Fractured body. Renewed hope. (part 4)

The sound of the landing gear jerks me back to the present as I feel the plane begin to descend. My dear friend Ruby and I gather the children and our 3 cartloads of bags. We struggle down the long corridors of the Nashville International Airport, until we finally see my Mom and sister waving at the end. 

The next morning, I am in my doctor’s office by 8:30am, a CT scan is finished by 1pm, another ultrasound done, and then a follow up consultation.

 

“Your uterus is quite enlarged and there is inflammation and fluid in your pelvis. We think you’ve possibly had an untreated uterine infection for several months since your miscarriage. Let’s try some different / stronger antibiotics and some new pain meds, and see if we can get to the bottom of this.”

 

An overwhelming sense of grace and humility flooded me in that moment and the following days. I am acutely aware that few people in the entire world have this privilege – the ability to get on a plane and land in a place full of high quality healthcare, caregivers full of compassion, and the money and equipment available to attain needed tests and medications.  Unearned and undeserved, what an unbelievable gift. 

 

---- 

The targeted antibiotics don’t improve my health or pain.

 

“Another option is that your body is in an autoimmune cascade, attacking your uterus and pelvis. Let’s try steroids to try and calm the process.”, another specialist recommends.

 

No change. 

 

“I think we need to do surgery to look inside your uterus and bladder. Perhaps this will give us another piece to the puzzle.”

 

Nothing is found except inflammatory tissue. The pain continues. 

 

“We are going to send you to a pelvic pain specialist.”

 

--- 

It’s now late July, 2019, and Jason is back from France with our other two children. 

Our dear friend Ruby heads onto her next adventure. 

We are living with my parents, planning homeschooling for the kids’ next school year, and overwhelmed that I am still in this state of severe constant pain. 

 

We take the next right step and see the pain specialist.

 

“I’ve seen cases like yours before, but never this severe. It’s probable that despite treating the uterine infection, your brain has now re-wired to the pain and you’ve now developed what we call a pain syndrome. Let’s try a different approach with medications, physical therapy, and relaxation techniques, and see if we can get the nerves and muscles to calm.”  

 

So we did. 

 

With medications for nerve and muscle spasms, daily stretching and deep breathing techniques, prayer, healthy eating, and slow movement, we begin to see a bit of improvement. 

 

There are days when the pain is much less. I am able to function a lot more. I get much better at managing myself and anxiety. I learn to move through the pain and function with it, alternating rest and work.  

 

“Now what?!”, we ask ourselves. 

 

It’s now the end of August, 2019, and we had planned to already be in Kenya. 

 

“Do we still go?”, Jason asks aloud. “Should I get a job here in the States instead?”

 

“I really want to try.”, I answer. “We’ve been working hard for 3.5 years to get back to Africa. If the focus now is on healing with just medications and pain relieving techniques, I can do that anywhere. I really want to try. If it doesn’t work, we can always come back and look for a job here later.”

 

He cups his hands gently around my face. “Are you sure? I want to take good care of you. I feel like I’ve failed you through this. You are my priority.”

 

My eyes filled with tears as the emotions of this long journey, along with his tenderness and compassion, move me. 

“You are taking care of me. You haven’t failed. I really want to try. Do you think we can?”

We talk and pray with our mission agency, SIM. 

We talk with my doctors. 

We pray and talk with family and friends. 

We decide to go. 

We all hope and believe I am slowly healing. 

 

 

September 2019 is full of the excitement and adrenaline of setting up our new home and adjusting to a new culture. Furniture is built, long shopping days are survived, flowers are pruned and planted, we resume homeschooling, and Jason begins work at the hospital. 

 

My pain continues, but I manage it well most days. It still overtakes me at times, but I am growing in my ability to function through deep, chronic, visceral pain. 

--- 

Then comes October… the month my body was supposed to deliver our baby boy.  

 

My body labors in October. It labors for a baby that isn’t there to be born. My body grieves ~ the nerves and muscles spasming for a reason I can’t understand. I let myself grieve. I ride the waves of pain. I cling to Jason and God. My kids grow weary of watching me hurt. We beg God again to bring an end to this pain and sickness. 

 

I no longer believe that our bodies, minds, emotions, and spirits are separate entities. This illness has taught me the deep intertwining of who we are as humans.

 

---- 

November 2019:

 

I hear Jason’s footsteps through the fog. He’s coming up the stairs. The door creaks open. He rushes to my side once again.

 

“Oh Mer!”, he says in anguish. 

 

He joins me on the floor. I had been trying to do my stretches and breathing techniques to get through another intense pain spike, but I ended up in a heap of tears and groans, wrapped in the fetal position. 

 

He gently lifts my chin. “Can you look at me?” 

 

I slowly open my eyes to meet his. 

 

“I’m not getting better.”, I whisper in agony and defeat. 

 

“You’re not getting better.”, he softly repeats. 

 

--- 

Despite every effort, my health is not improving. My body is not healing, and we finally admit it to ourselves. 

 

It feels terrifying and hopeless. 

 

We make a phone call to the pain specialist back in the US.

 

“What else can we do?!”

 

“The only other thing I know to do is a hysterectomy. It seems like the source of your pain is your uterus, and the only other thing we can do to stop this cycle of pain and inflammation is to remove it.”

 

--- 

A hysterectomy?? But I’m only 34 years old! What about our Gabriel Adler?? Our family doesn’t feel complete yet. Isn’t there supposed to be a sense of completeness and closure before making a decision like this?? This is not how it's supposed to end. 

---- 

I wrestle. 

 

We talk and we pray. 

God comes to me in the midst of the fog of pain, in the midst of desperate prayers…

 

“Trust Me.”

 

“I know it doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Trust Me.”

 

“I am healing you and bringing life.”

 

“How is this healing and life?! This is death and illness!!”, I sometimes yell at the ceiling.

 

But God isn’t shaken. He stays with me. He holds me. He helps me do the next right thing.

 

--- 

January 16th, 2020 I have the hysterectomy. Jason and the kids remain in Kenya and I fly back to the US to have the surgery. We are separated as a family for 5 long weeks. This time is incredibly difficult for ALL of us. 

January 9th, 2019. The day I left Kenya for surgery. 

 

But God keeps holding me. My family and friends in Nashville care for me. We survive.

February 14th, 2019. The day I returned. 

 

“Your uterus looked very sick. There was still acute inflammation, some endometriosis, and chronic inflammation. You will heal now. It will take time, but you will heal.”

 

My doctor’s words brought a fresh flood of tears:

Relief that we did the right thing, the necessary thing. 

Renewed hope for healing.