer. If I have to be hospitalized, with my severe allergies, I need to be here with my doctor and hospital that has my records to know what to do. I can't serve to my full potential if my legs have given out and I can't walk. And there's lots of gorgeous, beautiful, fun walking to do in Zambia! Oh, it's amazing! But I couldn't even get down our hallway this morning. And so while I see my Daddy God is protecting me, I'm mad. I don't want to be ill anymore. I don't want to have to think long term before I make plans. I don't want to have to live on a day by day and sometimes hour by hour basis to determine if I feel up to doing something. It's miserable. I hate having to depend on others to accomplish things I can typically do myself.
And yet...through my tears this morning, and the agony that I need to write our girl a letter to tell her I'm too sick to come when in her eyes 'too sick' means death and America means simple cures, all I could think of was "If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus tis now." And it's true.
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