I miss my mind, body, and creative self. I lost them on a journey this past year.
“How,” you ask?
My kind, attentive, life-affirming rheumatolotist retired the previous January. We had slipped into gray-haired senior citizenship together. He was diminutive in stature, but oh, so large in heart and wisdom. On my good lupus days, he would end my appointment sessions with a reassuring pat on the knee and an encouraging word, “You’re the healthiest sick patient I have!”
After his retirement, and under a new doctor’s leadership, the care tumbled swiftly downhill. Ultimately, I bid my dear infusion nurses good-bye and left. Another referral, and several months later, I got an appointment with yet another specialist in an adjoining city. My hopes for good care were dashed again and I left frustrated and dejected. That doctor was so horrible that I was obliged to report her to the hospital’s human resources office. What now? I had been without any lupus medication for a year and my body was screaming out for help!
Subsequently, I reached out to my original primary care physician from 25 years ago who was currently teaching at a major university. She promised to research for the best rheumatologist in Central Texas. Within a day, I had an appointment, but not until March, and this was January.
Pain was no longer muffled, background music. The end-of-the-day fatigue descended into all-day. I slogged through brain fog, snatching at complete thoughts while losing any chance for creativity. The joint, deep muscle, neck, and back pain increased incrementally. Something had to give. My emotional reserves were depleted as well. I felt guilty for begging God to let this all pass away from me when others were in acute trauma and despair in this country and around the world.
Nevertheless, inspite of my self-depricating thoughts, relief did come.
The very next morning, I received a call from the third rheumatologist asking if I wanted to come in the next day since there was a cancellation.
“Yes please,” I thankfully wept into the phone.
It’s been three weeks now since that answer-to-prayer doctor visit. She listened attentively, gently examined me from head to toe, took copious amounts of blood, and ordered tests, CT scans, MRI’s with and without contrast, xrays, and prescribed in-the-meantime meds. Finally, I felt seen, heard, and cared for!
Now, I wait.
Spring is around the corner. Five daffodils are blooming out front and I spy greenery at the base of my perennials. The yellow daffodil centers wink at me like the winking emoji, teasing me that “myself” is waiting for me just up ahead!
This morning, I woke up with the following chorus in my head, which is a surprise since songs rarely visit me. I’m more of a prose girl!
“Because he lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because he lives, all fear is gone.
Because I know, he holds the future,
And life is worth the living
Just because he lives.”
What’s your “Spring” hoped-for prayer ?
Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.”