My Flesh and My Heart May Fail, Part 1

“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”    Psalm 73:25

From my bedroom window, I watched with tears in my eyes. Their cheeks were rosy with youth and eyes sparkling with anticipation. As the day went on I could hear their laughter run up and down the stairs, back and forth past my doorway. I could see out, but did they see in?

It was the first day of summer as my sisters ran through the sprinkler. The smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill drifted in through my window, but seemed to stop in my room like a rain cloud.  Close by, across the yard, my mom looked up from her basket of bright red tomatoes and smiled at my giggling sisters.  She seemed to sense my wet eyes about to fog up the window, and quickly met them with a look of love that longed for a different summer day. A day when I would be running beside my sisters with just as much life. But that was no where in sight.

I shuffled myself around in bed so as not to have a view of the festivities below. I wanted to blame someone but I knew it wasn’t my mom’s fault. I grabbed my journal and began to feverishly scribble the thoughts thundering in my mind, “Why me?? Don’t you see me? Can’t you hear my crying? Why did it have to be me?” As I beat against His chest with the only strength I had, you know what I heard? Nothing. Except the pounding of my weak, little, 12 year-old heart.

Very slowly, days crept into months. Blazing sores lined my throat, fever raged war against my aching my body and depression hollowed out my insides.

“Oh honey! When you get to heaven you’ll be able to ask God why this happened to you,” I remember hearing a family friend say to me one cold, autumn morning. And I entertained the thought, hoping with all my heart He wouldn’t wait till after I died for my answer.

After too many tight rubber bands wrapped around my arm, nurses who couldn’t find my vein, shirtless echocardiograms, and popsicle sticks stuck down my throat, the diagnosis became definite: Rheumatic Fever.

Rheumatic Fever is a disease that often comes from an untreated or mistreated case of Strep throat, as my condition had stemmed from.  It is an inflammatory disease that can swell the heart, joints, skin, and brain. It’s pretty rare in America.

A few months earlier, I was very sick with Strep throat. When we went to the doctor, she prescribed Amoxicillin, an antibiotic. We later devastatingly realized that Amoxicillin has little effect in my body at fighting the infection. As a result, the Strep morphed into the evil monster, Rheumatic Fever. Once in full swing, this fever can cause severe heart damage or even failure. My Great Aunt had Rheumatic Fever as a child and by age 30 had died due to heart failure. My parents never claimed this fate for me and believed that the Lord had something completely different in store for my little life. It was hard to believe it on days I could barely get out of bed to go to the bathroom. 

After a long 9 months, I began to regain strength. I can’t pinpoint a day that I finally got out of bed. But I do remember one morning, as I grabbed a spoon from the kitchen drawer, I fought to hold back the tears as I squawked at my mom, “Why didn’t you tell me we got a new silverware organizer??” She looked at me with loving patience and then hugged me as I tearfully mumbled that nothing was the same anymore.

I did get better as each year progressed and I began to do a lot of normal things again. The start of high school was wonderfully ordinary. Not wanting to be a Debbie-downer, I didn’t tell most people about my struggling physical condition. My sophomore year, I made a friend who helped me feel hopeful of a healthy future. One day, as we were running laps side by side in P.E. and I was struggling to keep up with the class, I explained what my body had been through in the last few years. I remember how he looked over at me with genuine empathy as I shared my story. I told him I hoped that one day I could be healthy enough to have babies. He told me he hoped so too, probably blushing as he searched for something to say next. He was really sincere for a 15-year-old boy. We soon became good friends. Five years later, he asked me to marry him.

My junior year wasn’t as normal. I got very sick with the flu and other infections that my body wasn’t able to fight like it should have. From chest pains, racing heart, severe digestive issues and muscle pain, I felt like giving up.  I had little energy to leave the house for fun stuff like a date or shopping, so you can imagine how much I struggled getting to school. 

My parents feared there was a possibility my heart had been damaged so we returned to the cardiologist for some tests. Knowing that the majority of people who have Rheumatic Fever walk away with heart valve damage, I was so scared. And then the day came for us to find out. Looking up at the live black and white feed of my heart, lots of questions bounced around my mind. Would I die from heart damage like my Great Aunt? Would my heart ever be strong enough to deliver children? Why isn’t life easier?

The doctor left the room to evaluate what he had seen that day. My mom and I just stared at each other, holding one another’s clammy hand.

When he came back it was hard to decipher his prognosis through broken English and a lack of social skills. All I could make out was, “No damage.”  My mom and I blinked, waiting for more. But upon realizing the weight of what he had just spoken, we began to laugh, unable to contain our joy. To behold the Lord’s handiwork is more beautiful than I have words to describe. Overcome with joy, my heart began to swell (figuratively), resulting in a strong desire to hug this big, awkward man. Needless to say, my mom saw that I needed a hug and embraced me, laughing some more.

I was relieved that God had held my heart throughout those long months, preventing all damage. But I still had so many questions and wondered if I would ever understand why all of this had happened.

  

To be continued!