My body has been through so much in the past few weeks. I've wept and cried in anguish, but I've also sung for joy. I've enjoyed the heights of paddleboarding on mountain lakes and journeyed the depths of a pain which chained me to my couch.
I've experienced two disease flares, one of which was excruciating to the point of tears, two chemo injections, one chemo infusion, my damn period, a pelvis x-ray, and a daunting rheumatology appointment. And that's just the disease stuff.
Yesterday my rheumatologist quelled some fears regarding my diagnosis and future treatment. To understand the import of said conversation, you have to know I have what one might, only half-facetiously, refer to as "physician-triggered post-traumatic stress disorder." (PTSD)* Anxiety courses through my body as I face doctors appointments. Where I can generally easily access calm, I am instead in fight-or-flight mode. (If you ask my husband, he'll tell you it's mostly fight-mode. I can get real feisty when it comes to protecting my health with medical professionals.) I have been treated horrendously by doctors in the past, and I resultantly wear a cloak of mistrust to every medical appointment.
Will you harm me? Will you question the veracity of the pain which has so rocked my life? Will you threaten to take away the treatments which are the primary thing standing between me and disability?
My cloak of mistrust feels like a necessary protection after several soul-killing surprise verbal attacks by arrogant doctors. I've been blindsided one too many times and no longer enter medical appointments with any assumed safety.
And yet, not all doctors are asswipes. Some actually listen. Really, many doctors truly listen and care. In my 8.5 years of being sick, I have probably seen over 50 doctors. Less than 10 have been total jerks. Fewer than 5 have damaged my soul. Funny, isn't it, how a semi-small handful of traumatic experiences can affect your life?
I am especially able to take off my cloak of mistrust if I am accompanied to appointments by a supportive person. In most cases, this is my spouse. Sadly, because medical appointments often take up a significant amount of time in any given month, I have grown accustomed to attending them alone. In many ways, my posture toward medical appointments is a emblematic of a larger attitude toward myself, others, and even God in light of long-term illness. Doctor's appointments are one of the hardest places to practice what I preach about community. It's much easier, in a sense, to go by myself than to inconvenience others to come to mid-day, often long, appointments. However, in going alone, I leave myself unnecessarily vulnerable. What seems convenient is actually, in most cases, unwise and unkind toward my sensitive, somewhat-traumatized soul.
Yesterday, because my husband accompanied me, I was able to take off my garment of mistrust. And, amazingly, my doctor showed himself to be trustworthy.
Today, I am carrying both gratefulness and grief from yesterday's appointment. I'm in awe that my rheumatologist cares about my life and believes my pain. But I'm also grieving the reality that I may have some additional health conditions impacting both my quality of life and future plans.
I grieve for my body, for the pain, suspicion, and anguish she has had to endure. I grieve for the losses, the difficulties, and the harrowing hazards my body has and does face. I grieve for her and simultaneously marvel at her strength.
Facing my physical fragility and fortitude draws my eyes to Jesus. My body of pain illumines His Body and the inexplicable pain He endured in His life and death. Cosmically, Jesus held my pain in His body. In his pierced hands and side, the offending wrongness of chronic illness as a result of the Fall was forever atoned.
My body has been through a lot in the past few weeks. But only in Jesus' Body is there enough space to hold the weight of the grief and joy in my life. And there is room for yours, too.
Look to His Body; look to His suffering. Find peace in the mystery that your pain is known, carried, and forever conquered in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
*No, I do not have a PTSD diagnosis. Yes, I do respect the seriousness of such a label. And yes, I do genuinely believe I experience serious symptoms of trauma when it comes to some of my medical experiences.
If you are concerned about your own experience of trauma, I highly recommend you seek the advice of a medical professional, particularly a counselor. I offer Denver-based counseling services and would love to support you in the hard work of living with illness or suffering of any kind.