Although I suffered physically from c-diff, I also suffered emotionally. On some days, the depression would seem to overshadow all other feelings. I felt guilty--as though I had done something wrong to bring this about. And yet I knew that I had taken antibiotics because they were prescribed for my condition. I felt ashamed that I couldn't do housework, cooking, and other routine chores that I had once taken for granted. I felt I was a burden to my husband although it was not true--all he wanted was for me to get well. The holidays would go by and I couldn't fix the big meal or decorate the house as I had in past years. I couldn't be the kind of grandmother I wanted to be--nor the mother that I wanted my children to have. I didn't want to be physically weak, afraid of falling every time I tried to walk.
I recall one time when my husband let me out of the car in front of the doctor's office so I could wait inside while he parked the car a distance away. There was something we hadn't counted on--the curb that I would have to step up on to get to the entrance. Without something to hold onto I didn't have the strength to manage the curb. I stood there helpless when a very elderly man came up to me, offering to grab my arm to help me. Although I appreciated the offer, I knew that I would probably make him fall. I began to cry just as my husband came racing toward me to help me step up on the curb so we could enter the building. When I used my walker, I wasn't used to the looks of sympathy that others would give me. I wanted the old me back. Because I had so many different things go wrong with my health, I began to feel that everyone must think I was a hypochondriac. I imagined that they must think of me as a loser and pitied Jack for his choice of wives. When one well-meaning Christian friend suggested that there must be some sin that I had not sought repentance for, I quipped back my answer. "I've confessed everything I think I could have done wrong since my first baby burp until now." I felt ugly, unclean, and unworthy of the wonderful, caring husband who had given up so much for me. My Christian faith was being tested as was my husband's, but when things seemed the darkest, we would ultimately feel Christ's presence. Through this continuing experience I have empathy for the sick that is not easily described. I realize that there are many much worse off than me, and I pray for those I know and don't know. I want to reach out to others, touch them, and let them know I care....and tell them that God loves them. They need to know that their illness did not come from God, but that He will help them through each day. God is not the author of illness; it is the result of the original fall of mankind. I also want them to believe in healing and miracles.
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