old at heart

I know I don't quite look my age. I don't have to be reminded.

My whole life I've dealt with people thinking I'm younger than I actually am. I can remember being offered a kiddie menu as a teenager. I can remember people confusing me with my younger sister because they just couldn't believe that I was the older sibling. I cried at my bachelorette party because a loud-mouthed onlooker accused me of being too young to get married, claiming I looked twelve, and that she hoped it ended in a divorce. And you better believe that any time I try to buy alcohol or order a drink, I get the weirdest looks. I'm carded every time, and have even had my license checked to see if I was toting a fake ID. I look THAT young.

And just today, in the Dutch Bros drive-thru, I was asked if I was on my way home from school. As in high school. Maybe the baby talking in my truck's backseat wasn't clue enough, so I said, "I don't go to school. I'm a mom." Of course, I got that "too bad you got knocked up before your senior year" look.

I've mentioned this frustration before. But I never really explained why a trait that others would envy has always bothered me so much.

See, I was diagnosed with my Crohns disease at the end of my sixth grade year. So while all my friends were going through their crazy growth spurts, my body had stopped growing altogether. It kind of took a couple years off, as it worked on fighting the inflammation in my intestines and adapting to all the medication I was taking.

It kind of made me bitter watching my buddies buy their training bras and shaving their legs, while I was stuck in "little girl" mode. Sure, I caught up later, but know that even that one year affected me for a lifetime. I would have been taller. I probably would look my age. And it makes me mad that my illness took that from me.

I know I'll be thankful for my youthful appearance someday, but for now I find myself fighting it. I wrestle over what outits make me look too juvenile. I've tried several different haircuts over the years to see what added that little bit of maturity to my look. I've mastered the art of flashing my wedding ring to prove that I'm married. That I'm legit. My best friend is three years older than me and somehow, when we're out together, she makes me feel like I look more "mom-ish".

But hey, years down the road, I'll get to be that "hot mama" that I've always wanted to be. I just better look older than the little girlfriends my son brings home!

a debtor's thankful heart

$21,105.06.

That's a lot of money. I could do so much with twenty-thousand dollars. Pay off a car loan or two. Put a down payment on a house. Just think of how many shopping carts I would need to haul twenty-thousand dollars-worth of Huggies size four diapers. Shocking, really.

The big reveal? That's how much just three Remicade infusion treatments cost. Maybe that's why the nurses feel so obliged to bring you all the free cranberry grape juice your little heart desires.

See, earlier this year, I suffered the most severe Crohns disease flare-up I've had in the eleven years I've lived with my chronic illness. Worse than the time my mouth was covered with cold-sores and I lost so much weight that I cried in the shower when I noticed how severely my hip bones jutted out. Worse than the time I passed out in my mom's arms and had to call an ambulance, though all I could think about once I came to was how embarrassed I was that those good-looking EMTs saw my room at one of its messiest moments.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the present. Or at least to a couple months ago. My gastroenterologist (or tummy doctor) had me undergo several Remicade infusions. Basically it's a drug that gets pumped right into your bloodstream, since Crohns patients like myself can have a hard time absorbing oral medications. I got hooked up to an IV each time I went in, and got to sit still for three glorious hours without a single responsibility to keep me busy. I could read, nap, watch "The Office" on Marty's video iPod, or snack on Cheezits to my heart's content. Oh. And enjoy a nice cold plastic cup of cranberry grape juice. Heaven, I tell you.

But not for $21,105.06. For that much I could just pay someone to be sick for me.

The good news is that my insurance company covered the entire cost. Not a cent comes out of my pocket, other than whatever I may have paid buying McDonalds to sneak into Mercy's outpatient chemo room. I actually had a gentleman in the next chair over ask when the hospital started serving fast food, and comment that it was a step up from the usual cafeteria munchies.

Really, though, that bill is one I'll never pay.

And even though biblical analogies can be rather cheesey at times, this one really sunk in for me. I had a debt I could never even fathom repaying. A debt so huge, it would cost a lifetime of hardship (in this case, financial). But someone came in and covered it all. Took that debt upon themselves and gave me freedom from it in return. My body is cleansed and healed as a result.

Thank you, Lord, for covering my spiritual debt. For taking my burden upon yourself so that I could be free. Free to bask in Your grace and mercy. Free to revel in a God who loves me just that much. Free to enjoy all the cranberry grape juice I could ever want.

P.S. Because the best blogs have pictures in them, and are more likely to be read, I'll include a snapshot of my favorite visitor while I was in for one of my treatments:

"One Day More"

Today was a good day.

Now, my Crohn's Disease has been flaring up like crazy and making ME crazy. I just haven't felt like myself for the past couple months. I miss the Becky that dances around the house belting out showtunes just because it's fun. And the Becky that can walk three miles to go visit Marty at work just to brighten his day.

I'm not quite there yet, but I'm on my way. Like I said, today was a good day. And even though I only made a little bit of progress, I'll take all the progress I can get. Because it means I'm one day closer to myself...

See, I was able to get out of bed this morning within just a couple minutes of waking up, though most mornings find me laying there trying to muster up the strength to stand. I consider it a blessing that I was able to take my son to the park and play with him on the swings. I actually had the energy to clean my room, which has sat untouched for weeks. I got a couple loads of laundry done. I managed to get through the day with just one fifteen minute nap, instead of sleeping for hours on end like I usually have to. I was strong enough to take out the trash all by myself. I gave my son a bath and a haircut. I was able to eat a cheeseburger for dinner without having any digestive problems.

And the kicker? When I talked to my mom on the phone today, she told me I'm really starting to sound like myself again. Now, maybe she just said that because she's my mom and she has to say stuff like that, but it made me smile.

I better start brushing up on those "Les Mis" lyrics...