This post was written about January 4, 2016
Sickness…it’s like spilled milk. It starts running off the edges of the table, gets down deep in the crevices and sticks for days. Weeks.
I have missed a total of three days of basketball practice in six years, and now I have missed three days in a row. This thing has really got me.
How easy it is to forget that the Lord has given us all we have, and it is His to take away. Even our health, our energy. I confess I have been distant lately. Faith has been hard. Staying near to Him has been hard. I’m sick. I’m tired. I’m tired.
I’m tired of being tired.
But the Lord will get our attention, even when we’re tired. I was reminded this morning by a kind but truth-speaking person that we are NOT called to grumble and complain.
So I approached my doctor’s appointment with a hopeful attitude. Let’s just see what he has to say.
My doctor is the most upbeat person in the world—seriously, straight out of a storybook. I love it. Brian says even if my brain was hanging half out of my head, this doctor would still say, “Good appointment! This was a great conversation.”
You can’t help but laugh.
Unfortunately, the MRIs aren’t very funny and the medicine is not doing its job—You’re a first, he says. Basically, he's never had this medicine not work for a patient that fits my profile. There is a possibility we haven't given it enough time, but he seems confident we should not wait and see.
Translation: Let’s get on the other meds stat. We need to get this under control. He says it’s not all bad. This is the best kind—the kind that shows up, and you know what you’re fighting against. But it’s active MS, and we need to fight.
I confess that I am afraid. For the first time in a long time, really afraid of what could be. Afraid of this once a month infusion they want me to do. Afraid that each month I’ll be afraid. The risk of a brain infection is so minute in my case, but it is there and it is real to me.
I told Brian amidst a curtain of tears, sitting crossed legged on the living room floor after the kids had gone to bed and the day had been all but tucked in: “I just don’t want to be a vegetable.”
And my dear, sweet, loving man said, “Don’t worry, we’ll be sure to get you some good meat to go with it.” And I laughed and buried my head in his chest.
And so the Lord calls me back to Him tonight: “But as for me, it is good to be near God” (Psalm 73:28). Wake up, he says, and be obedient. This is an ongoing battle. TRUST in me, Abbey. Trust in me.
To whom else shall I go? Lord.