WORK IN PROGRESS - projected completion date: someday
“And I will bring the third part through the fire,
and will refine them as silver is refined,
and will try them as gold is tried:
they shall call on my name, and I will hear them:
I will say, It is my people:
and they shall say, The Lord is my God.”
Zechariah 13:9
My year of Our Lord, 2019, is best summarized with this simple statement: I would not wish that year on my worst enemy.
The year started off bad and ended in disaster. I had a sinus infection that I couldn't kick after 2 rounds of antibiotics. I had recently started a great job and didn't want to take PTO days so soon after starting. I finally had to admit to them that I couldn't keep up with working and neutralize the sinus infection at the same time.
I made a follow up appointment with my doctor to let them know that the Z-pack didn't help. I also brought in a list of the other symptoms that I was experiencing including sciatica, hip and joint pain, vertigo, brain fog, nausea, muscle spasms, urinary tract infection, insomnia, overwhelming fatigue after minor exertion, diarrhea, and rapid weight loss.
I remember the look on the nurse practitioner's face. She went pale. She quickly left but didn't tell me why. She needed to consult with the more experienced doctor, Dr. Neva Monigatti-Lake, who became my primary physician for the roller coaster of tests, surgeries, emergency room visits, and a mess of prescriptions that didn't work.
By March, I had another internal hernia. But this time, after viewing my imaging results, Stanford didn't send the helicopter for emergency surgery. This time I had to wait until a surgery date in early April. I had to pray that I didn't have another episode of bowel-twisting before the surgery. Each episode was excruciating, 10-out-of-10 gut-squeezing pain that often left me alternating between passing out and throwing up absolutely nothing.
The paramedics and ER staff never seemed to believe that I had an internal hernia when they would ask me what was wrong. I would tell them they could quickly stabilize me by a muscle relaxer and Tylenol - via IV. They gave me the side eye as I doubled over in pain, again. Instead, they tested me for heroin, Hepatitis C, and AIDS.
When all my tests came out normal or negative, and the imaging showed an internal hernia, that is when the nurses and staff treated me with tender kindness. Apparently only people with Hepatitis C come into the ER without any human support. I instantly felt deep sorrow for the people that needed illicit drugs to numb their pain. And to throw insult on top of injury, to witness firsthand that they are treated worse than dogs by the medical community.
When it came time for discharge, the staff would ask me who was in the waiting room for me. It was a dagger straight to the chest. I would feel my heart in my throat and hold back the tears. I would try so hard to be positive and kind and gentle and all the fruit of the spirit whenever I met anyone, anywhere. I knew the nurses were not trying to be unkind with the question. They were only doing their job, and they needed someone to give discharge instructions to. I would let them know that there was nobody available and nobody else to call (I would call and text family and ‘friends’ but everyone was always too busy). Invariably the same nurse would come back 30 minutes later asking the same exact question. I wonder if the nurse went to the waiting room to call out for a relative waiting for me or just forgot. By the third time she asked, I would look directly in her eyes and calmly and slowly tell her "That question is difficult to hear and even more painful to answer. I will scream at the top of lungs if you ask me that again."
Meanwhile, the person I had counted on for support—my boyfriend—abruptly dumped me. Yes, the one who was married. He told me he didn't love me. He said he didn't sign up to take care of a sick girlfriend. He said he was only using me to be a better parent and a better person. He thanked me for the time I unknowingly saved him from suicide, by simply bringing him leftover pizza.
To add insult to injury, he, and his wife both filed for restraining orders against me. I was beyond confused that they could think I could injure them. Wasn't he military? Wasn't I now just a bag of bones? Didn't I have another surgery at Stanford scheduled for Tuesday? It took me a long, long time to realize their plan was just to burn the bridge between he and I, so there was no going back. Well, it worked.
The pain was relentless, radiating head to toe, though none of it compared to the ache in my heart. Sleep became a distant memory; exhaustion settled in as a constant companion. Private disability insurance benefits were denied. I tried to go back to work part-time, but they didn't want an employee with such uncertain health. I had to let go of the dream job too, so I settled with them.
At home, things fared no better. My beloved dogs, once a source of comfort, were now soiling the carpets —a painful reminder that I couldn’t care for them the way I used to. My son refused to help, no matter how dire things became. Friends and family disappeared, seemingly afraid to come near me, as though my mystery illness was contagious. Through it all, I remained without answers, still completely in the dark about what was destroying my body—and my life.
Then I had to let go of my dream home. After the long-term disability insurance company cut my benefits, again, I rented my home to a family who could afford it. Now, I was without a permanent home. But worse, so was my 16-year-old son[1], Son1.
1 I felt frustration that Son1 would not help with even small chores, like taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher. When the money ran out, Son1 stayed with the family of a high school friend. In Oregon House… but that is another story. I felt tremendous guilt for being unable to care for him. Regardless, I am glad that God spared me, at that time, from knowing everything happening to Son1 was my fault. I don’t think I could have survived with the knowledge that, yes, I was to blame for everything, as everything bad happening was a result of that sin I committed.