Trading in my Pills for Parsley

I don’t quite align with the phrase, “every­thing hap­pens for a reason.”

It just does­n’t sit well with me.

It almost works…but…doesn’t quite make it.

To me it implies too much of a sense of false com­fort. I’m not ok with jus­ti­fy­ing sense­less acts of ter­ror, and friends and fam­i­ly liv­ing with dis­eases, and count­less oth­er heart­break­ing real­i­ties by pro­claim­ing that they hap­pen for a rea­son. And fur­ther­more, imply­ing that the knowl­edge of that rea­son should offer sup­port and solace.

It may work for some, and that’s ok, but it’s not for me.

I do, how­ev­er, believe that we have the pow­er to use every life “hap­pen­ing” pre­sent­ed to us.

I use the word pow­er on pur­pose — because that’s tru­ly what it is — empow­er­ment through expe­ri­ence and choice and oppor­tu­ni­ty. A con­stant reminder that the choice belongs sole­ly to you.

After the euphor­ic high that my mom is can­cer free and my dad is con­tin­u­ing to be the most resilient team cap­tain of phys­i­cal ther­a­py, my life hit a crater-like pot-hole this week.

I real­ly and tru­ly reached the end of West­ern medicine.

There are no more tests to be done, doc­tors to be seen, or treat­ments to endure. It’s over.

I had joked about reach­ing the end, but when my doc­tor gen­tly hand­ed me my lab work and pro­claimed that I was “an excep­tion­al hot mess,” I have to admit that I was a lit­tle bit shell-shocked and bewil­dered. I half expect­ed the bor­der patrol of West­ern med­i­cine to leap out, demand a viable med­ical­ly-treat­ed body, and deport me to Mars upon examination.

I had known reach­ing the end was an extreme­ly like­ly option — my liv­er had been stag­ing protest after protest, and every set of lab results came back a bit more bold­ed than the week pri­or, but…really? The end?

Even if I still get com­pli­ments on my new yel­low hue??

Indeed.

In fair­ness, I had a lit­tle warn­ing. I was recent­ly reject­ed from the Nation­al Insti­tute of Health’s Undi­ag­nosed Dis­eases Pro­gram. They claimed I was out of their league and that there was noth­ing more they could offer. Every test had been run and mer­ci­ful­ly, they did­n’t want to put me through them again.

“Undi­ag­nosed dis­ease a lit­tle too undi­ag­nosed to be diagnosed.”

Or some­thing.

So I’ve reached the end. My body has waved the white flag — er, spas­ti­cal­ly quaked is prob­a­bly more accu­rate — and this chap­ter has come to a close. My liv­er needs to heal and I need to grow some white blood cells, stat.

No more antibi­otics. No more 43 pills in a day. No more diag­nos­tic tests. No more plan.

Per­haps the weird­est of all is the real­iza­tion that bar­ring any acute and acci­den­tal type of injury, I have very lit­tle use for a hospital.

Bizarre.

So I’m start­ing over.

Again.

And sit­ting down on the couch with bewil­der­ment, frus­tra­tion, lone­li­ness, and heart­break feels a bit like wel­com­ing back a cir­cle of old friends.

But ya see, here is where that choice part comes in. Day in and day out, we have a choice. We have the pow­er to choose how to use what’s hap­pen­ing. I could plop into a ball or I could learn and grow and car­ry on.

So after a deep breath with my four old pals on the couch,

and tree pose,

and maybe a cook­ie (or three)…I chose joy.

And laugh­ter.

And per­se­ver­ance.

I have reached the end of West­ern med­i­cine, but not all med­i­cine. Luck­i­ly for me, I’m not the first Lyme cow­girl in this rodeo, and an herbal treat­ment plan called the Cow­den Pro­to­col has been around, and effec­tive, for years. It’s no trail ride in the park, and the chemo-like side effects are iden­ti­cal, but it’s a way to dri­ve out my tick-borne foes while keep­ing my vital organs intact.

Which I’m told is, ya know, kind of essential.

So I’m trad­ing in my pills for parsley.

And I’ll car­ry on.

Because even though this may not be the life I expect­ed, it is the life that has hap­pened, and a con­stant gift of adven­ture and gratitude.

Every­thing does­n’t “hap­pen for a rea­son,” but every­thing empow­ers us to make a choice.

Today, I choose pars­ley, and I choose joy.