I feel like I need to write something about my upcoming week. Maybe just to document it for myself because this blog has been a lot about my illness and my life in the midst of it, and this week is a big part of that story.
I'm headed to Mayo Clinic tomorrow. I'll be in Rochester, Minnesota for the next 7 days praying and hoping that they find something that Emory hasn't.
I don't really think they will. Autoimmune diseases are a mystery and even when they have a real name that doesn't mean there is much hope for curing them. But there is something about knowing that the best doctors in the world may look me in the eyes and say they don't have an answer that brings hope to my heart.
I think a lot about people with cancer. About how they are fighting a mysterious disease that's stuck inside of them, that they can't control or battle without breaking their body into pieces to cure it. I've got to say, I feel a lot like that. There is something inside my body that's working against me and no one can figure it out.
Maybe Mayo will. Maybe they won't. Maybe I'll board the plane next Saturday knowing that my symptoms will always be a mystery. But I'll also know that I'm part of the research now for other people like me that don't know why their body isn't on their side anymore. And then maybe someone won't feel as alone.
Paige told me today that her illness has helped her distinguish between her sickness and who she really is. I used to fear that I'd be defined by being sick. It felt that way in college. But Paige is right - somehow my sickness has helped me see who I am apart from it, and how nothing about it defines me. But I could use a little prayer this week that I'll believe my diagnosis isn't all of me. Because I'm scared my heart can't handle this mystery forever.
Mayo has been a dream for awhile. I'll focus on that.
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