While standing for the very long gospel, I started to get dizzy.  I tried to ignore it for a little while, but it just grew in intensity.  My legs began to get weak, I got extremely hot, my vision got blurry, and I just knew I was going to pass out.  Fanning myself with a bulletin, I desperately looked around for The Husband.  He and The Younger Boy left our pew to go to the cry room so as not to disturb everyone around us.  The Younger Boy had a cough all last week, and although he wasn’t sick (according to our pediatrician) his cough sounded horrible.  We were about five minutes away from being knocked out by old ladies throwing cough drops at us when The Husband and The Younger Boy left.

So, now I’m worried that I’m going to pass out, and it’s just me and The Older Boy in the pew.  I’m not worried about my health; I’m not worried about hurting myself if I fall.  No, I’m worried about the embarrassment of passing out in church.  I’d be that lady.  As in, Did you see that lady who passed out in church?  No thank you.  I’m a big enough embarrassment to myself when I’m feeling fine; we don’t need to add anything new.

Pride will be the downfall of me.  No doubt.

I end up sitting halfway through the gospel, desperately hanging on to what little dignity I have left.  I know I look like a mess; I feel like a mess.  Please God, don’t let me pass out in church.  Please God, don’t let me throw up.  The sitting helps, and after a short while, I was feeling a little better.

By the time we go to venerate the Cross, I’m feeling a little more normal, so I decide to participate.  However, once we were back in the pew, I felt horrible again.  The room was spinning, my stomach was churning, and I felt extremely weak.  Thanks MS for the vertigo…you big jerk.

photo courtesy of WebMD

I’m starting to get discouraged, when I remember the Ninja-Priest-Friend talking to me about carrying my cross.  He’s constantly telling me that, and honestly, sometimes I just don’t want to hear it.  I understand that this is a trial I’ve been given.  I understand that it’s an opportunity to grow closer to Christ.  I understand these things on an intellectual level.  But, on an emotional level, it’s sometimes hard to deal with.  I look at the beautiful crucifix behind the altar, and I remember the homily from Holy Thursday Mass.  Fr. Mario (a different priest) had compared Jesus to the Passover lambs of the Old Testament.  He was completely unblemished, and even after His crucifixion, he had no broken bones.  I looked down at my arms, still bruised from IV treatments weeks ago, and I have an extreme moment of clarity.

Bruised but not broken.

I’m literally bruised, but I’m not broken.  I look at the image of Christ.  I look at the crown of thorns on His head; I look at the cut in His side.  He’s bruised, but not broken.  I feel an immense amount of love for Christ, and for once, I think I finally understand the phrase “carry your cross.”  I look around at the people in the church, and I wonder what crosses they are all carrying.

We are all bruised in some way.  Some are bruised by illness.  Some are bruised by loneliness.  Some are bruised by bad relationships.  Some are bruised by past hurts.  The important thing is that we don’t allow our bruises to become breaks.  We cannot allow ourselves to be broken.

A fellow blogger and friend, Mama Boe (you should check her out–she’s hilarious!) told me, “You are not broken. You cannot be. Ever. It’s just not possible. Either you believe God has you in his hands, or you don’t. And I think you DO.”

She’s completely right.

I may be bruised, but I’m not broken.  I got this…

Side Note: Today’s the day!!!  After 8 long weeks of waiting, it is finally time for my appointment with the MS specialist.  The Husband and I are off to Houston for an early morning appointment tomorrow.  (I never thought I’d be so excited for a doctor’s appointment.)  I’d appreciate any prayers for my doctor–prayers for guidance and wisdom when treating his patients.  Thanks so much!

Yesterday afternoon I hear the following:

“Philip, you’re going to have to go to bed early tonight.” –Jeremy

“Why?  We don’t have school.” –Philip

“No, but we’re going to church at 6:30 in the morning, so you’ll need to get plenty of rest.”

“What?!?  Are we really going to church at 6:30?!?  Whyyyyyyyyy?”

“Because me and Mommy want to go, so you’ll have to come too.”

At this point, Philip huffs and puffs all the way to his room, where I continue to hear him mumbling under his breath.  His complaints include the following:

• Awwwww, man.  We went to church all week this week!  Why do we have to go again?
• This is not fair!
• 6:30 is sooooooo early.
• Daddy’s so mean!
• I spent my whole vacation in church!

He’s having a regular gripe-fest, when I figure he had enough.  Plus, I don’t think it’s right to lie to your children about church.  I do, however, find great humor in the intensity of his disappointment and the fact that the worst thing Jeremy could come up with included worshiping Christ.  Nice example you’re setting there, honey.  Way to go.

I call him into my room, where I tell him that his dad is just teasing him, and this is his version of an early April Fool’s Day prank.  Suddenly, Philip does not seem to revere pranks as he once did.  He starts to whine, I can’t believe y’all!  That’s sooooooo mean.  How could you do that?!?

Uh oh, someone better call the Waaaaambulance.

Remember that the horrible thing we did was to “threaten” Mass (which is always my favorite part of any day).  Are we awful or what?

I point out to him that he has been planning mean pranks for months, with The Older Boy being the victim of most of them.  He looks at me with a puzzled expression, and you can see the lesson slowly sinking in.  He finally smiles real big, and says, “Alright, Mom.  I get it.”

Lesson learned, and I was spared from having to referee two tricksters.  Plus, I was thoroughly entertained by Philip’s pain.

Ah, the joys of parenthood.

I know–we’re horrible people.  Don’t judge; just pray for us.  :)

photo courtesy of Human Life International

I sincerely hope you all have a wonderful day!  Love to all…

To see the prayer I posted last year, go here.

***I did not design the above image, but I cannot find the original source to credit.***

“What’s wrong?” –Me

“Nothing.  You have all of these nice posts about the kids.  What about me?”  –Jeremy

“Really?!?  I was trying to be considerate of your privacy.  I didn’t think you’d want to be written about.”

“Well, you have What The Older Boy Taught Me and What The Younger Boy Taught Me.  What about me?”  Almost instantly, he realized his blunder.  He realized what he was saying.  At this point, he was trying to back out, telling me he didn’t really want to be written about.  He was just teasing me, just giving me a “hard time.”

It was too late.  He asked for it.  He should’ve known better.  It was like an invitation to mock him; I couldn’t pass that up!!!  What kind of wife would I be?

So, here goes…

The first thing The Husband taught me was that sometimes stalkers actually do get the girl.  I had first met Jeremy when I was still in high school.  He worked at a neighborhood grocery store, and he totally creeped me out.  He always blatantly flirted with me whenever I went in, and my friends and I actually started calling him that “dirty old man.”  In actuality, he was only 2 years older than me, but the boy could grow a really impressive beard, giving him the appearance of someone ten years older.  I avoided him (and the store) like the plague.  After begging my girlfriend to go in for me one day, she looked at me and said, “You two are going to get married one day.  Just watch.”

She nailed it.

Long story short, he offered me a job, and we worked together all the time.  Of course we did–he made the schedule.  It actually took me a little while to catch on to the fact that he put us working together on purpose.  A real quick one, I was.  And, over time, he grew on me.  By the time that I started college the following fall, we were dating, and I was totally smitten with him.

So, for all of you stalkers out there, have hope.  Unless you have a restraining order.  In those cases, move along…

After we were married for only a few months, The Husband and I became pregnant with John Edward, at which point The Husband taught me that marriage can be electrifying.  No, not like that.  I mean literally electrifying.  Now that a baby was on the way, we decided to buy some property with a small home.  While looking at our future homestead one day, Jeremy decided he was going to jump the electric fence.  We tried to warn him, but ooooooh noooo, country boy knew what he was doing.  Putting his weight on a barbed wire, he began to hoist himself over the fence when the wire holding him gave out.  He fell straight down…about 3 feet…right onto an electric wire…right between the legs.  I have never before, or since, seen a human jump up that quickly.

If he hadn’t already, he probably regretted marrying me at that moment.  Because once I realized that he was okay, it was like a one woman comedy routine.

Well, I’m glad I’m already pregnant, you may be a dud from now on. 

Go ahead, hot stuff–see what happens when you don’t listen. 

Well, that was shocking! 

You know, that’s not how most people go through electro-shock therapy.

If you don’t want to be with me for a little while, you can just say so.  You don’t have to maim yourself.

And on and on.  I’m pretty sure his ticket to heaven is putting up with me.  (I just realized I could have been calling him “Sparky” all of these years.  Damn…an opportunity missed.)

If you’re feeling sorry for him, don’t worry.  Karma recently made a visit to your humble writer on his behalf.  We started repainting the house last November, and I was having an exceptionally accident-prone day (nothing new for me unfortunately).  I had already twisted my knee and spilled paint–twice, so Jeremy told me to “take a break” from painting for a while and to just tape up the electrical sockets.  He probably thought I couldn’t screw up something so simple.  He was wrong.

He told me to be careful when taping over the receptacles, to be sure not to touch the sides of them–they’ll throw off a spark.  Well, I listened to that advice when it came to the outlet, but I didn’t realize that advice went for the light switches as well.  I touched the side of the light socket, and we actually heard a “Bzzzzt” sound.  My finger turned purple in a little spot and I felt funny for the rest of the day.  We both had a good laugh at my expense–we’re sick, I know.  Don’t judge, it works for us.

Like I said, marriage is electrifying.

Still in my first pregnancy and shortly after we purchased our property, The Husband taught me another lesson–how to be persistent.  Jeremy and I are proof that opposites do, in fact, attract.  Over years, we’ve become this wonderful mesh of two individuals mixed into one, but in the beginning, we were very different.  I was a city girl who loved unusual alternative music, playing pool, and the night–really, I could’ve been nocturnal.  He was a country boy who preferred the day, loved animals and country music.  We were quite a pair.  So, when we bought our property, of course Country Boy wanted livestock.  Over the years, we’ve had horses, cows, a sheep, a donkey (no joke), and a pig.  We never had a farm, we’d usually have one animal at a time, and we haven’t had farm animals in the past 8 years (Thank God!).

Well, this story is about a pig…a pig named Pork Chop.  Yes, I know,  Jeremy is hilarious.

One day, Pork Chop got out of his pen, and he was running rampant.  Have you ever seen a pig run?  Those suckers are surprisingly quick!  I was instantly amused.  If YouTube would’ve been as easily accessible back then, these events would be on video.  I probably wouldn’t have been too much of a help to begin with–eww, it’s a pig!–but I was about 30 weeks pregnant, so I really did have to stay away.  So, I grabbed a seat and proceeded to watch Jeremy chase this pig around our property.  It was the best free entertainment ever!  Here he was, dirty and sweaty, running in circles, screaming, “Pork Chop, come here!”  Pork Chop wasn’t stupid; Pork Chop’s name was going to be his fate in a very short while.  No way was he going to obediently come to the one who would be his chauffeur to the butcher shop.

After a while, I went into the house.  It was actually getting dark, and I really thought Pork Chop had won this round.  But, Jeremy was persistent.  He stayed out for hours, chasing that stupid pig.  I was taking a break from cooking supper, when the front door flew open.  There Jeremy stood, looking like hell, dripping with sweat, full of grass, panting.

He had one hand on his hip, pointing at himself with his other thumb, and very proudly said, “Ain’t no pig gonna get the best of me!”

This is eerily accurate!

Of all the moments in our life together, this is the one I most wish was photographed.  I can still very clearly see the pride on Jeremy’s face, even through all of the grime.  He was so pleased with himself, that I even withheld from teasing his horrible grammar–that’s love, guys.

More recently, The Husband taught me a very valuable lesson.  He taught me how to prioritize.  I know men have a reputation for being wusses when they’re sick.  I think that theory is not completely accurate; I know some men (my dad, for one) who never complain when they’re sick.  My husband, however, is not one of these men.  When I get a cold, he takes NyQuil.  He’s been like that our entire marriage, and it makes me crazy.  And, I’m such a horrible wife; I give him no sympathy.  I figure if I’m not allowed to get sick, neither is he.

Since I’ve been diagnosed with MS, I figured he’d learn some perspective when it comes to being sick. Once again, I was wrong.

I had been in a really bad relapse for the last two months, when this happened:

“Uuuuugggghhhhh.” –Jeremy, sitting in the middle of the bed, hunched over.

“What’s wrong with you?”  –Me, trying to get dressed for bed, failing miserably.

“I don’t know.  Uuugghhhhh…..  I…ooooohhhhh…don’t feel good.”

He continues to moan and groan for the next few minutes.  Meanwhile, I’m having issues just trying to change clothes.  I’m literally falling into the wall because my left leg doesn’t seem to want to work.  I can’t see the pant leg in my pj’s due to blurry vision, so I keep stepping on the pants instead of into them.  I actually need to concentrate on these simple tasks, but all I hear is “Oooooohhhhhh…..Uuuuuuugggghhhhhh…..”  I look at him, all hunched over, and I was getting ticked off.  Wondering if a zombie apocalypse was about to start in my own bedroom, with my own husband, I finally throw down the pj pants and yell, “What the hell is the matter with you?!?  Are you dying?!?”

His response?

“I think–uugghhh–I have a gas—BBBUUUURRRRRRRPPPPPPPP!  Whew!  That’s better.”

Now some wives may be kind.  Some may feel sorry for the husbands who have a painful gas bubble.  Some may not mind the belch that sounds like something from another planet.

I’m not that wife.

“Are you freaking kidding me?!?  You’re over there, acting like you’re dying–because of a burp!!!  I can’t freaking see, Jeremy.  I’m falling into walls.  I can’t even dress myself without feeling like a drunk, and you’ve been wailing because of gas?!?  Well, thank the Lord, you didn’t have to fart!!!  We’d be in the emergency room!  Or worse yet, take a crap!  Praise Jesus that your bowels are working correctly; I’d hate for you to have any discomfort!  Suck it up you big baby!”

See?  Priorities.  His wittle tum tum hurt.  He had a itty bitty burp stuck.  Shame on me for interrupting his gas by thudding into walls.  I really should learn to be more considerate.

I was really angry.  He just laughed.  Gas has been his source of entertainment and torture for years.

This is my life, people.  Fascinating, ain’t it?

In all reality, The Husband has to have a good sense of humor to put up with me.  I’m not an easy person to live with at times (although, neither is he).  Marriage is hard.  People don’t tell you that when you’re getting married.  They don’t tell you that there will be really bad times.  Personally, I think the strength of a marriage is really shown in the bad times.  We’ve had so many trials in our marriage, more so than the average couple.  But, each time we come through the trial, sometimes stronger, sometimes a little wounded.  But, together nonetheless.  Out of everything that The Husband has taught me, the most important is this: marriage is truly beautiful.  Over the past two months, we’ve been really challenged on our marital vows.  For richer or poor?  We’ve racked up over $5000 in out-of-pocket medical expenses by February 7.  In sickness and health?  I’ve been seriously ill.  For better or worse?  Well, it hasn’t been better lately.  Besides sickness, we’ve had 2 family deaths recently.

Through it all, he has been there.  On the days when I wasn’t steady enough to cook, he’d come home from work to fix supper.  He’s helped the boys with homework.  He’s taught my CCD class for me.  He’s done the laundry and the dishes, paid the bills, gone grocery shopping, etc, etc, etc.  And, although I struggle with guilt, I have to remind myself that this is marriage.  There were many years when I had to handle every single thing, when Jeremy was never home.  Marriage is a give and take.  We’re called to serve each other.  And, if you’re each serving the other, it can be such a beautiful experience.

If you’re married, love your spouse, even when they’re not lovable.  Because when hard times hit–and they will–you may find that you only have each other.

I may give my husband a lot of hell, but I do love that man.  I’m appreciative of everything he has been called to do, and I thank God for him daily.

Except for the gas.  I could do without that…

“Regardless of your personal situation, regardless of your heartaches and pains, remember that it can always be worse.

We are all blessed.  We just don’t always see it.  But, if you quiet yourself, if you look around you, if you listen to the whisperings of your heart, you’ll hear it.  You’ll hear the sounds of God working in your life.  You’ll see Him around you.  You’ll see your own blessings.”

Little did I know that these words–my words–would be a challenge once written.

As I clicked “publish” on the above post one week ago today, my phone rang. And within one minute, my world changed.  Yet again.

My dad was calling with bad news…my grandmother died very unexpectedly.

So, here’s a quick recap of 2013 so far:

• January–my paternal grandfather died
• February–diagnosed with multiple sclerosis
• March–my maternal grandmother died

I’m not one for superstitions, but I’m starting to think that there may be some truth to the number 13 being unlucky.  At this point, if I’m still standing in June, I think we’re doing good, don’t you?

I had just written about finding blessings in a world full of heartache and pain, and now I felt as if I was being challenged to follow my own advice.  I sat in silence for a moment, letting this loss sink in.  Memories and thoughts of my grandmother flooded my mind and heart, bringing an immense sadness.  I waited for anger.  There was none.  I waited for self-pity–after all, how could this happen to me?  I just finished IV treatments!  There was no self-pity.  I waited for cynicism.  There was none.  I waited for feelings of “that’s not fair!”  That never came either.

All that came was sorrow and loss.

My own feelings puzzled me.  It seemed like I should be angry.  Why won’t God just give me a break this year?!?  Why is it one thing after another?  Why can’t I just have one really good day?!?  I had just finished IV treatment a few hours earlier; I had just taken out the IV.  Why couldn’t I have just enjoyed being MS symptom free for a little while?  These are thoughts I would’ve normally had.  But instead, I had a calm about a very chaotic situation…and that confused me.  I struggled to find the source of the calm.  Good Lord, I’ve actually flipped my lid.  I’m calm because I’ve actually lost my mind. 

And then it hit me.  I wasn’t losing my mind.  In actuality, it was the exact opposite.  I had an unbelievable moment of clarity.  It didn’t matter why my grandmother was gone.  It didn’t matter that this year has been horrendous.  It was completely irrelevant.  The fact of the matter is that bad things happen every day.

Maybe I’ve matured.  Maybe I’ve hardened.  Maybe I’ve gained wisdom.  Maybe I’ve just gotten used to crappy things happening.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s something more.  Maybe the change within me is one of faith.  I wholeheartedly believe that the trials of this world will serve some greater purpose, whether here or in the afterlife.  I have faith that, in the end, all will be well.  And, even though I’ve said these things in the past, this was the first time that I completely felt them.  I felt a trust in God like never before.  There’s no need to worry; there’s no need to question; there’s no need to analyze.  If I just rest in Him, lean into Him, trust in Him, then all will be okay.

I have no control over things.  None of us do really.  We’re disillusioned into thinking that we have our lives “together,” that we can control our lives, molding them into whatever we wish.  And, we definitely do have a certain amount of control–responsibility–over our lives.  We can control our behaviors, our actions, our thoughts.  But, we cannot control what happens around us.

If I’ve learned any lesson this year, it has been that I am not in control of anything.  I did not choose to lose 2 grandparents this year.  I did not choose to get sick.  I did, however, choose to react with positivity, even when it was extremely difficult.  I did choose to try to make the best of each situation.  I did choose to move forward with life.

I know that bad things are going to continue to happen.  I could publish this post and get another bad-news phone call.  I could be challenged, once again, to battle an uneasy situation.  I could be challenged to follow my own advice.  But, I must have faith this world has more to offer than just sorrow, confusion, and anger.  I must trust in God that He won’t give me any trials that are too much for me.  I must continue to lean into Him, to rest in Him…especially when challenged.

I choose to trust in Him.

And, with that being said, I’m throwing caution to the side and clicking “Publish” in 3…2…1…

However, this entry isn’t about the treatment, or healing, or my unending gratitude.  No, this is more about the ugliness that comes before beauty.

For the most part, I have been pretty positive about my MS diagnosis.  I have not wavered on the fact that I truly believe this is all part of God’s plan for me.  But, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m human.  Very human.  And very flawed.

I have had moments of despair, loneliness, fear (especially when I thought I was possibly losing my vision), doubt of myself, and even anger.  Although I have struggled with moments of these negative feelings, I have been pretty good about keeping away the feelings of self-pity.  Whenever I’d start to feel sorry for myself, I’d try to remember that there are people who are so much worse off than I.  However, I seemed to forget this fact when I was getting my first IV treatment.

My mother-in-law (God bless her!) brought me to this appointment.  From the beginning, we seemed to have a rocky start.  The staff was really great, but my body was not cooperating.  Time after time, they tried to get the IV started in a vein.  And time after time, the vein collapsed.  After 1 hour, 5 tries, a warm compress, 3 nurses, a different arm, and a much smaller needle, we had success!

As the nurse started the medication process, she began to show me all paperwork, instructions, and supplies.  She spoke of the importance of clean hands and work space.  (Obviously we had never met.  I’m constantly being teased for being such a germophobe.  No one’s laughing at me now!)

She showed me the order to administer the injections–4 in all, and the importance of disinfecting the portal between each injection, for precisely 30 seconds.

My head began to spin as she spoke of the importance of clearing the air bubbles from the syringes before starting.

I paid careful attention to the things to watch out for: a burning sensation in my arm, a red streak going up the vein, a puffing of the skin around the injection site, pain in the arm, and more.

I listened intently as she told me not to get the site wet…how the hell was I going to shower?…not to put pressure on it, keep it covered, don’t pull on it, etc.

As she left the room to give me privacy for the main meds to work their magic, I began to feel a very real, very complete sense of overwhelm.

What if I can’t do this?

What if I mess something up?

I looked down at my arms, I had 4 very large purple marks already.  I look like a drug addict–a really bad one.  We should have shot up through my toes or something.  And, I bruise easily.  I’m, let’s just say, pigmentally challenged.  Have you seen this?

Totally accurate.

But the bruises weren’t what really got to me.  I looked at my arm.  I looked around the office.  I looked at the mound of supplies that was going home with me.  I looked at the paperwork in my lap.  And, a very real thought hit me.

This is my life now.

I fought tears.  I’m not ready for this.  Understand, it wasn’t really a feeling of “poor pitiful me”, it was more of an overwhelming feeling.  It was more of a fear of failing myself, of failing my family.

Sometimes life just gets too real.  This was one of those times.

But, as usual, God gave me just what I needed when I needed it.  He gave me the gift of perspective.

A short while later, I left my room to go to the bathroom.  As I passed another office, something strange caught my eye…it was a little girl.

I couldn’t see her face, but I could see her legs.  She laid out on her own recliner, one identical to the one I was just sitting in, with her purple and pink polka dot leggings covering her little legs.  She swayed her legs back and forth, while she watched cartoons, and ate her lunch.

She was hooked up to an IV treatment.  And, she looked about 5 years of age.

I instantly snapped out of my own drooping mood.  I told myself to “Suck it up!  Put on your big girl panties.  This IS your life now, deal with it.”

I wondered if it hurt her to get the IV imported.  I wondered if she was black and blue on her arms like I was.  I wondered how long her treatment would last.  I wondered how her parents dealt with whatever the illness was.  I totally forgot myself.

I gained perspective.  There is always someone in a worse situation than us.

Regardless of your personal situation, regardless of your heartaches and pains, remember that it can always be worse.

We are all blessed.  We just don’t always see it.  But, if you quiet yourself, if you look around you, if you listen to the whisperings of your heart, you’ll hear it.  You’ll hear the sounds of God working in your life.  You’ll see Him around you.  You’ll see your own blessings.

“Gratitude, like faith, is a muscle.  The more you use it, the stronger it grows, and the more power you have to use it on your behalf.  If you do not practice gratefulness, its benefaction will go unnoticed, and your capacity to draw on its gifts will diminish.  To be grateful is to find blessings in everything.  This is the most powerful attitude to adopt, for there are blessings in everything.”
–Alan Cohen

So, look around.  Find your blessings.

And, if you can’t see your own blessings, look for polka dot leggings.  Or, something like that…  The simplest thing can open your eyes, as long as you’re willing to see.

After all, it’s all about perspective.

I haven’t been able to write in about 10 days because my current multiple sclerosis relapse took a serious turn for the worse.  I woke up one morning a few weeks ago, with a loss of vision in one eye, blurred and double vision in both eyes, and I was having serious balance problems–that’s code for “falling on my butt with every other step.”

After waiting it out for a few days (I was told I had to just be patient through this relapse, which actually started on January 13), we called my neurologist.  He is sending me to a specialist, which we have anxiously been awaiting–just 2 more weeks now!–and has been hesitant to treat me until I’m seen by said specialist.

Well, because my symptoms escalated so quickly, the neurologist decided to treat the relapse.  Unbeknownst to me, treatment included 5 days of high-powered IV corticosteroid infusions.  Whatever.  I need to see.  This disease can affect so many different parts of the body, all at once, that it is hard to diagnose.  For me personally, I can handle pain much better than what I call “head stuff.”  I can ignore physical pain.  I can’t ignore mental confusion, loss of vision, light sensitivity.  Those things impair my quality of life.  The things I love need some sort of mental capability (however little I may have), such as reading, writing, movies, theatre, etc.  So, even though I wasn’t sure what IV treatment would be like, I was up for it.

The next day (last Thursday to be exact), I began IV treatment.  (I’ll share more on this experience later, when I was blessed with the gift of perspective.)  Almost immediately, I saw results.  Friday morning, just after one treatment, my vision cleared up.  I still could not read well, but I no longer had blurry or double vision.  And the blind spot was gone!  Saturday morning, vision was completely clear, I no longer had balance problems, physical pain, and no fatigue or fever.  This morning, just after 3 treatments, I felt no sting of the MS symptoms that have plagued me for 2 months.

Nothing.

No pain.  No vision problems.  No fatigue.  No balance issues.  No numbness.  No confusion.  Absolutely nothing.  All MS symptoms are gone.

I don’t know if I’ve ever woken up so happy before in my entire life.  How could I not be elated?  I could actually walk to the bathroom without holding on to the wall.  I wasn’t exhausted after getting dressed.  Even better, I could get dressed by myself!

According to The Husband, this image best fits me this morning. Seriously couldn’t stop smiling.   :)

Like I said, Life is great!

Even though I went to Mass yesterday afternoon with my mom, I decided to join The Husband and my boys again this morning.  I felt such an immense amount of peace and calm, that I just knew I had to give credit where it is due.  What better way is there to pay homage to our Lord than adoring Him in the most Holy Mass?

We usually arrive at church pretty early to have personal prayer time in the quiet.  Today was no different.  Now, I’m usually extremely private when it comes to my personal prayer, but I feel called to share this with you.  So, rather than paraphrasing how I’m feeling today, I’ll just share my personal conversation with God.  Here goes:

Good Morning Lord!  First of all, thank You so much for this beautiful day!  I know that You know my heart, but I want to take a moment to tell You how extremely grateful I am for the healing You have bestowed on me today!  Thank You so much for the guidance that You gave the doctors to treat me, for the technology that was given to professionals to treat this disease, for the wonderful people who have helped me, and for those who have been so very detrimental to this healing by showing great love and support to me.  I know all of these things are gifts from You.

I also want to thank You for the MS.  <I know this may sound crazy to my readers.  Just bear with me for a moment and hear me out.>  I have never appreciated my health before.  I have never made time for myself, always putting the boys or Jeremy ahead of my own needs.  This health issue has truly opened my eyes.  Thank You for that.  Thank You for that insight.  I now know what it feels like to be ill.  I want to be well.  I want to be well for myself.  I want to be well for others.  I want to be well for You.  I know that this is all part of Your Will, whatever that may be.  And, although I’m still not sure what good my illness will or can do, I know that if I allow You to work through me, You will use me, and this disease, for some greater good.

So, use me Lord.  Use me in whatever way You need.  I trust in You, Jesus.

And, Mother Mary, thank you also.  Every time I called to you, you were there, giving quiet comfort, each time pointing me to your Son.  All of the times that I was so incredibly sorrowful, defeated, and alone, you were there.  From one mother to another, thank you.

Lord, work through me.  Give me continual healing so I can do Your work.  Point me in the direction that You want for me, and I will follow.  If I’m slow, keep pointing.  I’ll catch on eventually.  And, if healing is not Your Will for me, then show me how to do Your work anyway.  I know You have a purpose for me.  I want to fulfill that purpose.

Thanks again so much for everything You have blessed me with.  I truly do love You.  Not because of what You’ve done for me, but because of who You are.  You are amazing.

Amen.

There goes.  Nothing awesome.  Just a simple prayer from a simple girl.

I have said it before, and I’ll say it again: I am so incredibly thankful that I have my faith while going through this trial.  I can not imagine my current life without my spirituality.  I think I’d be a mess.  Well, more of one than I am currently.

I have no illusions about multiple sclerosis.  I know I am not cured of the disease.  I know I’ll have a hard time ahead.  But, I know I’ll be okay.  My trust is in the right place.  As long as I keep that trust, that faith, I know I’ll be okay.

I still have 2 more treatments, and I am excited to see how good I’ll feel when this is over.  It’s been a little rough, but it’s been worth it.  The IV is intrusive and sometimes painful.  I’ve had a horrible headache the first two days.  The medicine leaves a horrible taste in my mouth, even though nothing is being ingested.  I’ve developed a stomach ulcer, when I never have stomach issues.  And the insomnia has been pretty righteous.  I actually didn’t sleep at all Friday night; I went 36 hours without sleep.  But it’s all worth it.

I can finally fight this thing.

Maybe I can finally enjoy 2013.

I know I’m not alone.  I cannot do this.  But WE can.  He will lead, and I will follow.

Let’s do this.  I’m ready.

“No trial has come to you but what is human.  God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial He will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it.”
–1 Corinthians 10:13
(my personal favorite)

I was living in a lukewarm relationship with Christ, and thanks to a priest named Fr. Randy Moreau (I only knew him a short while, but he made quite the impact!), I realized my hypocrisy.  Today was the day I decided lukewarm wasn’t good enough.  Today was the day I realized my children needed someone to show them how to live a Christian life, not just tell them.  I needed to be their teacher, not preacher.

I often tell The Ninja-Priest-Friend, “this Christian stuff is hard.”  And, although I’m saying it in a lighthearted manner, he knows what I mean.  I struggle daily.  Being a follower of Christ is not easy.  It’s not for the weak-hearted or the weak-minded.  This world is tough, and temptation is everywhere.

I’ve fallen a hundred times, and I know I’ll fall a hundred more.

But I keep getting up.  Sometimes it takes me longer than others to pull myself up.  Sometimes I need help.  Sometimes I get up bruised and torn.

But I get up.

If you’re struggling today, it’s okay.  Just be sure you get up.  :)

At night, however, it’s a different story.  See, the downside to having a great imagination is that it never stops, especially when you’re sleeping.  Dreams run rampant–some are good, some are bad.  All are vivid and lifelike.  So, it is not unusual for Philip to come running into our bedroom in the middle of the night after having a nightmare.  Even though I monitor what my kids are exposed to, he still somehow comes up with evil monsters, werewolves, vampires, and anything else “dark.”

When these things invade his little mind, I let him lay in the bed next to me, while I hold him and tell him that everything will be ok.  I reassure him that there are no such things as monsters, and that he is safe.  I usually tell him to say some prayers, to call upon God for comfort, and sometimes we even pray together.

In the past 3 weeks, he has had nightmares every night, but these are of a different sort.

Philip is a very intelligent child.  It is hard to hide things from him.  He picks up on certain parts of conversations, the feelings of those around him, and the their actions as well.  He then makes his own little conclusions to what is going on in the adult world.  So, when we found out that I have multiple sclerosis, The Husband and I decided it would be best to be honest with the children.  I knew that if we didn’t tell them what was going on, The Younger Boy would figure something out on his own, and I was afraid that he would imagine something much worse than the truth.

On the afternoon that we got the news, we sat the boys down, and I told them the following:

You know how Mommy’s been sick a lot lately?  Well, we found out today that I have something called multiple sclerosis.  That’s hard to say, huh?  We can just call it MS for short.  [Answering the first question that I knew Philip had, I continued...]  No, I will not die from MS.  People do not die from MS.  I’m going to see a special doctor in Houston, and they’re going to give me medicine.  Once I start taking the medicine, Mommy will feel all better!  I will have MS forever, there is no cure for it, but I understand that the medicine will keep away the yucky feelings I have.  I won’t be tired all of the time, and I won’t hurt anymore.  Doesn’t that sound good?  I can’t wait to feel better again!  I want to play like we used to, and I want to be able to go on field trips and volunteer at your schools again.  So, even though Mommy is sick, this is good news!  Now, we just got to get better.  Any questions?

(Obviously, MS is not as simple as all that, but that was enough information for now.  We’ll overcome any other struggles as they appear.)  Surprisingly, there was only one question, and it came from Philip…”So, you won’t die, right?”

Do I know my kid, or what?  “Not from MS,” was my honest answer.  We all die at some point, I couldn’t very well tell him I’d be immortal.

Even though that was the end of the MS conversation at that time, our household was instantly changed.  And, I saw the biggest change in Philip.  If I was resting in the afternoon, he’d come into the bedroom, pull the covers up over me, and kiss my forehead.  He’d lie down next to me to read or color, and if I fell asleep, he’d turn off the movie he was watching and leave the room.  As sweet as these gestures were, I didn’t want him to worry about me like that.  I wanted him to play, to have fun, to be a kid.

After a few days, I noticed that his actions only got worse.  He’d cling to me always, even sitting outside the bathroom door if I was showering.  He’d want to sleep on the floor in our room every night.  He’d cry when it was time for school in the morning, and ask how long he’d be away from me.  He cried when I dropped him off for Catechism, which is only an hour.  He would constantly offer to bring me a blanket or some water, and he would fuss at The Older Boy if he got loud.  He started bringing home test grades of Cs and Ds, when he was a straight A (sometimes B) student.

His worry was obvious.  His worry worried me.  I was constantly reassuring him that everything was okay.  I told him over and over that I was happy to finally know what was wrong with me, because now I could fight it.

Then the nightmares started.  For almost every night now, he’s had bad dreams that shake him to the core.  These demons aren’t supernatural, though.  These demons are real fears, fear of his mommy dying, fear of his mommy going to live at the hospital forever, fear of his mommy going blind “and you’ll never see me again”.  How do I fight that?  I know how to slay a nightmare dragon, I don’t know how to “fix” his real fears.

I took him to see The Ninja-Priest-Friend, whom he asked, “What would you do if you had a Mommy with MS?”  The priest was impressed with his question, as was I, and gave an honest answer, full of wisdom and faith.  After that, everything seemed to be fine for a little while.  Philip hasn’t cried to go to school, and he isn’t constantly clinging to me.  Don’t get me wrong, he still clings.  But I can at least shower in peace now and cook without him being under my feet.

Even though some things have gotten better, he has picked up a new behavior that bothers me.  He takes my things.  I’m actually in a relapse now (going on week 6…sheesh!), and I usually get the chills and run a slight fever in the evenings.  I have a blanket that I use pretty regularly, but every morning, I have to hunt it down.  When I go to sleep, I leave the blanket on the couch, yet in the morning, it is gone.  I find it (every single morning) in Philip’s bed.  So, at some time in the night, he awakens, gets the blanket and goes back to bed.  He tells me it smells good, like my shampoo.  He also took my hair brush, and I often catch him hiding in my side of the bed.

He also brought home a C and D on his report card, where he had an A before.

He kisses me more.

His hugs are longer and tighter.

He’s afraid…and it’s obvious.

I’ve looked into some counseling resources for him.  I’ve gotten him a book on MS, that focuses on how mom will be okay, I’ve ordered a DVD for him, I’ve taught him to pray in the face of fear, I’ve prayed with him, I’ve prayed for him.  I don’t know what else to do.

I long for monsters.  I long for the days that his nightmares are based on unreal things.  I long for the days that, in his world, good prevails over evil.  Where nothing bad happens.  I’m so sorry that my children have to live in a world of sickness.  I’m so sorry that this is their reality.  If I could take this away from them, I would.  In a heartbeat.  Unfortunately, life just doesn’t work that way.  For whatever reason, this is our reality.

I really miss those monsters.  Those monsters are much easier to deal with than these monsters.

If anyone has any suggestions, I’d love to hear them….place them in the “Comments” below.

I would also greatly appreciate any prayers for my little man.