STOP, REWIND, PLAY

5I had so much optimism about today.

I could go to the gym, do my Centergy class, which I've missed for weeks due to doctors' appointments and mini-surgeries.

I even brought my bike shoes in case I also felt up to a Ride class.

The class was small, just three of us, and it felt good to move. It felt good not to think of anything but following the lead of the instructor.

I have to sit out the second song in the routine because I can't put a lot of weight on my right arm. I usually just lie back and stretch.

Today, I decided this would be a good time for a rest room break, put on my Skechers and headed downstairs.

A few minutes later, I quietly slipped through the back door, ready to rejoin the class.

But then I noticed someone, a woman, was using my mats!

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I blinked, then stood motionless.

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

She finally noticed me, "Is this your mat?"

"Yes," I replied

************

This is where I stopped writing yesterday.

I was soooo tired. Physically and mentally. I needed to lie down.

I wanted to finish, but not that day

The words just wouldn't come. My thoughts were cloudy.

Maybe tomorrow...

*************

I had so much optimism about the day.

I could go to the gym, do my Centergy class, which I've missed for weeks due to doctors' appointments and mini-surgeries.

I even brought my bike shoes in case I also felt up to a Ride class.

The class was small, just three of us, and it felt good to move. It felt good not to think of anything but following the lead of the instructor.

I always sit out the second song in the routine because I can't put a lot of weight on my right arm. I usually just lie back and stretch.

This day, I decided this would be a good time for a rest room break, put on my Skechers and headed downstairs.

A few minutes later, I quietly slipped through the back door, ready to rejoin the class.

But then I noticed someone, a woman, was using my mats!

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I blinked, then stood motionless.

Plank, step forward, fold, reverse swan dive, lunge.

I was thinking, "She doing what I'm supposed to be doing, moving the way I'm supposed to move. She's taken my place!"

It felt like what I've always heard an "out of body" experience should feel like.

I was standing outside my own body watching it move. Beautifully, with grace and strength.

The spell was broken. The woman had noticed me.

"Is this your mat?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

Embarrassed, she scooted away and grabbed a fresh mat from the closet.

I laid down on my violated mat and waited for the song to end, the images of what I'd just seen replaying in my mind.

Grace, beauty, strength, health. Not me. Someone else.

Sjogren's Syndrome has robbed my eyes of tears. Without those tears, I'm also missing the healing properties of tears shed in sorrow, tears that release both toxins and toxic emotions.

My eyes remained dry.

It was just then I realized my inner parts were overflowing with uncried tears.

My body was broken, but for the first time I also realized, so was my heart.

**************

If it's even possible, I think I went a whole week without taking a full breath.

Last week's liver biopsy makes it feel like a staple gun perforated my side and it hurts to fully inhale.

But more than that, the wait for the results was agony. It felt like the world was m o v i n g i n s l o w m o t i o n.

I couldn't write anything meaningful for the blog. I had several good ideas, but my thoughts always turned back to the waiting, and I wasn't ready to write about that.

My follow-up appointment with my doctor is next week, but I couldn't wait until then.

My sister, a nurse, told me that you can usually get the results directly from the hospital much sooner. She has battled breast cancer, so her disease-coping skills are finely tuned.

My biopsy was on a Thursday, so I showed up Monday and Tuesday hoping for the results. Nothing.

The surgeon said they would be ready in two or three days. What was taking so long?

I wasn't able to make it back there on Wednesday (and therefore continue to make a spectacle of myself) so I returned Thursday afternoon.

The pathology report was ready. The clerk sealed them in an envelope and didn't pass it through the window like she normally does.

She walked out to personally hand the results to me. Her expression was grim.

I didn't want anyone to see me read them, so I walked out into an isolated hallway.

The words jumped out at me, CHRONIC ACTIVE HEPATITIS. My liver is inflamed and some cells have already died.

That's what I expected, thanks to blood work that showed my body was attacking my own liver.

All viral forms of hepatitis had already been ruled out. I'm not contagious and not harmful to anyone but myself.

Auto-immune hepatitis seemed to be the likely diagnosis. Not just likely but expected.

Knowing what it might be and knowing what it is are two entirely different things.

I started shaking.

There are a lot "at leasts" to be optimistic about. At least it's still in the early stages, at least there is no cirrhosis, at least the bile ducts aren't damaged, at least there is no sign of cancer.

But I'm already thinking, if I feel this tired and listless now, what's it going to be like if it does get worse?

I'm preparing for a lifelong battle, but there are some weapons to help me fight.

My doctor has already told me the treatment for auto-immune liver disease a powerful immunosuppresant drug and prednisone.

One of my earliest blogs described my wonderful week on prednisone for a neck injury. I didn't beg for more, but came close.

I think real-life irony is an expression of God's sense of humor, sort of a spiritual wink.

My request for a refill was refused because the drug is dangerous and has some pretty scary side effects. Some would just harm my vanity, others threaten my health. But you can't live without a liver that doesn't work so I choose to treat it.

From what I read, auto-immune hepatits patients can be on prednisone for years. Years!

I'm looking forward to feeling good, even great even if it's a false sense of well being.

My rhematologist said that "Prednisone can bring dead people back to life." I think that's an accurate description of how it feels. I look forward to doing a lot more writing when I'm on it.

I might even feel up to straightening up the house.

Meanwhile, I know I have to work through the stages of grief that immediately began to consume me: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think I went through all of them yesterday in that Centergy class.

Writing about all of this makes me feel better. Few people have the time or desire to listen to me talk about them and I don't have the energy. And if you've read this far, thanks for reading. It makes me feel better somehow, reminds me that people really do care.

I went to another Centergy class this morning. I didn't step away this time, and didn't have any visions of someone in my place doing what I was supposed to do.

It's becoming clear that I'm doing what I'm supposed to do, right where I am now. Some days it's just surviving.

And to remind me that He's in control, God sent me a bush of gardenias, which bloomed for the first time today. They are one of my favorite flowers, and a favorite scent. I also love to paint them.

The bushes next to the back door were completely green when I left the house this morning, but now they are in gorgeous bloom.

I drew closer, to inhale the fragrance. A deep inhale. My side didn't hurt anymore.

I looked closer and saw what most would probably call raindrops. But to me, they are the tears shed in my behalf.

I was wilting just a day ago, but today, a new day, I see signs of life.

Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5