I had a severe reaction to a coconut macaroon. The next morning, I woke up to pain. Pain in every joint, fiber, and tissue of my body. I was swollen. I could barely walk. I couldn’t write without crying out.
The inflammation worsened until I couldn’t eat at all without extreme nausea and swelling in my throat and tongue. Then I couldn’t drink. Brandon took me to the ER so I could receive fluids, but no one had a clue what was wrong with me. Elders from our church came to our house, anointed me with oil, laid hands on me, and prayed for my healing.
I was able to eat again within a day or two, but it was just enough to survive. I basically lived on sweet potatoes and goat milk until I discovered the GAPS diet that fall.
After months of seeing specialists who couldn’t help me, the Lord led me and my family to an integrative doctor in Baton Rouge. We were all in agreement. God was pointing there.
It all seemed good at first. She prayed for me in the office—something no other doctor had done. She thought to test things no one else did. She found some genetic problems, which she believed explained my condition, and loaded me up with about 30 supplements, homeopathics, and an antibiotic called Cipro to treat a bacteria she found in my gut.
But when I returned to her office in February 2013 to report new and disturbing symptoms, she didn’t seem to hear me. Instead, she offered the same spiel she had twice before. She wasn’t listening.
Something was terribly wrong. Exposure to perfumes, chemicals, and even natural scents like essential oils were causing anaphylaxsis. I couldn’t blow bubbles with my kids, touch construction paper, or even be in the same room with crayons. My food sensitivities kept changing and worsened overall. My brain fog increased as my energy decreased. I was having anaphylactic reactions 3-5 times per week, not to mention lesser reactions multiple times every day. I had to wear a mask every time I left the house. Even then, I would always react to something while out and about, which meant 2-3 days spent in bed. I could barely take care of myself, much less my children. Life was one long emergency. Every aspect of our lives suffered because of this disease.
I placed myself under the care of a local natural doctor, who led me to another doctor who specializes in dysautonomia. He knew upon the initial consult I’d been poisoned by a fluoroquinolone drug (Cipro). The integrative doctor I’d entrusted to make me better had thrown gasoline on an already out of control fire. And God had led me there.
I was wounded, but I took my wounds to the One I held responsible. Who else was there to turn to?
Even now, I believe God led us to that doctor. Too many praying people agreed that’s what we needed to do. Looking back, I see how he arranged it. Without a doubt. I likely needed Cipro to take out that bad bacteria which kept me from absorbing nutrition. It just came at a devastating price.
Within a few days of learning I’d been “floxed,” I was exposed to a pesticide and suffered toxic shock. After my natural doctor saved my life, I was bedridden an entire month, unsure of whether or not I’d ever get up again. But know this—God came to me on my sickbed. One of the highest moments of worship I’ve ever experienced happened there.