It all started last Wednesday when I got to work and realized I was feeling a bit off. My shoulders were a little achy, I had a bit of a headache and that general feeling of my good health slipping through my fingers. I knew I was coming down with something, but I still felt great and went about my day, pretending that I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I felt perfectly fine until that night when I found myself laying on the floor watching TV shivering, and not from laying on the actually warm carpet. I got up, warmed up my corn bag, put it in the foot of my bed, and got ready for sleep. Three hours earlier than usual. But if sickness was coming, I was going to meet it head on and nip it in the bud. I don't have time for sickness and needed to minimize it as much as possible.
I ended up with three more blankets ony bed and shivering through the night. I could barely move when I woke up. I had that lovely stomach bug that had been going around. It only lasts a day, but it, what a day it is. And for the first time in, like, five years, I called in sick.
My coworker told me the next day that he knew I must have been practically dead to call in, it happens so rarely. So, I lounged about that day, mostly tried to recoup and think well thoughts. And I thought I had kicked it! Great! I went back to work on Friday and worked most of the day.
By the end, hiwever, I was exhausted and just felt fatigued and left a little early. I had dinner with my family and was determined to rest up the renainder of the evening so I could do all the things I needed to that weekend. Oh, how God laughs when we make plans.
I woke up feeling nauseated around 2 AM, and knew that something wasn't right. I spent a majority of that night on the floor of my tiny bathroom. My head was pounding and I could barely move. It must be that stomach bug, back for round 2.
My mom came to check on me, thinking it was just the flu, but I watched concern creep into her eyes as I sat, huddled on the edge of the bathtub peeking through my fingers because my head hurt so much. She offered me some Coke, thinking that if my stomach would calm, the headache would go away and we could get me rehydrated. It took her almost an hour to coax me out of the bathroom and onto the couch were I was instructed to sip both the Coke and a Gatorade in regular intervals. But I couldn't sip them. As soon as I did, they would come right back. I couldn't keep anything down, but was finally able to sleep, curled in a ball, for about four hours, which felt heavenly, until I woke up to the same excruciating pain I'd left before I slept. It wouldn't go away and I crawled my way back to my room, feeling rather sloth like. I couldn't stand because if I did, I'd lose my balance. So, slow crawling it was.
I couldn't watch any shows on my computer because the screen hurt my eyes. I hated the light being on, but I hated the feeling of loneliness even more in the cold dark basement.
So the light stayed on and my mom kept me company on the room next to mine. She worked on sewing projects and I would try to make her laugh. Because I like it when my mom is happy. But everytime she'd come by my door and see me lying there hurting so much, the worry would come back and she'd check her watch to see if I could take morepain killers or not.
Sunday came much like Saturday, with me on the side of the bathtub cradling my eyes because my head still hurt so much. I remember at some point during the night pleading with God to take the pain away. Or at the very least help me understand it. I am used to His answers and the need to wait for them, but I thought surely this time He would make an exception and I'd have an answer. It peace. Something. ANYTHING. But, my answer didn't come that night, in fact I'm pretty sure I'm still waiting for it. Those answers, the quiet pleadings of our hearts, you know the ones, that are every bit of our souls and every scrap of faith we've got left. We throw it all into that prayer of pleading and then sit. Hoping for an answer. For my part, there were more than a number of tears shed, and not just from the pain, though there were plenty to of those too.
There were the silent prayers I did not hear that I know where said on my behalf. The pleading for understanding and how to help this poor soul crying on her cold, dark bathroom floor. They don't go unanswered, you know. Not a tear is shed that isn't accounted for. But what would we learn if at the first sign of pain our loving white Knight came swooping in? How helpful would that really be for us? It would be nice, but we wouldn't learn.
And so, Sunday morning came and I had now gone three days without keeping any food or liquid down. I had counted those sixteen floor tiles over and over and over again from every angle. I knew each detail in the bathtub non slip decals. I was in the routine of walking in, placing my glasses on the edge of the sink so they wouldn't get dirty. I had become a pro at washing my hands from my knees so I wouldn't get nauseous again. And I even found a semi comfortable spot on the door to lay my head when I just couldn't move any further.
Have you ever watched a parent's heart break for their child? I'm pretty sure I did. My mom, who was fighting a cold herself, would check on me throughout the day. She came home from church and without even taking off her coat came down to check on me. And the worry deepend. She was anxious for me to make any small improvements, buy I didn't. I stayed consistently the same, if not a little worse.
The excruciating pain that I tried to minimalize and pretend to sleep through was not fooling anyone. There was no sleeping through it. There were boughts of exhaustion filled with the craziest dreams I've EVER had, which is saying something. And more of the same. That afternoon, I prayed another pleading prayer up to God begging for anything. ANYTHING that I could do or say that would take this pain away. And again, the heavens fell silent.
That night was darker than the others. I didn't see myself getting better. Normally there's some change, but not with this. I saw no hope. Now, I know what you're thinking, 'Really, Suz, that was what, like, two days?! Come on. Surely it couldn't have been THAT bad', and you're right, it wasn't a long duration to this point, but I had a sickness that was not going away and I was at a loss what to do.
My mom came to me at about 5 in the morning asking for my insurance information so she could find a doctor that would see me that morning. She was not going another day through this and I guided her to what she wanted and collapsed back onto my bed. By 9 she had the day off of work and an appointment for me at 11. I hadn't washed my hair in about 4 days at this point, maybe 5. My glasses were filthy and I literally grabbed whatever clothes were closest to me. It ended up being an old t-shirt and jeans with holes ripped in them. I could not have looked more homeless if I tried. But I just didn't care, the pain was the only thing on my mind.
We went back to the exam room and I sat there, head in my hands because it was so bright and my head hurt so much. The doctor came in and kind of looked over the scene. I'm sure he was wondering if I was completely there mentally. But after a few questions I could see the wheels start to turn in his head and he was trying to figure out the strange puzzle before him.
It was not the stomach bug I thought wouldn't leave me alone, but a really awesome migraine that wasn't letting go. I left with a prescription that would hopefully get me on my way to recovery.
This is where the lesson comes in. Pain sucks. It does. There's no way around it. There's nothing inherently good about it. But isn't it funny the things we learn through it? Some of the happiest people I've ever met have been through the most excruciating experiences. This experience was very small for me, really. But it made me stop and take a look at my life. Do I only pray when I need help? Do I pray only to be heard? My prayer wasn't answered your I wanted it to, but it was answered. I did find our what was happening to me, and even how to get rid of it.
This could be the start of a bigger lesson for me, though never know, but I am grateful that I know that my suffering is never in vain or without purpose. I am often reminded of my favorite scripture in Alma 7:11-13
"11 And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
12 And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.
13 Now the Spirit knoweth all things; nevertheless the Son of God suffereth according to the flesh that he might take upon him the sins of his people, that he might blot out their transgressions according to the power of his deliverance; and now behold, this is the testimony which is in me."
Jesus Christ suffered for ALL of us, for EVERYTHING we'd experience. The good, bad, and ugly. And he did that so he could succor, or run to the aid of, us. How wonderful is that?! Someone that loves you, personally, that much. He is right there with us. Always. And forever
