Memories of Yellow Tears

Lurking Within While I was sitting at home and gazing out the window, I asked myself if most people realized how fortunate they were just to be alive. I certainly did. The past fifteen years of my life had definitely been a challenge, but when I thought of the past twelve months, waves of mixed emotions and memories washed over me in thanksgiving. It all began with my annual physical in 1993. I never dreamed that anything was wrong. I felt really good. In fact, I had returned to school, given birth to my third child (when I was forty years old), raised two grown sons, and enjoyed a wonderful husband. Then … boom! The phone rang, and the message on the other end held anything but good news. My liver enzymes were extremely elevated, and a biopsy would be needed. I could not help but wonder what all that meant. I thought maybe there had been a mistake, but there wasn’t. A few weeks later, a doctor performed a biopsy. I had primary biliary cirrhosis. I had no idea what that was; however, I knew it had to be bad, and indeed it was. I was scared! In time, this disease killed its victims. There I was, with a five-year-old little girl. She was a “change-of-life baby,” and oh, what we had gone through to keep from losing her prior to the delivery date. That was a horrible pregnancy, and it had resulted in three months of frequent hospital stays. She may have been unplanned, but she was no accident. God is good and blessed us with a healthy, beautiful little girl. Many thoughts went through my mind after I received the alarming diagnosis about my liver disease. What would happen to my young child? I wanted so much to be the one to raise her. Time steadily moved on, and my health remained pretty good. I was on one particular medication that had seemingly slowed the progression of the disease. Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to take life for granted, and I found myself praying more than ever before. When Jackie started school, I went to work in the public school system, substituting in both elementary and high school classes. That kept me busy for the next eight years. Work not only enabled me to share school days with Jackie but also kept my mind occupied, shifting the focus off my health issues. Other than the usual blood work required because of the disease, there were no other major health problems. I sometimes wondered if it were possible that the disease had vanished altogether. That was wishful thinking. I knew the answer to that unspoken question. The disease was like a cancer and had only gone into remission. As much as possible, my husband and I tried to live a fairly normal life—if you can call raising a teenager in your fifties “normal.” The challenge certainly kept us on our toes! Our two sons, Scottie and Jody, were already married with families of their own. The whole family (right down to aunts, uncles, and cousins) was close, and I knew that bond would be important in the days ahead. We all prayed for one another, and that is what I wanted and needed most—prayer. There was never a day that went by when I didn’t think about the awful disease lurking within my body. I knew that it would be good to share my thoughts with someone, but that was something that I found very difficult to do, even with my own family. Maybe I thought that if I talked about the sickness, if I said something about how it affect me aloud, then that would validate it or make it more real than I was willing or ready to accept. After the initial diagnosis, thirteen years passed with no major problems, but then things began to slowly change. My blood work revealed that my enzymes and bilirubin were more elevated. It was then that I realized the disease was steadily getting worse—not drastically bad but worse. I had often hoped that things would improve if I got more exercise and concentrated on a better diet, but there was no change. Jaundice began to set in. My skin took on a yellowish tint, and my eyes looked muddy. People began to notice, and I could see the fear in their eyes when they looked at me. They knew that my liver was getting worse. Not only was my skin color changing, but my legs and feet were beginning to swell. They were so tight at times that I thought they would actually burst. Naturally, I tried to justify this change by saying I had been on my feet more than usual. It was so hard to believe that I was getting worse, but I was. I was yellow, with swollen legs and feet and an eczema-like rash on both legs. This, too, had become a real problem. My legs looked like they had suffered second-degree burns most of the time, like some accident victim’s legs whose dark bruises had turned bluish yellow. Finally, I found prescription lotions as well as over-the-counter medications that helped. While taking these treatments and sitting in the sun didn’t cure the rashes, they did help tremendously. I knew that there was no need for me to really complain. After all, God had blessed me, and I knew it. He had allowed me to raise my daughter. That is what I had asked for, so how could I possibly ask for more? The Lord not only allowed me to raise her but to see her married. What a beautiful wedding it was. It was such a special occasion, and I knew that Charlie, our new son-in-law, would love and take excellent care of her. They did make a beautiful couple, and we were all pleased. Following the wedding, however, a drastic change took place, and I found myself getting extremely tired each day. All the festivities had taken their toll, and about six months later, severe problems with my health evolved. It was the beginning of a long, tedious journey. Thought for today: “Don’t worry about anything; instead pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done” (Philippians 4:6 NLT).