best. news. ever.
/
(Okay, okay, I'm exaggerating. The best news ever is that God became man to demonstrate love, sacrificed Himself on the cross to defeat sin, and rose from the dead to conquer death. The best news ever is that the gift of eternal salvation, which was so costly to Christ, is free to all who treasure Him. That's the true best news ever.)
(However, the "best. news. recently" just doesn't make as good of a title, you know?)
Soooooooo, all that said...
You see this lady? The one cheesing with her little princess? (And the one who got her hair cut the next day because in the picture below it was getting long-ish and shaggy?)
The same one who wrote about being okay with being the not-so-healthy girl if it brings glory to God? (Which, by the way, is still 100% true.) The same one who has tagged her health-related blog posts "i may not have health but i have Jesus," that one?
I'm pretty sure her rheumatoid arthritis is in remission.
(Or, depending on the definition of remission you prefer, entering remission. One definition requires the remission criteria to be met for six months before it can truly be classified as remission.)
(But let's forget about all the finer points of whether it's "in remission" or "entering remission" and just celebrate the noun, mkay? Because while my fact-loving self does think the distinction between the two is important, my heart is just screaming WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!! With lots of caps and exclamation points and extra letters, of course.)
My heart is so full writing the word remission. I don't think words exist to describe the extent of this joy and praise and gratitude.
We can't definitively declare remission until my x-rays show no further bone erosions, and that's unlikely for the next set because I've only met the other clinical definitions of remission for the past month (and the comparison set of x-rays will be from a year ago). But based on the minimal level of symptoms and recent blood tests, I'm pretty sure we're there.
I knew I was doing much better. But the word remission didn't cross my mind until a sweet friend who also has RA asked me yesterday if I was in that place. If I'm honest, I had stopped hoping for it. It used to be something I prayed and hoped for and desired...but at some point in the past three and a half years it dropped out of my mind's vocabulary.
I didn't intentionally throw the word in the garbage, but it was gone until my friend brought it up.
Remission. How sweet it is to have that word back. A word and a hope I didn't know I had lost.
The verses that I've clung to in the midst of all this have been the words of Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael in Daniel 3: "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” In other words, I haven't doubted that God could heal me entirely, but I also haven't doubted His sovereignty and lordship if He chooses not to do so. But, to be honest, I've been chilling in the furnace so long that I set up camp there and stopped looking for a door out.
So what's behind that door labeled remission?
I'll still take my oral DMARD (plaquenil) and have my eyes checked regularly because it can have ocular side effects. I'll still get my IVs of Remicade every eight weeks and have my liver enzymes checked regularly (though that's not the one that wreaked havoc on my liver six months ago). I'll keep eating a diet low in processed foods and artificial ingredients, and I'll keep aiming for 8-10 hours of sleep each night. And I'll continue to work out three or more times a week. It's been a combination of those things that has gotten me to this point, and because no cure has been found for RA, remission doesn't mean I can dismiss any of those vital parts of getting to this healthy place.
But it does mean that, other than managing the meds, I don't think about having RA. I do have a few joints that will probably always click and creak a little due to bone damage I've already sustained, but 90% of the time or more I don't hurt at all.
And I've stopped wincing in anticipation of the pain coming back. I'm just living.
In remission.
(However, the "best. news. recently" just doesn't make as good of a title, you know?)
Soooooooo, all that said...
You see this lady? The one cheesing with her little princess? (And the one who got her hair cut the next day because in the picture below it was getting long-ish and shaggy?)
The same one who wrote about being okay with being the not-so-healthy girl if it brings glory to God? (Which, by the way, is still 100% true.) The same one who has tagged her health-related blog posts "i may not have health but i have Jesus," that one?
I'm pretty sure her rheumatoid arthritis is in remission.
(Or, depending on the definition of remission you prefer, entering remission. One definition requires the remission criteria to be met for six months before it can truly be classified as remission.)
(But let's forget about all the finer points of whether it's "in remission" or "entering remission" and just celebrate the noun, mkay? Because while my fact-loving self does think the distinction between the two is important, my heart is just screaming WOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!! With lots of caps and exclamation points and extra letters, of course.)
My heart is so full writing the word remission. I don't think words exist to describe the extent of this joy and praise and gratitude.
We can't definitively declare remission until my x-rays show no further bone erosions, and that's unlikely for the next set because I've only met the other clinical definitions of remission for the past month (and the comparison set of x-rays will be from a year ago). But based on the minimal level of symptoms and recent blood tests, I'm pretty sure we're there.
I knew I was doing much better. But the word remission didn't cross my mind until a sweet friend who also has RA asked me yesterday if I was in that place. If I'm honest, I had stopped hoping for it. It used to be something I prayed and hoped for and desired...but at some point in the past three and a half years it dropped out of my mind's vocabulary.
I didn't intentionally throw the word in the garbage, but it was gone until my friend brought it up.
Remission. How sweet it is to have that word back. A word and a hope I didn't know I had lost.
The verses that I've clung to in the midst of all this have been the words of Hananiah, Azariah, and Mishael in Daniel 3: "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up.” In other words, I haven't doubted that God could heal me entirely, but I also haven't doubted His sovereignty and lordship if He chooses not to do so. But, to be honest, I've been chilling in the furnace so long that I set up camp there and stopped looking for a door out.
So what's behind that door labeled remission?
I'll still take my oral DMARD (plaquenil) and have my eyes checked regularly because it can have ocular side effects. I'll still get my IVs of Remicade every eight weeks and have my liver enzymes checked regularly (though that's not the one that wreaked havoc on my liver six months ago). I'll keep eating a diet low in processed foods and artificial ingredients, and I'll keep aiming for 8-10 hours of sleep each night. And I'll continue to work out three or more times a week. It's been a combination of those things that has gotten me to this point, and because no cure has been found for RA, remission doesn't mean I can dismiss any of those vital parts of getting to this healthy place.
But it does mean that, other than managing the meds, I don't think about having RA. I do have a few joints that will probably always click and creak a little due to bone damage I've already sustained, but 90% of the time or more I don't hurt at all.
And I've stopped wincing in anticipation of the pain coming back. I'm just living.
In remission.
LORD my God, I called to you for help,
and you healed me.
and you healed me.
You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.
LORD my God, I will praise you forever.
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.
LORD my God, I will praise you forever.
Psalm 30:2, 11-12
