A couple of years ago I found myself at the bottom of a gorge, lacking safety ropes, climbing gear, or harnesses of any kind. I sat with my back up against the steep cliff that was before me, and with a loss of breath and words I struggled for a desire to want to look up at the daunting task before me. That steep, unforgiving cliff was my only way out, I knew it and I didn’t want to except it.
I’m not sure how I got there. I’m not sure if I merely tripped and fell over the edge due to an exorbitant amount of overwhelming life circumstances, or if some insensitive person had simply caught me off guard from behind, and gave me a swift push. All I knew was that I was sore, exhausted, and I felt as though the walls were closing in around me. The hot sun beat against my skin as if it were mocking my very existence, and the hard ground lead me to realize that staying in one place wasn’t giving me any easier of an answer.
I managed to pull myself to my feet, and brush off my shorts and t-shirt that were coated in a layer of dirt and dust. I posed my hand to my forehead in attempts to shield my eyes from the sun, only to find a large, bloody gash in my forehead that made me now understand why my brain felt like it was pulsing beneath my skull.
I looked up in the direction I knew I needed to go. It seemed like miles of hard rock, scraped hands, and fairytale destinations. I could see my parents scaling that same cliff miles above me. They had begun this journey long before I had, and to be frank I didn’t know how they were still managing to pull themselves upward. It seemed like the impossible task, and I questioned whether the end goal was really worth it or not.
I resolved to begin my climb. I walked up to the menacing rock wall, placed my palm in a small indent in the side of the cliff, and dug my fingers around it in an attempt to obtain a sturdy grip. I placed my foot in a sufficient gap for a foothold, and pulled myself upwards. So far so good. I continued this pattern for a couple of arm-lengths worth of rock wall before my fingers slipped off my indent, I lost my footing, and fell mercilessly back down to where I started. My skin felt like it had been torn off around my palms, arm, and knees, and my head throbbed even harder in defeat.
Keep in mind that I’m not the type of person to quit while I’m ahead. So of course I got right back up and tried again. Grip, footing, pull! Grip, footing, pull! I never quite got the hang of it well enough to reach a certain destination without tumbling a few inches downward, but after a lot of sweat and perseverance I managed to pull myself up by my parents who welcomed me as we began the rest of the journey together.
Throughout my journey, I had a lot of interesting experiences. I ran into a lot of loose rocks, and unforgiving tree branches. Avalanches and rock slides. Tears and feelings of hopelessness. And of course wishes that I wouldn’t have to do this anymore. Just when I thought I was almost there some kind of obstacle left me scraping my skin down a few inches of the cliff. I also discovered various tips and tricks from my dear parents and the reasons why they were still holding on for dear life. Those lessons I learned helped me to keep going, and helped me to realize that now was not the time to surrender to that demeaning wall of rock.
Now, on this very day, I’m still gripping the side of that cliff. I’m so close to the top where I will find my way out of this horrible place. But I still have quite the climb, and throughout my journey I have discovered my will to live, the people I love the most, and the power that keeps me pulling myself upward.
Of course, I haven’t been scaling a million mile cliff for the past two years of my life!
What I have been doing is fighting a horrible disease that is highly analogous to that of scaling a cliff that seems to be miles high, and undefeatable.
My life’s mountain is Chronic Lyme Disease, and I intend to someday reach the top.
My lack of climbing equipment is comparable to my lack of doctors, health care, and treatment options for Lyme disease. No medical professional seemed to have the answer for me. No medications, no pain pills, no belief in the medical industry that Lyme disease even exists! My Lyme equipment merely didn't exist in the beginning.
That gash on my forehead and sun beating down on me is equivalent to all the headaches, joint pain, nausea, vomiting, seizures, excruciating abdominal pain, vertigo, fatigue, limited energy, and so many symptoms that began the long spiraling journey that assisted in my arrival in that gorge in the first place.
Those trees, rocks, avalanches, and rock slides that kept slipping and slapping me down, limiting my upward progress, are comparable to all the people that have told me that I’m crazy. All the people that tell me that I’m doing this or that wrong, or all the people that don’t believe that I actually have any problem at all, and all the people that continually push me down and hurt me more when all I’m trying to do is my best.
The journey up the side of the cliff that my parents made before me is something that I will always be grateful for. It is my mother that found safety equipment along the way. It is my mother and father that grabbed me by the hand, and pulled with all their might and found answers to help me through my difficult journey. It is my mother that gave me hope in the most difficult of times, and has lead me in my healing journey.
The higher I climb on my mountain, the closer I come to healing, and now I’m almost there.
It was around December of 2016 that I began to realize my swift turn around. I realized that I was hundreds of miles from where I started, and I was beginning to see the glorious blessings that God was blessing me with all along the way! I discovered love and healing, peace and comfort, hope for my future that I didn’t think I had. I’m beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I just have to keep climbing.
This is what chronic Lyme disease feels like. It’s like scaling a million mile high cliff with no safety gear. It’s like falling over, and over, and OVER again and hoping that eventually you’ll reach the top!
Lyme disease is a rough journey. I’m EXHAUSTED! There are days that I don’t want to keep climbing. There are days that it would be easier to quit, but I just can’t. It’s interesting how you begin to discover love and healing, and you begin to see your future incredibly clear, and your will to live comes back. Healing always leaves a lot of room for hope.
A wise man once said, “Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. (Jeffery R. Holland, 1999)”
I believe that now. There is always light at the top of your climb. God does not leave us to suffer alone. God does not leave us without answers. God is always with us to offer us help and happiness ahead. That alone is enough to make me want to keep going.
So whatever you do… Don’t you quit. You keep walking. There is ALWAYS help and happiness ahead.