The Gift of Chronic Illness

I can’t believe that it’s been a full year of Lyme treatment and over 2.5 years since my first definitive symptom. Just over a year ago I didn’t even know what Chronic Lyme disease was. I had no idea the severity of the situation or how the Doctors of BC would quite literally leave me to die.

I’ve never fully trusted naturopaths but it turned out to be a naturopath who would save my life.
At the time all I could see was what I was loosing – friends, jobs, volunteer positions, strength, my body, my mind, my self confidence. This time last year I could barely read. A couple months later I temporarily lost my ability to speak. I’ve had days where my legs completely give out on me and I’ve had to swallow all of my pride and use a cane. My brain function was lessening by the day. My memory is still questionable but not as bad as it was. I couldn’t remember family members and friends names, only the letter that they started with. I would forget if I took my meds or if I fed the dog. Every second that I wasn’t working, was spent on the couch or in bed because I simply had no strength to do anything more. I thought for sure that this disease was going to kill me. And that our government medical system would just sit back and watch it happen.

I can’t believe how much I’ve learned in the past year. For the lack of brain function and memory issues, the amount of information that I have absorbed is remarkable. But I definitely know too much about the politics to ever fully trust a medical doctor or our medical system again. When I say that the Doctors of BC left me to die, that is not an exaggeration. It is the basic reality for me and thousands of other Lyme patients. The absolute betrayal and bitter disgust that I feel towards our medical community is something that can never fully be forgiven, however, I have had an amazing Lyme-literate GP from Maple Ridge offer to come and do Grand Rounds here for all of the doctors in Delta on Lyme disease and how to recognize and treat it within the guidelines. If we could get our doctors here on board and open to do this, then that would most definitely be a step in the right direction.

All that I have lost has made room for all that I have gained.

The friends that left me, made room for both new and old friends to come back into my life who all have stepped up huge to help me. On top of this I have learned which family members would really step up and which would not. I am forever grateful for both this understanding as well as for anyone who has willingly driven me to appointments, taken me for errands or groceries, done my grocery shopping for me when I cannot, cooked for me, cleaned for me, and even just visited with me or been a text or phone call away when I am struggling. The loss of everyone who couldn’t or wouldn’t handle my life with Lyme, made room for my people to find me and that’s been a huge blessing.

Getting sick to this extreme was the only way I ever would have stopped working 7 days a week, filling my schedule with 3 jobs and other volunteer positions that I thought made me worthy, that I thought made my life important. What I now know is that it isn’t my multiple jobs or businesses or volunteer boards that make my life important, what makes it important is simply that – my life. My intrinsic need to share my stories, my struggles, my mistakes, my wins; my willingness to be completely open and vulnerable for the good of others every single day. This is what gives my life meaning, this, to me, is what makes me important. This is what aligns my soul. Although some of my jobs and volunteering pushed me to be so open sharing these things, they were still for the purpose of a job. This was what I was “supposed” to do for that position. Clearing those positions from my life created time and space for me to understand that I don’t need a job or board to allow me to share my voice. That need is a soul-calling that I am ready to answer.

Another thing that getting sick taught me is that it’s okay to not be going 100 miles an hour 7 days a week. It’s okay to sit in silence. It’s okay to not have a schedule filled past its breaking point. It’s okay to turn off all notifications and take time for yourself. It’s okay to relax in a bath or read in the middle of the day or not get dressed until noon or to nap. It’s okay to spend a full day on the couch watching netflix if that’s what your body needs. I’ve learned that it’s honorable and difficult to not only listen to your body but to act on its needs accordingly, even if that means resting. There is so much that my body had to teach me and I made sure that I was too busy to listen, so it made me. If I had learned these things much sooner, I may never have gotten sick.

I see the world so much clearer now, past my insecurities and negative, taught self-beliefs. My third eye has opened. And I understand certain parts of me life so much differently and have been able to let them go. Things that have weighed heavily on me for years, situations where I based my entire self-worth in another person incapable of seeing it. I’ve accepted now that their issues are not mine and have no hold on how amazing I am or am not as a person.

I can’t, and won’t, say that I never have days that make me want to die. I won’t say that I never lay in bed or on the bathroom floor sobbing for the pain to stop. I won’t say that I am better or healed or that I can trust my legs or my memory or my brain now, because I still have a long treatment ahead of me. We’ve only just begun a new treatment protocol about 3 months ago and now we’re talking about the possibility of IV antibiotics in 5 weeks if I don’t start to see a difference soon. I still consider it a good day if I can walk up a flight of stairs or take my dog for a 5 minute walk. If I can cook or clean or go grocery shopping on top of a work day then that’s an incredible day. Last night I drove to Bridgeport, and that was a huge win being my first time driving outside of South Delta in ages. I have completely lost my independence and yet I’m wholey finding who I am.

I am not Denise, the fitness coach.
I am not Denise, the girl who went from a size 16 to a size 2.
I am not Denise, the mental health activist or the youth on the local action team.
I am not Denise, the LBA board member.

I am Denise. The survivor. The warrior. The leader. The truth speaker. The boundary breaker. The light worker. The creative. The feeler. The writer. The healer.
I am Denise, the one with the always open heart. And I never would have learned this if my body didn’t force me to slow down, shed all of which was weighing on me in order to survive, and be forced to sit in silence.

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