Tag: medical

How the Health are You?

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

A friend of mine used to ask me this every time she saw me. It made me laugh.  I was just a kid, and I liked how she, an adult, was playing with language and ‘getting away with’ saying a ‘bad word’.

Who knew, way back then, that questions of health would one day dominate my life?  Who knew that I would spend years trying to discover what the health is wrong with me and how I can remedy the problem or at least minimize its effects?

But guys, I have relatively good news!  After five years of trial and error — testing, medication, treatment, side effects, etc. — we have discovered a strategy that, at least for now, is reducing my symptoms!

Let me pause here and give my disclaimer that every body is different, no one treatment works the same for every person, and certainly this is just my story.  I am in no way suggesting that your strategy for managing your health is inappropriate or that you should alter it in any way.  

I haven’t written about my health since last summer when I was doing a trial of Cosentyx.  After a over a year of no medical intervention for my illness, which had been labelled psoriatic arthritis and/or fibromyalgia, I had gone to a new rheumatologist who, at least initially, promised hope for reduced pain, better mobility, and less fatigue.  She felt that Cosentyx was a miracle drug and that I would certainly see dramatic results perhaps even with the first dose.  I was so excited!  After four years of pain and fatigue that limited my everyday life, I was looking forward to ‘getting back to normal’!

Well, I did see a dramatic effect, but it was not the one I was looking for.  Cosentyx made me an emotional wreck — I mean a serious emotional wreck.  I could barely function, particularly when the doses were back-to-back in the initial ‘loading’ period.  I was irrational, depressed, impulsive, and downright mean.   Nevertheless, I continued through that initial phase hoping to strike the promised gold; it never surfaced.  I stayed on Cosentyx for six months with no real improvement.

My doctor, suspecting a different diagnosis of degenerative arthritis, next recommended that I visit a pain management clinic.  I have been very opposed to this from the start.  Remember that prior to this illness, I had been a pretty avid runner for about 10 years.  I had run 5-6 days a week and completed two half-marathons.  I was in pretty great shape up until I started noticing joint pain and extreme fatigue.  I did not want to resign myself to a life of pain meds — I wanted to get better!  I wanted to find the source of the problem, fix it, and get back to my life!  My previous doctor had also recommended pain management; that’s when I had decided to try  homeopathy.  Homeopathy offered me hope and agency but no true change.

Anyway, I digress.  Last fall, when my current rheumatologist recommended I go to the pain management clinic, she suggested I try a steroid shot in my sacroiliac joint — the biggest source of my pain.  This sounded different to me.  She was not suggesting that I take NSAIDS for the rest of my life or that I take opioids or some other form of pain medication.  She was just suggesting a steroid injection.  I was willing to give that  a try.

With the very first injection I noticed a change — I didn’t have such a high degree of pain or such dramatic fatigue.  In fact, I was moving around more easily and having more energy.  After my second injection a month later, my chiropractor and physical therapist both noticed structural differences — my spine adjusted more easily, my muscles seemed more relaxed, and my posture was more erect.  After the third injection just two weeks ago, I notice that I have more endurance as I move through my days and I sleep more comfortably at night.

For the first time in five years, I have noticed a significant change in my ability to function!

Now, I will say that I am cautious in celebration.  First, I am only two and a half months into this treatment.  I do not know how long it will last.  In fact, after the third shot, the medical team said that I should call them “as needed”.  What does that mean?  Will my relief last a month? Two months?  a year?  What I am told is that everyone is different.  Some people get relief for months; some get relief for much longer.

The second reason that I am cautious is that I do not want to go back to my soldiering ways.  My illness has helped me, through trial and error, find a better pace for my life. I don’t try to cram twenty hours of living into every day any more.  I find time for work, but I also find time to rest.  I have built boundaries into my life that never existed before. I have more time with my husband, more availability for my kids and grandkids, and more margin to manage the unexpected stuff that arises in life.  I don’t want to lose this balance as my health improves.

I still believe that this journey of the last five years has been a lesson designed uniquely for me.  The way I was living my life previous to this illness was a path of my own making — I was kicking butts and taking names. I was not caring for the others in my life or, least of all, myself.  I don’t want to lose what I’ve learned in any level of recovery.

So, for now, I will continue the practices that have sustained me this far:

  •  A commitment to daily Scripture reading — this has been a calming anchor to my days.  I listen to a daily ‘dose’ on a YouVersion Bible reading plan every morning as I move through my routine.  It’s a small thing that makes a huge difference.
  • Regular visits with my chiropractor and physical therapist who have been my coaches and supporters for going on three years now.  I can’t say enough good about these two.
  • Yoga, a healthful eating regimen, and walking.  Daily intentional care of my physical body helps maintain both my physical and emotional health.
  • Writing — putting my thinking on a page with a commitment to total transparency has been an accountability that contributes to my emotional and physical health.
  • Psychological therapy — a once a week discussion with a trained professional who helps me sort out the healthy and unhealthy messages I am giving myself.  I am always surprised by the interrelationship between physical and mental health; it cannot be overstated.
  • A renewed commitment to prayer — this seems to be the hardest for me.  I am so used to muscling through and finding my own solutions.  Turning to prayer is a highly intentional act right now.  I am praying that it becomes more automatic over time.

I sometimes joke that taking care of myself is a part-time job.  It takes a lot of effort.  However, I have learned that if I have any hope of caring for the people I love or for being effective with my students, I have got to oxygenate myself first.  It’s not selfish; it’s a healthy practice that enables me to do the things I love.  It honors the Creator to care for what He created.

Jeremiah 17:14

Heal me, Lord, and I will be healed; save me and I will be saved, for you are the one I praise.

Trials

~ Kristin ~ 4 Comments

One month without writing. I had every intention of jumping back into routines.  Fresh from my time away at the beginning of the summer, I wrote three days in a row, and then the whirlwind — the 5-week summer course I taught, visits from all of our kids and our grandbaby, and a full-family excursion to see both sides of the family.  I might’ve still managed to write a little, but in the midst of all that activity, I did a new medication trial.

My new rheumatologist, who thankfully reasserted my psoriatic arthritis diagnosis, said I should try Cosentyx.  “It’s a relatively new drug,” she said, “and it has helped a lot of people with psoriatic arthritis.”

“What’s the down side?” I asked.

“Nothing!” she assured me.

Skeptical, I did my own research. I googled and queried online groups.  It seemed that everyone agreed with my doctor — the risks and side effects were minimal.

Mm-hmm.

I wish I would’ve gotten a rash. Or stomach pain.  I did get what other patients call, “a temporary spike in symptoms,” but I also had another, more bizarre reaction.

Cosentyx is injectable.  Once a week for five weeks, you use a syringe or a ‘pen’ to give yourself a 150mg dose of this drug. I’m nothing if not dutiful, so I started the day I got home from grading the AP exam.  One quick click in the right thigh.  I didn’t notice anything until the next day when around 4pm I felt like I needed to lie down and be done for the day.  I wasn’t too worried;  I am often tired.  It is not unusual for me to be in my pajamas by 7pm, so I did what my body told me and rested for the next couple of days. Then I was back to normal.

The next Sunday, I did one quick click in the left thigh.  Again, nothing immediate, but the next morning, I got out of bed barking orders, complaining, and overreacting to every little nothing.  Ok, still, I wasn’t too concerned.  I’m known to be a bit crabby, and this ‘mood’, like others I’ve had in the past, lasted about 48 hours and then seemed to wane.

Next Sunday, next click — this time in the belly.  It was the Fourth of July weekend. And I was starting to see a pattern.  I had to teach on Monday, July 3rd for the summer program I was part of.  I got up and grumbled around the house, complaining that I was the only one who had to work, the only one who cleaned up around the house, blah, blah, blah.  My family observed me from afar.  They were starting to catch on, too.  I barely made it through my class.  I was not interested in being there, neither were my students.  I went home and barked at my family and put myself to bed early.  The next day, some friends invited us over to their pool.  I agreed to go for the sake of my family.  I figured I would be less aggressive if I was in front of witnesses. And, these were close friends who were aware of my health issues and also aware of the new drug.  They were champs. They distracted me and fed me and my family.  True heroes.

Next Sunday, next click — the other side of the belly. Again, Sunday night was fine, but Monday morning I was already in a funk when my husband called me from his annual physical to tell me that he had to go to the ER for an EKG.  I rallied the troops — I sent my kids to him while I readied myself to teach and pushed pause on my emotions.  I transitioned to full soldier mode when he called again and said he had to have a heart catheterization right away.  The next twenty-four hours, which had been the hardest on this med in the previous weeks, were a whirlwind of distraction.  My husband’s tests eliminated heart disease and any blockages and suggested the need for my husband to go on — wait for it — a medication trial.  (He has had not further symptoms, thankfully.) By the time he was home from the hospital, it was Tuesday night and I was almost back to normal.

Next Sunday, next click — back to the thigh, but this time, we had a house full of visiting family.  I had no issues on Sunday night.  Maybe I would be ok.  After all, during the previous week with the medical distraction, I had kept my rage in check.  Certainly I would be able to control my tongue in front of house guests.  Nevertheless I warned them in advance while hoping for the best.

It came out of nowhere.  Unbridled venom.  I spewed.  Then the backlash of remorse and embarrassment.  Apologies, and then, wham! The second wave.  I felt desperate.  I mumbled explanations and left the house.  I was going to isolate myself until the storm passed.  I spent the next six hours alone.  I had a book, but I couldn’t read.  I had my laptop, but I couldn’t write.  My mind was swirling frantically.  I worried over every decision past, present, future.  I cried.  I raged.  I fumed.  It was terrible.  After dark, I slithered back home, showered, and put myself to bed.

The next morning, we attended a funeral for a friend where tears released any remaining emotions, then I taught my class.  Afterward, I made a meal, and by dinner time I was able to join the family around the table.  I was still careful to speak very few words for fear of saying something barbed or pointed.

By the next day, Wednesday, I was pretty much back to normal.

I am now two weeks away from the last dose.  And two weeks away from the next dose. After the five loading doses, I switch to once-a-month injections.  I’ve called my doctor. She’s “never heard of” this type of reaction.  I contacted the manufacturer.  They are “following” my case.  My doctor wants me to continue the course, if I can, to see if Cosentyx will eventually help me.

That’s the other kicker.  This med does not give immediate relief from pain, fatigue, or psoriasis.  People have varied results.  Some have noticed improvement after the loading doses.  Some after the third month.  Some after the — gulp — eighth month.

Is it worth it?  I don’t know, because right now I don’t have any relief.  None.  I had, as I mentioned, a spike in my psoriasis, pain, and fatigue. That, coupled with the bizarre emotional reaction, is what I have noticed as a result of this medication.

Nevertheless, I am going to press on.  I am going to take the next dose and not plan anything for the two days after the injection.  We are going to watch and wait.

Why? Because I am still hopeful that something is going to work.  I still believe that at fifty-one years of age I should be able to live a full life.  I still want to teach during the day and go out to dinner with friends in the evening.  I want to be able to have Bible study with the girls in the morning, teach my classes, and then be conscious for dinner with my husband.  I am hopeful that I will be able to lie down at night and sleep without groaning every time I have to reposition myself.

It feels a bit selfish when I put it like that, I guess.  I mean, psoriatic arthritis is not life-threatening.  It is only life-altering.  And, as I have mentioned in this blog, my life did need altering.  I am not angry that I have this disease, but I do want to pursue a path to healing. And, I think, for me, the healing may need to come slowly so that I don’t abandon all the lessons I have learned in this chapter.

 

 

Romans 12:12

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

Rube Goldberg

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

rube

You’ve seen a Rube Goldberg machine haven’t you?  It, according to source-of-all-sources, Wikipedia, “is a deliberately complex contraption in which a series of devices that perform simple tasks are linked together to produce a domino effect in which activating one device triggers the next device in the sequence.”

Artist and engineer, Rube Goldberg, drew many of these machines, like the one posted above, I think, to poke fun at humanity and our tendency to take too many steps to accomplish a simple task.  It’s just like us, isn’t it, to create a contraption that involves two people, a kitchen timer, a series of pulleys, and fire, for heaven’s sake, to get an olive out of a jar.

I was thinking about Rube Goldberg earlier today when I started piecing together the series of events that was involved in securing an appointment to get a third opinion on my medical diagnosis. You’d think it might be as simple as taking the darn lid off the jar, reaching in, and grabbing an olive, wouldn’t you?  Pick up the phone, touch a few numbers on a screen, ask a question, put a note on the calendar.  Easy.

But not really.

I’ve put the process off for a while.  Over twenty months ago, my then rheumatologist told me, not for the first time, that since she didn’t agree with my former rheumatologist’s diagnosis of psoriatic arthritis but rather thought I had fibromyalgia, there was no longer any need for me to be seen by rheumatology.  In fact, any primary care physician could manage my pain with prescription NSAIDS.  I should, she said, attend a workshop on fibromyalgia at the university and come to terms with my diagnosis.

I didn’t agree.

I had, and still have, three other members on my team. (I have written about this before.  If you want to meet my team, click here.) They supported my decision to disagree with the fibromyalgia diagnosis.  So, for twenty months, I have worked with this team and have been functioning quite well, as long as I keep my Kristin dial set at about 50-70%.  If I keep my self at a reduced level of functioning, inserting yoga, rest, physical therapy, chiropractic care, healthful eating, and regular walking, I have a manageable level of pain, psoriasis, fatigue, etc.

The problem is, that after a while of 50-70%, I get a little restless.  I think to myself, “Hey, self, you feel pretty good.  It probably wouldn’t hurt if you had three social engagements the week that you are planning to go out of town on a retreat.  I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Yeah, I say things like that to myself and I believe them. Still.  After almost four years in this adjusted reality.  Sigh.

Well, if you read my last post, you know that for about the last six weeks I have pushed myself to function consistently between 70 and 80%.  About 10 days ago, I “fell” pretty hard, and I’ve been hobbling along, still trying to keep the dial set at about 70% ever since. No surprise, I’ve still got significant pain, sustained eye symptoms, and the kind of fatigue that causes me to fumble with words, collapse on the couch, and sleep sometimes 10-12 hours at night.

So I got to thinking, as one does when she’s packed in ice, maybe I should give rheumatology another try.  Maybe 50-70% is my sweet spot; maybe, as I’ve been saying, I do my best caring and listening when I slow myself down enough to notice what’s happening around me rather than constantly pressing full steam ahead.  But maybe, just maybe, at fifty-one years old, I should explore the possibility of improving my health so that I can function at say, 80-90%.  Wouldn’t it be worth a try?

I’d had this thought before the crash, too.  In fact,  I tried to have my last rheumatologist re-examine my file.  In the large university where she dwells, I have to reach out to her through an electronic portal.  I did. A month ago. No reply.

So, last week, when I was face down, I crawled over to my laptop (figuratively, of course) and requested an appointment with her.  They gave me her next available — three months from now. Sigh.

So, I Googled rheumatologists in my area and called one that is in my vicinity.  They are scheduling four to five months out. The receptionist suggested I call another nearby practice since they have more docs on staff and might not have such a long waiting list.

Let me just say here that I really don’t like talking on the phone. I make exceptions for my parents, my siblings, and my children, but when it comes to businesses or, worse, doctor’s offices, I try to avoid phone calling like the plague.  The fact that I was willing to pick up the phone twice in one day last week is evidence of the fact that I was indeed miserable. I felt so badly I was willing to call not one but two doctors’ offices.

And you would think, like I did, that I was pretty close to getting the olive out of the jar. No, I had miles to go, my child, miles to go. The second practice said they were indeed taking new patients, and they were scheduling in the next month.  All I needed to do was get a referral from my doctor and fax my medical records.

Those were the words that Rube was waiting for. You see, my primary doc, a DO who has coached me through homeopathic remedies, advised some nutritional changes, and has prescribed the fabulous physical therapy described here, recently relocated her practice and reduced her office hours.  I sent three emails before I got a reply.  I’ll admit that that last one may have had a tone.  Ok, it definitely had a tone, which is why she called me back and left a message. She asked me to send her a detailed message fully explaining why I wanted this referral. So, I sent email number four. It was a page long.

Then, I tried to request medical records.  Here’s the thing — the new doctor’s office said they needed my medical records faxed to them. My two prior rheumatologists’ offices said they could only email a record. I plead with the new office.  After all, I had two zip drives on the desktop of my Mac.  I could send them my full record from January of 2013 until now — every test, every x-ray, every prescription — in a couple of clicks. Nope.  They “don’t receive email.”

I shared my plight on Facebook and two friends came forward with a plan for how I could use a free website to convert my documents to a fax right from my laptop.  Who knew?

So, while all those gears and pulleys were doing what gears and pulleys do, the weekend arrived and I knew I wouldn’t hear whether or not my primary care doc would give me the referral until Monday.

Saturday morning, after yoga, I was running a few errands when a friend texted me.  She and her husband had tickets to a concert that night.  They couldn’t attend due to illness, would we like the tickets.  My husband and I exchanged a few texts and decided that yes, since going to the concert meant sitting with several other couples from our church we would go.  It would be late, but we were planning on attending the late service the next morning, so it should be fine. (This is how people with chronic illness make decisions, by the way — always measuring.)  A little while later, one of the other couples who was attending the concert texted to say that several were meeting for dinner first, would we like to join.  Well, I mean, we’ve got to eat, right?  These are people we don’t know well; it would be good to get to know them better. I’d be fine to go out for dinner and a concert. (Yes, this is me, continuing to press limits even when I’m already down.)

Why am I telling you about dinner and a concert?  Because the weirdest twist was added to the Rube Goldberg machine.  Eight people at a table and my husband and I end up sitting next to a physician with the same genetic marker that I have. I don’t usually bring up genetic markers over dinner, but he did.  It was weird.  We shared stories and frustrations.  At a dinner we weren’t meant to attend before a concert that we hadn’t planned on.  The next morning, after Easter worship, this same physician waited for me at the back of the church and handed me the names of two rheumatologists at the practice I was trying to get a referral to.  He had researched them when he got home the night before and thought that of all the doctors at that practice, these were two he would recommend.

Monday morning, I had an email from my primary care doc.  She had sent the referral. Today, Wednesday, I got a phone call from the new doctor’s office.  I pulled the recommended names out of my purse while I was on the phone with the receptionist and took a deep breath before I asked if there was any chance that my appointment could be with one of them, who just happens to not only be a rheumatologist but also an optometrist.

And just when I was starting to think that the whole thing would come crashing down, that I wouldn’t get my olive after all, the receptionist booked me with that specific doctor for an appointment just under two weeks from now.

Rube Goldberg? I think not.  I know only One who can take a very frustrating and seemingly hopeless situation and make it work out better than I had asked or imagined. And do you know what? The elaborate machinery of it all, the Divine intervention of it all, has dispelled my anxiety about going to one more doctor, telling my story one more time, and risking the possibility that she won’t have any answers for me at all.

Because I know who does have the answers, and, because of that,I am not afraid.

Romans 8:28

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

 

 

 

 

 

Sigh.

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

It all started with me wanting to find the sunglasses that clip on to my prescription glasses.  I picked out these glasses because they came with magnetized sunglasses that I can just attach whenever I am in the sun.  I purchased them in August and enjoyed them on our trip to South Africa in October.  Because I am prone to lose things, I mechanically placed the sunglasses in their case and slipped them into the same compartment of my purse over and over again so that I would not lose them. It is no small miracle that they made it back from South Africa with me. However, I think it was within the week of returning that they went missing.

So much happened that week.  I unpacked and immediately went back to teaching and tutoring.  I switched so many bags around.  I have a travel purse, a tutoring bag, and a teaching bag.  I am sure the glasses were moved around from bag to bag, but then what happened?

Because we returned from our trip at the end of October, which was midterm, I didn’t spend the time I should’ve spent to find them immediately.  I kept thinking that surely they would appear.  They didn’t.

Then Thanksgiving happened.  After that, we had five family birthdays and Christmas in December.  Finally on New Year’s Day I started thinking about packing for our trip to Israel. Near the top of our packing list I saw the words, “bring sunglasses, you will be surprised how bright it is.” Sigh.

Sunglasses are particularly important to me.  A complication of my autoimmune disease is that I have struggled with ocular herpes and, more recently, scleritis.  I have not had a flare of either of these conditions for over six months, however, even when I am not flaring, I am no longer able to wear contacts as I had for over thirty years.  Also, even when I am not flaring, my eyes are particularly sensitive to light.  Hence the purchase of prescription glasses that come with ‘clip on’ sunglasses.

Most reasonable people would’ve called the optometrist long ago to secure a replacement pair.  Not me.  I have lost so many things over the years.  My philosophy is, “hang in there, it’ll show up.”  Now it’s forty-eight hours before we leave for Israel and I don’t have sunglasses. Sigh.

I started yesterday, the morning after the last visitor left, cleaning out my office.  It seems that my office was the last known location of the sunglasses.  I really cleaned.  I got on hands and knees, I pulled out everything.  I took items off shelves.  I dusted.  I vacuumed. I inverted every bag I own. Nothing.

Well, in the process of doing all of that cleaning, I got sidetracked into making a pile of donations.  I mean, who needs all this stuff anyway?  As my donation pile was growing, I thought to myself, “you might as well do the minimalist challenge.  It’s been two years.  Clearly you have enough stuff here.”  So, in true Kristin fashion, I got three plates spinning at once — packing for an international trip, searching for my sunglasses, and accumulating a mountain of stuff to donate. (Insert eye-roll here.)

The good news is that my bag is packed with a short list of last-minute items placed neatly on top.  The other good news is that I’m already thirteen days into the minimalist challenge after only two days of cleaning and packing!!  The bad news?  Still no sunglasses.

I really hate making phone calls, so I tried one more strategy this morning.  I was in the shower thinking of  other places I could check when I thought to myself, “hey, my eyes feel pretty good!  maybe I should try my contacts today!  wouldn’t it be great if I could wear contacts the whole time I am in Israel?”  I got out of the shower and put them in.  Hey, they didn’t feel too bad!  So, I headed off to our last Israel trip leaders’ planning meeting feeling very hopeful.  Two hours later I was headed straight to the bathroom to get them out of my eyes.  Scratch that.

I mean, I could call the optometrist, but what are the odds that they can help me? What are the odds that they are going to have a replacement pair of magnetized sunglasses in stock? Sigh.

I’m dialing now. All opticians are currently with other patients.  I’m on hold.  Wait, wait! The optician came to the phone, heard my request and didn’t laugh at me!  He’s going to check to see what they have in stock.  No, no they don’t have any.  If they order now, they won’t be here in time. Yeah, I know. I should’ve called sooner. Sigh.

So, what’s a girl to do?  I have no idea.  I guess I’m gonna keep cleaning and putting things in the donate pile.  A miracle could still happen, couldn’t it?  If not, I’ll squint my way through Israel.  Who knows, maybe it’ll be cloudy the whole time we’re there.

Matthew 6:34

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

 

 

It takes a team

~ Kristin ~ 1 Comment

One thread of this blog since its inception is my journey through healing.  In the summer of 2012, I noticed that my elbows hurt.  The first health professional I saw thought I had tennis elbow — even though I didn’t play tennis or do any other repetitive motion activity other than swiping my iPad. That fall I began to feel tired — reeeeeeeally tired.  As a full-time mom, teacher, school administrator, and basically busy person, I had no time to be tired.  I went to a second health professional who did some blood tests and told me I was fine.

Since I knew I wasn’t fine, I kept pushing and investigating until I landed in a rheumatology office where I was given the diagnosis — psoriatic arthritis.  By then I wasn’t just tired — I was achy and struggling with psoriasis, too. Over the next 18 months I was treated with a series of medications in an attempt to find the one that would allow me to feel the best with the least side effects. I also experimented with acupuncture, massage, and nutritional interventions. All the while, I was still working full time and preparing for a major move, my youngest daughter’s graduation from high school and my oldest daughter’s graduation from college.

Then we moved.  And, if you have been following this blog, you know I committed to some time of rest and recovery.

While resting and recovering, I saw new medical professionals who said I did NOT, in fact, have psoriatic arthritis, but probably fibromyalgia.  These doctors discontinued some of the meds I was on and suggested that I insert more exercise into my life including cardio (I was already walking and doing Pilates). I resisted the fibro diagnosis, got a gym membership, and started building my team.

Now, 3.5 years after my initial symptoms and 1.5 years after moving to Michigan, I am still on the path to healing, but I am not alone.  I have assembled quite a little network of professionals who are believing with me that my health can improve and, indeed, that my entire sense of well-being might be restored.  Let me introduce my team.

Rev. John Rathje, aka my dear husband, is chief executive in charge of encouragement.  From the beginning, he has believed my invisible symptoms are real, has accompanied me to appointments whenever I have asked, has heated flax seed pillows, purchased ice packs, rubbed sore muscles, and supported my couch sitting. He also makes sure to remind me not to push too hard or do too much.

Rev. William Gatz is chief executive in charge of intercession. Since the moment he heard of my diagnosis he has prayed daily for my complete recovery.  If you know Pastor Gatz, you know this is serious business. He is a leader in prayer and intercession, especially prayer related to healing.  He also recommended that I read How Can I ask God for Physical Healing, which challenged some of my thoughts and affirmed others.

Dr. Mary Greiner, D.O. and Integrative Medicine Specialist, is the hub of my medical team.  She spends a great amount of time listening to me.  She takes a varied approach that includes, but is not limited to, pharmacology, homeopathy, nutrition, physical therapy, and lifestyle. Most importantly she believes that I can experience a better quality of life than I have now and she is willing to walk with me until I get there.

Marcy Boughton, MS PT, is the physical therapy whisperer who is subtly coercing my body into healing itself. She has manipulated my skull, my spine, my organs, my limbs, and, I dare say, my mind. The woman is filled with the spirit of God — Biblical truth oozes from her as she applies her hands to my body.  It is really quite miraculous. I have never experienced anything like it. Once a week I spend an hour on her table and leave feeling energized and supported. Marcy recommended that I read Dr. Gary Kaplan’s Total Recovery which is reshaping the way I think about health and the human body.

Dr. Greg Peroff, DC, is the chiropractic support member of this team.  He continually reminds my sacroiliac joint of where it is supposed to hang out and keeps my head screwed on straight. Like the others, he is committed to my overall well-being and applauds me as I walk down this path.

Of course I have other players — my eye doctor who treats the ocular herpes that resulted from my time on biologic medicines, my former therapist who walked with me before and during my diagnosis and helped me begin to see that my pursuit of health is not merely medical, but also psychological and spiritual, and a great team of family and friends. Soon I will be recruiting an acupuncturist and a massage therapist to round out this crew.

When I write it all down it seems a little excessive and somewhat selfish to need so many people. That is, when I look at it with my natural mind. My natural mind wants to be self-sufficient and to soldier through any difficulty without the support of anyone else.  I want to kick butts and take names.

Good thing I also have the mind of Christ that reminds me that butt-kicking and name-taking contributed to me being in this position in the first place. The mind of Christ reminds me that God connects us with others for a variety of reasons. This team is supporting me, yes, and perhaps, in some way, I am also blessing them.

I didn’t choose the path of chronic illness, but I am choosing the path to wellness — body, soul, and spirit. I am turning away from thinking with my natural mind, and turning toward the mind of Christ. Moment by moment, I am turning.

I Corinthians 2:14, 16

14 The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned…16 “For who has understood the mind of the Lord so as to instruct him?” But we have the mind of Christ.