Tripods, medication & story

As a teenager, I read a book series about giant alien tripods.

I can still feel the story as I remember… the cold, spooky sounds of metal creatures stepping over cities and taking control of people’s minds. So, as any reasonable 55-year-old person would, I found the books in the library and started rereading them. They are just as good as I remember.

And I’ve been watching movies, reading autobiographies, listening to podcasts that tell stories, real and imaginative.

I love stories.

I especially love the beginning of stories or movies where the writer/director takes great care to invite you in, to lead you along and anticipate what comes next, how they will tell the story. I love the suspense and especially when the ending turns out differently than I thought.

The reason for all this generous intake of books and movies has been a very practical reason that I haven’t been feeling well. Since my last post, I’ve had more tests, pain and inability to eat normally, a random surgery on my shoulder for a benign tumour that grew too big, too fast and needed to be removed. All has gone well, and healing is coming along, but I’ve been needing to lay low to care for my health.

Two days ago, however, I had a scope done, an ileoscopy procedure, to see how my brave, remaining small intestine is doing and why it won’t allow solid food to move through my system. It’s been six months of eating baby-food-type food, and with the removal of the large intestine last year, the hope was that the problem was removed as well. It was for almost a year … until it wasn’t.

The scope revealed a very normal inside of the small intestine, no sign of suspected Crohn’s (I’m grateful), but obvious signs of adhesions/scar tissue on the outside of the intestine, pulling and twisting the intestines to make digestion difficult. I was really hoping my surgeon would find something inside, something he could just snip or cut to open the pathways for digestion, but he said that unless another abdominal surgery is done, adhesions remain. And each surgery creates more adhesions. I’ve heard that answer so many times since my first surgery in 1994.

So this week, I slept off the sedation and rested for a few days. My husband picked up my new meds from the pharmacy and let me shed some tears on his resilient shoulders as my sadness landed. No quick fix, only new medications to try, new side effects, more waiting time to see if they work and back to the drawing board if they don’t. It means still being a chronically ill wife to my husband, and knowing how, after only one (healthy) year of marriage, he has lovingly, patiently, selflessly walked this out with me for 33 more. 💕

But “story” keeps me going. My story, my husband’s, my kids and grandkids, family, friends and most of all, the story that God is writing in it all.

What is God up to? What story is He unfolding through my illness, through how it affects me and others? What else could be going on that I can’t see through the tears of my own disappointments and losses? There must be a story that keeps me engaged. I need that.

I remember my first prayer to God when I was told I had a ‘chronic illness’ at age 24: “God, if you heal me, then I can get on with life and do good things for you.” I figured that was a good deal. I wanted to participate, be a star player, and this illness was holding me back, I thought. I figured God needed me to be strong, healthy, available to help others, and that illness was just an unnecessary hurdle I needed to get over. After all, it required so much time, money, energy, driving to appointments, pain, loss, love and care from others … wouldn’t it just be more efficient/practical to make me healthy again? And on a deeper and more fearful level, I didn’t know how to be weak, needy, interdependent and still.

I was so sure of my own script. And when I think about it now? It would have been really boring. I would have achieved perfect health, used my ever-increasing skills to help other people, and, from my strength, been someone who would have made a difference in the world for my glory, although I would ‘humbly’ say, “It was nothing, really.”

Ugh. Really? Is that all I would have come up with? SO boring. I don’t watch movies like that for a reason! Too predictable.

Where is the challenge? Where does the character realize that the intrinsic weakness he or she is trying to hide or get away from is really where their strength comes from? And what about other characters? When does the main character realize that only when she is deeply and vulnerably transformed and connected to others around her does her story become more complete? When will she lose the narrow vision of her own greatness to see what she may leave behind, for others, for their greatness? And ultimately, when will she be humbled to see that God deserves the glory for anything good that she creates or discovers or realizes in her small and short life? How will her story draw others to live with an adventurous spirit that illness or pain does not hinder? That is the story I want to read, and that is the story I want to be a part of!

And yet, as exciting and inspiring as I can write those last sentences, in real time, it means that tonight I pack up my protein powder-infused yogurt cup and thin tomato soup to join a big family gathering while they eat Chinese food ordered in from a favourite place. My story continues, page by page, and so does yours!

“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”

2 Corinthians 4:16-18