To Fail Me

The thought that my body is failing me creeps its way into my consciousness every so often. I get sacroiliac joint pain under control and my knee goes out. I get my thyroid levels into a good range and all of a sudden my liver counts are questionable or I go into adrenal crisis. I think I have all the diagnoses I'll ever have and another diagnosis slithers its way in. Nothing is ever ok all at once. In one way or another, my body is constantly failing me.

Frustration slinks in, dragging depression with it. 

And then I remember...

My body grew and birthed five children, including birthing one, in the comfort of my home, who weighed 10lbs 14oz, and had a very large head.

It has nourished five children - one, two, and three at a time - every day for fourteen years, six months, three weeks, and four days. 

My body carried these children in slings, and mei tais, sometimes two or even three children at a time...while running errands, hiking, cooking, cleaning, and chasing after older children.

It has made it to the top of Jackman Ridge, Rattlesnake Mountain, that crazy hill on the Beaver Dam trail at Sessions Woods, and other heights, with and without the use of crutches.

Much to my doctor's amazement, I continue to walk, hike with crutches, and manage to function without pain medication.

My body has accomplished amazing things, and continues to do so, despite my illnesses.

If doctors are amazed that I'm able to do all these things. I should be, too.