The Only One

The thing about suffering is that we often believe that we are the only ones who have ever known pain. No one else’s pain or trials could compare to our own. Perhaps it’s that tiny part of us that want our stories to be listened to but at the very least, acknowledged. In my own time of struggle, I just couldn’t explain how it felt. It felt overwhelming yet at times I felt invisible. It was like I was trapped in a bubble that I couldn’t escape and no one could relate. I was the only one who’d ever had a sick parent and no one could feel my sorrow. I lashed out at people and I was unforgiving. I wasn’t very pleasant to be around. If not for the people who saw my pain for what it was, I’d probably be eating briars by now.

It seems that my whole life has been one trial after another. As a child, my grandmother was sick and frequently hospitalized. It’s no wonder I work in healthcare. In many ways, the hospital feels like home. I associate it with my childhood and core memories were formed in those halls. Then, Daddy had his first bout with cancer. It was non-Hodgkins lymphoma and miraculously, he did very well. But I was a teenager. I was supposed to be doing teenager stuff but instead, I was trying to cope with the limitations that comes with having a sick family member. I had to go to doctor’s appointments and chemo. I had to limit the noise and excitement. I was, in essence, pushing it down. No one else could relate. None of my friends understood such heavy pressure. Not even my friend whose mom was going through breast cancer. My pain was unique and somehow worse than anyone else’s on the planet.

I then had my own struggle with a tough pregnancy. I was, in fact, the only woman who’d experienced a hard pregnancy. Or, so I thought. I was so alone in feeling like I had done something wrong to cause preterm labor and looked for things to blame. After that, it was my ex’s brain injury after falling from the back of a truck onto the asphalt. He didn’t even recognize me when I rushed into the ER. It was my pain, my worry. I felt like the only one. Thankfully, he recovered and all things seemed good until they weren’t. My son fractured his femur after falling on some rocks while his dad chased him. The fun of a summer picnic was halted by a freak accident. The child I had worked so hard to potty train was then placed in a body cast from the waist down. Between his legs was a bar to stabilize the bones. I was certain that no other parent had it worse than me.

Then, Daddy was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma of the lung. It was advanced and aggressive. Treatment chased the cancer into other parts of his body and no matter how good the treatment was, the cancer was better at survival. I was again faced with hospital visits, and something new—hospice. None of this seemed fair. I’d been fighting battles for years and I was only in my early twenties. But, life wasn’t done giving yet.

I broke my finger opening a shower door one morning before work. It seemed so illogical and I thought I was mistaken. But the swelling and pain in my hand was too much to ignore. I went to the ER where a solemn faced doctor told me that I had a bone tumor that had eaten through the bone. My finger had broken because the bone was nearly gone. That started a two year battle to heal and repair the bone. Thankfully benign, the tumor just kept coming back. All of the trauma to my body triggered an autoimmune response. After thinking that I was going crazy, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis. Then, eventually psoriatic arthritis, ankylosing spondylitis and fibromyalgia. I had heard of autoimmune diseases but I thought they were on the fringe of what most doctors accepted as real diseases. Again, I was the only one who’d ever been diagnosed with an incurable disease. No one else could fathom my pain when I had to be physically assisted to get out of bed.

My ex then had a bowel obstruction and colon perforation. He was very sick and we had to learn life with an ostomy. It was a tough year, one in which I was certain that his health issues were so unique, no one else could comprehend the magnitude of our battle. No one could possibly be as young as he was with such a serious illness. I didn’t know of anyone who’d ever had an ostomy, much less how to care for one. It was a lonely time when people would stare at us as he drug around a wound vac for several weeks after his initial surgery. I was the only one who had a sick husband.

There was my hysterectomy after that and who could forget my colon surgery. In between this, my marriage fell apart and I was on my own. The blows just kept coming and I still felt like no one could understand or relate to my suffering. Then, Mama was diagnosed with small cell carcinoma of the lung. Just like Daddy. When I thought my world surely couldn’t take any more blows, life thought otherwise.

This sounds like a really depressing blog post. You might be questioning why you’re still reading. But, take heart. Through all of the suffering, the pain, the loss, there are so many lessons to learn. These experiences have shaped me to care about the suffering of others in a way that is uniquely my own. I empathize with those who are suffering and broken hearted because I know what it’s like to feel shattered. I am not the only one. You are not the only one. We are one of millions who walk the face of the earth, fighting silent battles within and feeling alone. When all I wanted was for someone to hear the things that I couldn’t speak, I received love and blessings from the most unexpected places. The love blossomed from their pain and grew into something beautiful.

Good things can come from the worst of places. The bad times, the sad times, and the times that just don’t make sense can result in the biggest blessings. But, the key is in embracing the things that we think will destroy us. I lost my job shortly after I got married and had my first child. We had to move back in with my parents. My pride was tarnished and I felt like a failure. What I didn’t know at the time was that my Daddy was going to be sick. I was able to be there with him in his last years and my son was able to form a bond with his Papaw. What a blessing that was for us! I would have otherwise been living my best life and not spent near as much time with my Daddy.

All of these experiences have taught me that I can survive the worst days of my life. I can look back with a smile on the years when I thought it was the worst and how I thought that I was the only one. Life’s funny that way. It shows you that if you are willing to embrace the idea, God is fine tuning your strength. Not every battle is sent to destroy. Some battles are strength training so that you can step into battle when someone else is feeling like they’re the only one. Whether you’re met with someone who has it worse than you or met with someone else who reaches out from their experiences, there is comfort in knowing that you are not the only one.

I’ve learned that the old hymns had it right. No matter my lot, it is well with my soul. I will praise Him from whom all blessings flow. The things that our human eyes tell us are for our harm are sent to us with a heavenly purpose. One, we need to look up and not solely within. Focusing on the trial takes the lesson and makes it bitter. Turning the vision towards God aligns the focus to withstand the storm and yield its lessons. Two, compassion takes the experience of wet eyes and broken hearts to grow. It’s not impossible to have compassion when you haven’t had pain. But compassionate people are best forged in fire. Third, we are stronger than we know but we won’t know that from a place of comfort. When you’ve clawed your way through the pits of Hell, you can look back and see how far you’ve come. Finally, no matter how deserted we may feel, we are very much not the only one.