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This blog is another opportunity to feel grateful and thank you, dear Universe: You continue to bless me with recovery and health.
He says I’ll be fine
At times, life bends us way too much between two breaths,
Health is an honour, and not everyone is respected.
Wonder why our relationship turned so sour,
I felt the reflections of a foreign wound as my shadows went darker
The scar flaunted shamelessly, not apologetic for my plight
Tricked me with symptoms that diluted but returned with a flux
Posing as confused – was I a reference from yesterday? or a synonym of today?
My determination to be cured is stronger than my capacity
The dancing rhythm of bells will flow in my veins too, I hope
and hope to walk along until the verses of my victory fall short of words
He says I’ll be fine
The Known suggests submission to karmic connections; The Unknown are not liberated
Nevertheless, I pray to The Supreme Being not to take away the bitter parts of this journey
As my horizon towards Him illuminates
He never said it would be easy as he walks along
He knows it hurts and asks that I smile, no matter what
Assuring only that the shackles of pain will split asunder and that day I shall flee
Until then, keep patience I shall, and talk about the glory I see
Only time will tell what’s been lost and gained – as of now we celebrate
As he says, I’ll be fine
There are moments in life when everything seems to crash at once. The sky darkens, the path gets blurry and even breathing feels like an uphill climb.
I’ve lived through such moments, not once, but many times. Since 2016, when my world was flipped upside down by many unexpected medical diagnoses. Isaacs’ Syndrome, membranous glomerulonephritis, Lyme disease, and glaucoma became my uninvited companions. Each of them brought their own set of trials, fears, and lessons.
What held me through? What gave me the courage to not just survive, but truly live each moment with meaning? The answer, though simple in words, is profound in experience—faith, spirituality, and a deep inner shift.
From Diagnosis to Discovery
Life until the storm felt relatively ‘normal.’
But in 2016, that illusion began to crack. Isaacs’ Syndrome caused relentless muscle hyperactivity, the kidney disease crept in quietly yet aggressively, Lyme disease added its own layer of discomfort, and glaucoma began challenging my eyesight.
Each diagnosis was like a puzzle piece I didn’t ask for, complicated, exhausting, and confusing. With every new symptom, I wondered: was this because I tried to hold too much control over my life, or was it simply the uniqueness of my own blueprint? Was I being tested or merely shown a different path to walk?
These questions didn’t come with immediate answers. But over time, reflection carved clarity from chaos.
Learning to Listen
One of the first things we’re taught at birth is to care for our body. It’s our vessel, our partner on this ride called life. But somewhere along the journey, we begin to ignore its whispers—until they become shouts.
As I wrestled with my illnesses, I asked myself: am I wasting time trying to fit into a mold that was never meant for me? What if I stopped fighting and began listening—to my body, to my spirit, to the rhythm of existence?
Embracing this shift didn’t mean surrendering to disease. It meant recognizing life’s impermanence and honoring it with presence. It was the beginning of becoming more “death-aware,” not in a morbid way, but with grace. To plan my exit gently someday, and in the meantime, to make every heartbeat matter.
I asked myself often: how would I like to be remembered? As someone burdened by rare conditions—or as a warrior who met every wave with a smile, lived well, and gave love generously? The answer came, softly but firmly: I still have so much love to share, so much gratitude to express, and so much life to honor. No rush, no shortcuts.
The Role of Spirituality in Healing
While my spiritual inclination began as a legacy—handed down through generations—it was truly awakened by my lived experience and the wisdom I found in unexpected places.
One pivotal source was Dr. Steven Southwick’s Resilience: The Science of Mastering Life’s Greatest Challenges. His work brought light to the power of spirituality in the face of adversity.
Spirituality, for me, wasn’t a sudden miracle or a “fix-it” formula. It became a self-help toolkit that empowered me with gratitude, optimism, and peace. It gave depth to my values and helped me hold onto hope when everything else felt lost. In moments of chaos, it offered stillness. In episodes of despair, it brought light.
What surprised me was how spiritual healing echoed in physical changes. My pill intake decreased. My gut health and vital signs began stabilizing. I started managing daily tasks independently small wins that became monumental victories. The change wasn’t just in my body, but in my being. Confidence resurfaced, energy returned, and slowly, life started smiling back.
A Silent Companion
In those shadowy nights when tears felt like the only language, and mornings seemed reluctant to arrive, the presence of divine love comforted me. Not always in loud miracles or grand gestures—but in the quiet sense that I was being held, watched over, and guided.
I often found myself bowing—not just in prayer, but in humility. Asking for mercy, not just for myself but for all those battling their own storms. May their spirits remain fierce. May their hearts continue to strive, to hope, to win.
This connection to something greater reminded me that I wasn’t alone. And that perhaps, life’s most powerful healing isn’t found only in prescriptions but in presence.
Can Science Alone Heal?
Medicine today is powerful. Breakthroughs happen daily. Technology has transformed how we diagnose and treat illness. And yet, there’s an undeniable human element that science can’t fully touch.
Can medicine alone heal the parts of us that are unscientific—our soul, our sense of purpose, our emotional world?
I don’t dismiss medicine. It has saved my life in many ways. But in tandem with spirituality, my healing felt holistic. The fusion of scientific rigor and soulful reflection gave me a fuller recovery—not just physically but emotionally and spiritually.
A Life Well-Lived
So here I am. Still standing. Still recovering. Still unfolding.
I am more aware than ever of the fragility and beauty of existence. Every day is a gift wrapped in lessons, laughter, pain, and hope. I’m not waiting for a miracle, nor am I rushing toward an end. I’m walking—with grace, with curiosity, and with love.
If my story reaches even one person who feels swallowed by circumstance, may it whisper: you are not your diagnosis. You are not defined by your pain. You are a mosaic of resilience, wisdom, and light. Hold on. Reach out. Heal.
DISCLAIMER
The views expressed in this article are my own, drawn from personal experience and reflection. This is not medical advice, but rather a story of the heart, a journey shared in the hope that it brings light to someone else’s path.