The "2 am's"

I have always felt that the 2 am's are the worst.  Nothing prepares you for them.  It doesn't matter whether you are up because you child is making your crazy or because you can't sleep or because this dumb-ass (repenting now!) disease won't let you sleep.  I struggled this morning, had a decent afternoon and evening, and am now sitting in bed typing here because this is part of it, too.  The nights are endless and discouraging.  Everyone around me is sleeping, including my faithful Dakota--my Newfie who takes care of me.  It occurs to me to reach over and smack my husband who sleeps soundly no matter what, but I do refrain.  I have some self control.  Some--not a lot.

When it was "just" insomnia, I watched infomercials.  That stuff looked necessary after awhile!  Then I worried about kids:  was I doing everything I could for them?  Was I the Mom that could help heal them?  Later it was kids again:  my heart breaking in two because theirs were already broken.  I think that's when I learned that a broken heart actually feels broken.  I couldn't breathe.

But now, MCTD has stolen my sleep.  And at 1 am, I find my sense of humor is waning, my pain is growing, and my stamina is taking a breather.  I am extremely dizzy, so I have to wake my husband to go into the bathroom and I'm really glad I didn't smack him.  I'm not sure if others get them, but my mouth is full of sores.  Sometimes I will have them all down my throat, but tonight I am grateful its only about a dozen.  I brush my teeth again and use mouthwash hoping that if I do that enough, the sores will burn up and go away.  I'm not sure if there's any logic in that, but I have nothing else I can do.

I'm also stressing because my daughter, who is in her first couple of months of college far away in Idaho, found out about how sick I am.  Her friend came home for the weekend and saw me at church.  She told her she was shocked at my appearance.  OK, really it isn't that bad, is it?  I don't want anyone to answer that, actually.  My daughter called frustrated because she didn't have a part-time job so she could get a plane ticket and come home.  I told her I looked lousy, but that might just be completely unrelated to the disease and to stop worrying.  The truth is tonight I'm worried about her, but I'm torn, too.  Torn between the worry and the fact that this beautiful daughter cares that much about her Mom.  If others knew her story (and it is hers alone to tell), they would know what a miracle that is.  It melts my heart.

I'm near tears.  I have no reason why except I'm tired, worn out, and want desperately to sleep.  I saw a tweet from a fellow patient who said she was going to go on the lupus walk fundraiser.  I grabbed this computer and thought "I'll go too, it will be my goal!"  Then I realized that I couldn't make right now.  I read the fine print on the web page.  There is no cure.  There is no treatment.  There has been no advances in 51 years in the treatment and medication of lupus.  So now I'm crying.  What if I'm wrong?  What if this is as good as its going to get?  Who will I talk to at this time of night to soothe my soul?

And now I'm ashamed.  Because I know who I talk to.  He who knows my pain, who atoned for my sins and who can heal me.  If it is His will.   So, I'm closing this entry tonight to talk to Him.  I'm not going to ask for this to be taken from me because I don't want to miss the lessons I'm supposed to learn.  But I am going to ask for strength while I learn those lessons and the faith to know that He is directing my life--and then to thank Him for the opportunity I have to grow in this life.  He will heal me when it is time, in His way.  In the meantime, I'm going to ask Him to have just a little more patience while I figure out how to truly submit my life to Him.  Since He is perfect, I'm guessing his patience is, too.