My Sickness, My Hair, and the Great Physician

I'm writing this because I feel I should - both to glorify God, and to quell any worry about my new look! :D

As many of you know, in late September, I went to San Diego on vacation with my mom and sis (you can see the pics in my Photo Albums). I was normal then - how I miss me! However, little did I know that God had chosen a physical test for me that was beyond any I have yet faced.

Now. Don't get me wrong - I have been seriously, hospitalization-time ill several times in my life, but never in this fashion. Never like this. As you may have imagined, I am happily saved, have been since I was 4 years old, and have not taken medicine, regardless of the severity of the illness, save for the times when my unsaved father made me, which was like twice, once when I was 10, and the other time when I was 16, had an allergic reaction, and my entire face stopped working. My dad took me straight to the hospital then and stood in the room with the doctor as she gave me some shots.

I endured a strange illness of my feet during law school, and refused the medicine. I was scared and alone away from my family, but since, as we all know, feet are in shoes - it was easier to trust God, look away from how it looked - not talk about it with anyone, and keep going on. God healed my feet. I then endured a severe illness with a portion of my face (my lips) that same year. This was horrific to me, because at the time, I felt disfigured and seriously ill. I could not hide this illness from anyone, because it was on my face. I talked with the doctor about it, and she handed me topical medicine, but suggested that oral medicine was the only way. In fear and in some resignation, I took the medicine from her, and once I got home, I realized that I would never feel good about myself for trusting in man after years of trusting in God, and threw it away.



That illness took me months - perhaps an entire semester - to recover from. My close, religious-yet-unsaved school friends made fun of how I looked to my face. They did it, not in spite, but because they did not know I was ill, and that I was trusting God. They thought I had made myself look the way I did on purpose, and teased me about it incessantly. I went to school every day looking disfigured, and far from being concerned about how it looked - I was more concerned about how it felt, and whether it would ever end. At some moments, I thought I would live like that forever. My family and friends knew that I had dark days, and when they came to visit from Joliet, they made me feel better by teasing me about it and helping me to be able to laugh about it. We all knew that I was doing the right thing. The up side is that I came to a place where I told God that if I did have to live with it forever - I would, and I didnt care. No medicine for me. Then one day, I looked up, and he had healed me.

I endured another, even more severe illness with with my feet a few years back, when I was in Florida. I contracted the same illness in my feet that my mother had in previous years. When she had it, her doctors had wanted to amputate her feet. I refused to even talk to her about it, because I was working, and I knew that if I listened to her, I would not go back to work, and I couldnt afford not to be working. She and my sister Liz constantly told me: "Marilyn, you are SERIOUSLY ill!" and begged me not to go to work, or to put on shoes. I constantly ignored her. I knew in my heart she was right, but I felt like I had to go to work. I told God that he would have to handle it, and I refused to think about it. Months went by - I endured horrible pain at work, and every day that I was able to hide it from my co-workers and bosses was a victory for me. It got so bad I would spend my entire lunch breaks in the car park, almost crying, mending my feet - using various different pairs of socks and shoes, etc.

They finally stopped talking to me about it. I would come home from work only to discover that my family in Florida was fasting for me, and spending hours in prayer while I was at work. They would go on fasts for entire weeks, because they were so worried. And despite the pain, I knew deep down inside that God was going to make a way somehow. And one day, I looked up and my feet were healed.

Now, upon occassion, my family went back to Joliet for months on end, while I stayed in Florida and worked. Often, I would be in Florida in the house alone. One day, I was alone, and I felt a tingle in my feet. I was really scared, because I had this sinking feeling that the condition was coming back on me by God's design, and this time, there would be no family waiting to encourage me when I got home. I looked at those four walls and told God that I would endure it. I've been alone before. I've endured alone before. And that sickness came on me suddenly and full blown. And I kept on going, and trusting God. And he healed me. Again. Only this time, it was quicker.

Many months later, I moved back to Joliet, and was staying with my family, and again, I felt a tingle in my feet. I said, "Oh God, Please Not Again!" And God, said - "Yes. Again." And I said, "ok." And he healed me. This time, even quicker.

Now here we are. Years have passed in relative quiet for me - quiet from serious illness, I mean. And even though I've been unemployed, since April this year - I remember thinking - "this whole unemployment thing seems too easy right now - something's GOTTA be coming down the pipe!"

How right I was.

The moment I hit San Diego, the very first night, I felt a tingling in my lips, and deep down, I knew it was bad. From that moment, I sank into a severe allergic reaction to something I ate (it tasted really good!). And, as I predicted, I went from allergic reaction to severe, potentially life-treatening infection. It was on my face! Pastor prayed for me - my family prayed for me, but inside, I was panicking - outside, I was trying to keep my cool for my mom and sister, so it wouldnt completely ruin their vacation. I flip-flopped from serious panic to complete calm acceptance. I could not sleep. The nights were the worst - deep, dark and scary. I would sit in the dark room while everyone slept, and pray, or try not to think morbid thoughts. Then day would come, and I would manage after some time to bounce back emotionally and go out in the afternoons.

It helped that I knew God was in this, and that he would bring me through this. It helped that I knew all things work together for good to them that love God - to them who are the called according to his purpose. It helped that my mom and sister prayed for me nightly, and at random intervals during the day. And much in the same fashion as the feet illness, I snuck many a spare moment in the car, administering to my face, almost crying in pain, while my family was doing something else.

I was afraid to go outside. I was afraid to go to the airport to go home, but I desperately wanted to go home, because in my mind, I felt that if I could just get home, I would be ok. I sat up the entire night before our flight staring at the clock, willing the day to come. It was worse that I flew home alone. However, in the airport, something miraculous happened: I was in the bathroom "administering" to my lips, and they came completely off!

I kid you not. This is what needed to happen, because my mouth was abnormal - but in the airport bathroom, 5 mins before I boarded, I scraped them completely off. I felt almost human, and it was like a light had shined in that dark place, just to encourage me. I knew then that God had ordained this for me, and at any time, any place, any moment - he could save me from this. Or leave me in it to continue suffer.

One of the hardest parts was yet to come. Driving home from the airport, I had this joy - this great joy, because I thought it was OVER. I thought I was done - that I had come through something horrible, and it was done. But I was wrong.

God had only just begun. He allowed me one day of comfort. I should have slept that night I returned, because it was the only night I would have slept for weeks. I stayed up the entire night on sheer adrenaline and happiness. The very next day, to my horror, I tingled all over my lower face. It worsened all day until my entire neck, mouth and face were covered in boils. I could not sleep, because I knew what had happened to me, and I was terrified that I would spread it over my entire body. It worsened, and the boils burst and oozed infectious pus all over. This happened all day, every day - with no subsiding. NONE. It never stopped.

Somewhere in all this, I must have stopped talking. It was because I had nothing to say. I knew that I was in the hand of God, and I knew he could heal me, and I knew that I was going to have to see just how far he was going to take me. I felt that surely he would step in before this went too far. I was very confident.

But I kept getting worse. And I thought: "any day now God!" And I got worse. It didnt help that I looked it up on the internet, and it was proven that even the doctors really couldnt help, and that at its worse, the condition is life threatening. This is how I spent my nights because I couldnt sleep. I hated the night. I would try to distract myself until the morning, because the old art of making yourself tired wasnt working for me - I could not sleep, and hadnt for over a week. Sometimes I would marvel that and tell God - "are you keeping me awake? how am I surviving? this is unnatural!" My sister Liz would stay up all night with me to keep my company, and it made the night easier to bear.

And just when I thought "I can get thru this," I got worse. My head began to swell. My entire head, to the degree that I did not even regonize myself in the mirror. I knew it was bad when my own family got quiet and refused to even comment on it - they would just look at me, and pray. I only knew how they felt when something they said at church would get back to me. Their comments to others, and not to me, scared me. My head swole beyond what I thought it capable, and I would stand for hours looking at myself in the mirror and asking God: "when God? when are you going to come?" And God reminded me that the scripture says that "He that shall come, will come and will not tarry."

That thing encouraged my heart. Sometimes I wondered if I was going to die, but I was comforted with the thought that I'd rather die now, than live and go to hell. I found later that my sisters thought I might die as well.

One morning I felt at the end of my rope. I had constantly refused my mother's administrations and suggestions of what to do - more out of habit, than out of any real disagreement, because I felt her ideas were too radical - and I was too lazy to implement them. And I had been getting consistently worse. A few times, I had discovered that she was right, and I told myself that I would listen to her next time. For the past several days, my entire (swollen) face had frozen, and I was unable to open my mouth. Liz had been feeding me smoothies thru a straw. However, in addition to it being frozen, it was weeping pus from my mouth non-stop. Literally. Non-stop. It would not dry, and nothing I could do would make it end. I felt like I was dying somehow, but I did not know what to do.

Nothing satisfied me, and as ususal I was pacing my house holding my face in the wee hours of the morning. My mother met me in the hall, and told me to submerge my entire body in Hydrogen Peroxide, to kill the bacteria, and stop the weeping. I was initally resistant, but on second thought remembered that I had decided to listen - and I did it.

The first time we did it - things got even worse. Then my mother called Pastor Hodges and Sis Linda, and they came over in the middle of the night to pray for me. That moment was a ray of hope and encouragement. I NEVER knew how much sick people need encouragement. I continued taking Hydrogen Peroxide baths, and from that moment on, every bath I took attacked the illness like it was waging war. The next day, my face had decreased in size. The next day more, the next day more, etc., etc. The Illness - as if it had a spirit, began to fight back, and spread into my scalp, and over the rest of my face, but it was fighting a losing battle. I felt in the depths of my soul that no matter how much it spread or fought back, I should believe that it was dying. I took confidence in that, and took strong hold of it. The Illness got madder and began itching so bad I spent the next weeks wanting to tear my face and scalp off - nothing helped, not calamine or cortizone.

My hair began to be noticeably lighter (I hadnt even known that submerging myself in Hydorgen Peroxide to kill the bacteria and alleviate the itching was lightening my hair). After I noticed, we cleared it with our Pastor. However, I began to try to "end" my illness, and call it done for myself, because I like my hair. I kept telling God - "Please god - I LIKE my hair color," and everytime I did, the illness would seem to spread further into my scalp, forcing the necessity of submerging all of my hair in the Peroxide.

As a side note, I absolutely HATE my hair color now. However, in the depths of my sadness and thinking that it is the absolute worst thing that could have happened to me, my family reminded me that they were almost to a place where they thought they would have to have it all cut off in order to address the scalp. This gave me perspective, and I began to thank God that I still HAVE hair - though I have lot a lot of it in this process.

Everytime I would think it had calmed down, I would stop taking the baths. Everytime I stopped of my own volition, and attempted to "get better" or go outside, I would have a relapse, and further spread of the illness. Finally, I just gave up fighting back, and submitted that I would be housebound and faux blonde until God stepped in and delivered me.

And a few days ago, he encouraged me to take courage and go outside, despite the fact that the illness is still there, and I am still sick. That very day, I was contacted for a job interview, which, whether or not I get it, I felt was confirmation that God had released me to go outside, and stop taking HydroPeroxide baths.

So now, here I am. I'm still sick from an outward perspective, but I am fully persuaded that God is healing me, and that from his perspective I need to take courage that it will be done. I am very uncomfortable, and if these last few days were any indication to me, it was probably God reminding me to slow down and not overdo it, because yes, I am still in recovery. I cant keep up like Im physically fine, but I can go slow and one day I'll look up and I'll be healed.

The fear is gone. Because I know without a doubt that he that shall come, will come, and will not tarry.

And if the worst I have to deal with after is that I look a HOT MESS (to myself, at least), and I hate it, - if nothing else, it will always be a reminder to me - a Memorial Stone of what God did for me, and how he carried me through a very dark night, and brought me safely out the other side.

This. This is why I love my Saviour. He's my Father. And he brought me through.

Bookmark this post: