A little over a year ago, Lucy calmly paused in her play, and in a state of bewildered contemplation, looked up at me and said: “Mommy... don't worry. One day your tummy will feel better, and then you can play with me.”
These few words have played in my mind
countless times this year, echoing a deep feeling of quilt for obvious reasons. The only way I
would be able to console myself was with the idea of the day that I
would wake up from my third surgery and would dramatically utter,
“it... is... finished.” I know, it's very laughable, my pathetic
mental fantasy. But I would always mentally postpone thoughts that
were too difficult to deal with (like Lucy's sweet little words and her concerned green eyes heavy with burdens no two-year-old should have to bear) to
this particular spot in my future, because then I thought it would
all be over.
On February 12th, I
underwent the third surgery. Everything went well. I underwent less
anesthesia and had little pain intervention, so my body tolerated
everything much better this time around. And though my theatrical
fantasy didn't play out like I thought and despite waking up to world
of unrelenting pain, I have never been so excited to look down and
see nothing but skin and surgical tape. And really, for the first
time in about 3 years, everything went right.
So here I am, it is “over,” but
new phrases are repeating in my mind that I suppressed months ago
like my GI doctor saying: “Laura... you need to understand
something. Your life will most likely improve, but you need to
understand that you will have a new sense of 'normal.'”
The truth is, I'm not “normal,”
and that's a really hard thing to accept. I thought that at the end
of this, I would be invincible again. But I'm not. I'm still having
stomach issues as my body tries to adjust to it's new organ-remodel,
and no amount of Ensure will every give me enough nutrients/energy to
get through the day without fatigue. I'll never live life again
without "health" being on the front of my mind (something I
was brutally reminded of when a trip to the park in the exposed sun
turned into a Lupus flare-up). So, for the last few weeks I have
found myself wrestling with the same feelings that I have felt
through many tears this difficult year, and again, asking "why."
Why.... why do I STILL struggle after going through all of this? I
found myself asking God: "why....? Didn't I learn my lesson?
Haven't I suffered enough? Haven't Jon, Lucy and Isla all suffered
enough? It's not fair. They deserve better.... they deserve a wife, a
mother--- one that isn't bound by her flawed, earthly body."
But here's the thing: I am
earthly, I am bound by this eroding body. We all are. I wish
that I could put an enlightening capstone on the end of these last
few years that would have some profound resolution, but only now, I
am just realizing that my “health journey” is not over, nor ever
will be... this is my life. And as far as 'struggling on this
earth,' well that is life.
And I'm okay with that because I have
Jesus.
God's work is never done.
