Thursday, July 24, 2014


All of the great wars have been fought in the name of religion. For centuries, this has remained true. From the great Christian crusaders to soldiers manning cannons, people have died in the name of a cause, and ultimately they felt driven by the strength of their faith.  My illness has given me my faith. It is my cross to bear, and I consider myself as much a crusader as Joan of Arc who has heard a summons whispered in her ear to fulfill a certain calling.
My whisper didn’t come on any traditional battlefield or holy land. It infiltrated my spirit in one of the many experiences I lay writhing in pain, praying to God to either put me out of this misery or to grant me the courage to fight. If I was to stay, I needed strength to use the oncoming circumstances to find grace and humility. I wanted to journey forward to change the system for others with chronic pain. This silent killer knows no boundaries or age; pain is merciless.
For a long time, I thought the pain would surely kill me before disease ever did. But it hasn't yet. With every hospitalization, surgery, infection and illness, I grow more passionate about getting well enough to fight the backward system and to help those who have no hope.

Pain is the great isolator. Oftentimes, its victims battle in silence. When the pain is too bad to bear, I retreat into myself. But God whispers for me to stand back up and journey forward, as there are so many people suffering.

So I march on, using my words as my weapons to reach those who suffer and those who treat the suffering. The medical establishment has PLENTY of room for improvement when it comes to treating those with pain. My pain is my enemy and my inspiration! With faith I continue to fight. It's never too late to make a difference.