Battling Fear

Ok, so I promised this wouldn't be about being sick, but more about my journey.  Being sick, however, is a big part of my journey right now.  It's playing into all of my thoughts.  So, this one IS about being sick.


Here's what it's been like:

I can't plan anything in advance because I don't know if I'll be well that day, and even if I feel well that day, I don't know if I'll keep feeling well the whole day.  If you somehow happened upon this blog and you're wondering what I'm talking about, I have this thing where I have episodes of slurred speech, I pass out, I get extremely tired, sometimes I have convulsions or twitch uncontrollably.  Sometimes I can't walk properly or I can only walk very slowly.  Sometimes I have to be reassured of events or of how I ended up in a certain place because the familiar begins to look unfamiliar. In between the episodes, I feel dizzy, nauseous, foggy, and just plain gross.  Sometimes this thing comes on me and I feel sick for a day; other times it's months.  I'm heading toward the one month mark for this bout. 


 I've done this on and off for 12 years, ever since my first pregnancy.  I've gone to emergency rooms and been accused of being a drug-seeker, being suicidal; I've heard doctors tell my husband I was crazy.  I've had one doctor tell me not to call her anymore because "unless you lose control of your bowels or your bladder, Mrs.  Isenhart, there's nothing I can do for you."  I've had neurologists send me to psychiatrists who have told me I need a neurologist.  I've had one neurologist tell me he was sure he knew what it was and, when it turned out it wasn't what he thought, he told me to take up yoga.  I've told trusted friends this story and I've seen the doubt in their eyes... "Well, maybe she is crazy if all of these specialists think so..."  I've had advice like, "This is stress-induced.  You should paint more."  I've had friends pray for my healing, I've had friends who believed it was a completely spiritual thing.  I've gone to counseling.  I've doubted my own stability and sanity.  I've lived by the "ignore it and maybe it'll go away" principle.  My husband has uttered words I didn't even know he knew in reaction to the frustration of this dumb thing.  (He has often encouraged me to take that doctor's advice and "lose control of my bowels" in her office.  I haven't taken him up on that.)  I've been poked, prodded, MRI'd, CAT scanned, tilt-tabled, electrocardiogrammed, EEG'd, and sleep-tested.  And no one has found anything physically wrong with me, until now.  


It's probably got something to do with my pituitary; my hormones are off and one side of my pituitary is somewhat bigger than the other.  But, these indicators are very subtle, and it's still only a possible cause, not an answer to the symptoms.  They may not be able to fix this.  


So I'm faced with a question.  If I have given my life to Jesus Christ, believed in His ability to heal and to save people from every affliction, believed that he is the answer to all of life's problems, why is he letting this happen?  What is the purpose?  


I think I know.


Every time this comes back, I have an opportunity to fight with fear.  Fear of losing control, fear of never being well again, fear of being a burden on my kids, my husband, on my friends; fear of being judged a lunatic, fear of looking foolish, even fear of getting seriously hurt while driving or going down the stairs.  Fear that answers will never come.  Fear that God isn't real, or if he's real, he isn't good or faithful.


I've always been afraid of everything.


Every time this comes back, I battle that fear.  And guess what?  I'm winning.  I'm not afraid of it anymore.  If I never get well, if I never have an answer, if I hurt myself, if I die... it's really not my concern.  It's my Father's concern.  And I've learned that he is good, and because he's good, he wouldn't allow me to go through pain unnecessarily.  


If I wasn't going through this, the fear would still own me.  And it doesn't.


The other night, my muscles were seizing pretty badly.  I couldn't walk well; I would double up because I couldn't straighten my body out.  I was slowly making my way across the floor trying to get to bed, and I got a picture in my mind of Jesus being there in the room with me, leading me slowly, saying, "I know it's hard, but I've got you."  If he's with me, I can do this.  His grace is sufficient for me.