I wipe the vomit off my face and I slide back under my 5 layers of covers to shiver off the cold flash. I wipe away tears I have from a commercial that just aired. Happy? Sad? They all make me cry. It is 102° outside but as I zip up my hoodie, after pulling on wool boot socks, I can’t shake this chill.
This is menopause.
I’m feel defenseless against this horror that is stealing my life from me, but I’m not. Those 5 layers of covers? Placed on me by my mother. A mother who loves me without question.
I want to be grateful but it also increases my guilt. Why should anyone have to care for me? I’m an adult.
——
I've never felt unconditional love and understanding like this. My parents deserve sainthood.
——
Another day, more symptoms. I writhe in pain on the floor. My father asks what he can do. I tell him “nothing.” I’m repeating Philippians 4:13 in my head. It is my mantra now. “I can do ALL things through Christ who gives me strength.” I need these words hidden in my heart more than ever.
I rock back and forth in pain. I breath intentionally. It’s not enough. I can’t take this anymore. I’d rather die.
——
I’m now sitting on a toilet and holding a trash can so I can vomit and expel my bowels at the same time. I couldn’t even have children. I have a brain shunt. I had two ovarian surgeries. The aches and pains and cramps seem like a cruel joke. I never even got to have a baby. I’m now a selfish adult. Why am I hurting? I didn’t ask for this. I wanted to be a mom. Am I a lesser woman?
——
It is 4am now. The loneliest time. The time where I know my father will be awake soon and I’ll have to fake feeling normal again to try to keep them from worrying. It’s dreadful. I live for the night hours. No expectations. I’m all alone. In my safe cocoon of loneliness. Just me, God, and Black Labradors. It’s a good place. They lick my tears away.
——
I’m eating again and it is exhausting. I only eat because it is what I’m supposed to do. I’m trying to create normalcy. Fake it until you make it, right?
——
Despite 40+ lbs of water weight my eyes have somehow sunken into my head. My mom thinks I have a black eye and does a double take. I don’t have one.
——
I want to end my life. But I have a responsibility to not put my family through that pain. I live in spite of my desire not to. And I have Christ. The ultimate hope. It isn’t my life, after all. I live for God.
——
I find my gratitude. I’m a child of God. This physical trial serves a purpose I don’t know yet. As I hear a tiny knock on my door I swallow my vomit, wipe away my tears, put on my happy face, and watch tv with my niece who just arrived with snacks in hand. For thirty minutes I forget all the sickness and pain. It’s just us watching tv and talking. It is perfect in every way. And if that isn’t a gift from God, and a reason to live, I don’t know what is.
——
I. Am. Blessed.
Comments