NEVER GIVE UP
When I first became ill in 2008, no one believed me. My family doctor told me that all of my tests had come back normal. He said the only possible cause of my neurological disability and gastrointestinal symptoms was a trauma from childhood. He said what I had was a psychosomatic disorder. I didn’t agree with him, but I was willing to try anything to get better. I took the drugs he offered me. Beta blockers, salt tabs, birth control, antidepressants. The beta blockers helped me manage my constantly racing heart. The antidepressants made me numb to my disintegrating marriage. But I did not feel better.
I couldn’t stand for more than five minutes without feeling like I was going to pass out. I experienced absence seizures sometimes, and the surreal sensation that I was high on drugs. Simply turning my head made the world spin. I felt weak, exhausted, and sluggish constantly. There was no relief. Every day was a struggle. Stairs killed me. Standing in lines was excruciating. Every day, I did my best as a mother but not much else. I was existing but not living, and my house, for the first time ever, was a mess. Meanwhile, my husband and his family doubted me. They believed I was faking my illness.
About a year in, I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS). My doctor told me there was no cure; I would have to find a way to live with my illness. I could tell he wanted me to give up; to stop showing up in his office. Despite the overwhelming despair I felt each time a specialist said they couldn’t help me, I continued to search for answers. I couldn’t accept that this was my life for the rest of my life - not worth living.
One day, my 8-year-old daughter asked me “What does it mean when you lose your marbles?” She had overheard my mother-in-law telling my sister-in-law that I had lost my marbles and was faking my disability. My daughter felt angry and upset when I told her what it meant. I told my husband what his mother said about me in front of our children, but he defended her. It was shortly after that, despite my health condition, I asked my husband to leave.
Realizing I had literally no one to depend on, I knew I had to take my life and my health into my own hands. I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to support or even raise my children by myself, but I intended to do my best and leave the rest in God’s hands. It was either that or give up my kids to healthy guardians and make my suicide look like an accident. I was at the lowest point I’d ever been in my life.
Financially, I saw only one option at the time – social assistance. I began the application process. As far as my health was concerned, I couldn’t afford any fancy doctors or alternative treatments. The only thing I could think of was to create the best environment possible for my body to heal. I didn’t think it would help, to be honest, but I also didn’t have any other ideas. I searched up the most common food allergens and cut them out of my diet the first day after my husband moved out.
Some days were better than others with my illness. That first day without my husband was a “good day.” The next day started out similarly good, but turned bad when I broke my foot taking the garbage out. After dropping my daughter off at school and dragging my toddler son to the hospital, I returned home in a walking cast. I felt very sorry for myself. I had no one to help me. My husband was gone. I was disabled by an illness that many thought I was faking. And now, I had a broken foot. In despair, I gorged myself on fruit loops and cinnamon buns. The mass amount of comfort foods I ate did little to comfort me, but I was desperate.
I woke up the next day riddled with pain, nausea, dizziness, and debilitating exhaustion. Shocked at the difference in how I felt between the day before and today, I wondered what could have triggered this sudden worsening? I remembered stuffing my face with junk foods the day before. Then I recalled how much better I’d felt for the two days of eating an allergen-free diet. Hope began to grow inside me. Could changing my eating habits make a difference?
I began the allergen-free diet again, this time with renewed vigor. I started researching and learned that many of my symptoms could be caused or worsened by foods. Not a single doctor I’d seen, including a naturopath, suggested looking at my diet. After four days of eliminating common food allergens, the improvement in my symptoms was nothing short of miraculous. I felt 70% better that quickly. Instead of going on social assistance, I started looking for a job. Soon, I became well enough to work and to participate in my children’s lives. The gratitude I felt for having a second chance at life was monumental because I learned an important lesson. I learned that it was worth it not to give up hope.
If I had given up like my doctor wanted, or let myself fall into total despair when my marriage ended, I wouldn’t have kept trying until I succeeded. I wouldn’t have discovered the power of natural healing and taking control of my own health; or learned how strong I really am. I wouldn’t have gotten my life back.
Furthermore, that experience made me realize that miracles do happen. Healing is possible. Life will get better. Hope is essential to achieve our goals. Every new journey begins with hope and ends with valuable lessons that can be applied to the next new journey. If you feel hopeless where you are right now, I urge you to start practicing HOPE.
Jim Rohn says that after winter comes the spring. After night comes the day. It never changes. It’s always the same. Things will always get better. When life is a struggle of painful existence, remember the HOPE acronym: Hold On, Pain Ends. I promise you, it really does.
Love Annie
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