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When your battle is life or death?

“God gives the greatest battles to his strongest soldiers.”

When I first saw this quote it was a tattoo in a picture. The words meant so much to me because of my own personal journey that I had them tattooed down my own side, starting on the back of my shoulder and ending at my battle scar on my abdomen. You can check it out on my Instagram page. What the quote fails to mention is that if you walk in faith then you know He will never allow you to fight a battle alone. I have always prayed and I believe in God. I don’t really go to church services that often, but I am secure in my relationship with God. I believe each person’s journey in faith is their own and I will never judge anyone for where they are on their journey. If you would like to know more about my journey, please keep reading or if you just want to know more about me, check out my about me page.

My greatest battle.

My emergency surgery for Crohn’s disease in 2011, was the closest to death I have ever felt and the greatest battle I have ever had to fight. My mom, dad, and 2-year-old son were by my side when the nurses wheeled me back to the operating room. As the doors opened and my son’s hand was pulled from mine all I could say as the tears filled my eyes was, “take care of my son.” The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my hospital room where my mom, dad, and son were waiting for me. I was completely unaware of how much time had passed. What was supposed to be a couple of hours was more like 8 or 9. Within 24 hours of my surgery, my catheter was removed and the nurse told me I would have to get out of bed to use the bathroom. I remember laughing and thinking she couldn’t possibly be serious. I was laying in bed with an 8″ incision down my abdomen and multiple smaller ones surrounding it. Somehow when the time came, I managed to find the strength to make it into the bathroom and back to my bed, but even that short trip across the hospital room was enough to wipe me out.

At my absolute lowest.

I remember the 3rd day after surgery was the absolute worst, the pain was excruciating. I was so weak and had lost so much weight you could see my bones under my skin. I asked the nurse how much I weighed. She looked at the side of the bed and asked me if I really wanted to know. I don’t remember the exact number now but it was well under 100lbs. More than 20 lbs less than my typical healthy weight. I remember feeling so alone. I prayed a lot and slept a lot. I wasn’t ready to die and my son was everything I was fighting for. The next time the nurse came into my room she told me I had to walk to the end of the hall and back. I had no idea how that would even be possible.

A walk to save my life

I remember crying because I didn’t think I could do it. I remember being scared because the pain was getting worse and I felt like I was getting weaker. I remember standing up and walking to the door of my room. I looked down the hall and the window at the end looked like it was over a mile away. I remember being angry. I was angry that I was alone. I was angry that I was in pain and that I felt weak. I was angry this nurse was making me walk to the end of the hall and wasn’t even there to help me. I was angry at myself for thinking I couldn’t do it. I just started putting one foot in front of the other. Tears were streaming down my face and the pain would sharpen with every single step. I made it to the end of the hall and collapsed. There was no one there to pick me up. No button to push for someone to come help me. I sat against the wall and just cried and at some point, I started to pray again. I did not think I was going to walk out of that hospital alive. So, I told God I wasn’t ready to die. I told him I needed to be here for my son. I have no idea how long I sat at the end of the hall crying and praying but it felt like a long time. It was when a sense of peace finally came over me that I felt ready to stand back up. There was no voice in my head saying, “Hey, this is God. Get up.” There was only peace and somehow I knew I was going to make it through. That was my divine intervention and all the proof I needed. I stood up and somehow made it back to my room. Each day after I started to get a little stronger.

Who I fight for

There were so many times during that battle when I did not feel like a strong soldier. Honestly, it was the weakest I have ever felt in my life. I had fought battles before, but none of them were as intense as that one. Now, I believe that the battles we fight keep us strong and prepare us for each of the battles we will have to fight next. I realized my strength came in the form of not giving up. It was standing up even when the pain was unbearable. It was asking God for help when I felt scared and alone. My strength was not physical. It came from somewhere deep inside me. My strength came from having something to fight for, my son.

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