Herxin', Hurtin, and Hopeful...

It's been over 20 years and finally something's being done.  A bit late but at least it's something.

I was referred to a doctor who, (1), had thoroughly read my file and, (2), had the chutzpah to make the call and pull the trigger on the Doxycyclin after an hour of consultation.

"Well, let's treat you for Lyme.  We'll try antibiotics for a month and see where we are then."

He dispensed these prophetic words as we parted ways.

"After taking this, you'll probably start feeling worse.  Means we're probably on the right path."

It's been a week and I would like to give a big 10-4 affirmation that we're stumbling down the right path.

I feel awful.

There's even a name for it -  the Herxheimer Reaction.  The slang term is "herxing".  It's a more elegant and socially acceptable description than the words Dad and Uncle Joe would've used. 

But the meaning is the same....you feel awful.  Like your cells are being beaten up.  Each one.  Individually.

From what I understand,  the bad things are killed by the antibiotics. But when they die, the bad things blow up, releasing their inherent nastiness throughout the body.

Stupid bad things.

It may take a few days or a few weeks to win the first battle.  And hopefully there's a Pax Bacterium, a short, savored ceasefire before the next battle.

I'll tell ya, friend, I haven't felt like this since high-school-freshman-two-a-day-football- practices.  FIVE decades ago.  Let's not dwell on the difference in body mass index and overall physical conditioning but suffice it to say that I am one hurtin' puppy.

The second day of antibiotics finds me driving home, (had to leave work early, couldn't make it to the end of the shift).  The radio has this guy talking about his reaction to his life and actions since he's given his life to Him.  And it sounds a lot like herxing to me, given my current state of mind.

The guy's going along, pretty good, measuring up, and then BLAM - something gets outta the bag he thought he could keep under wraps, under control.

He sticks his foot in it.  Blows it completely.  Messes it up big-time.

And the guy feels awful 'cause he's herxin'.    A herxing of the soul.

The Spirit, (the antibiotic for sin), brings conviction by exposing the realization of sin in my life.  Exploding it so I can see it...and others can, too.  Which makes me feel awful.

But grace, His grace, is what takes the awfulness away.  And on this side of Glory, the cycle repeats as more bad stuff dies and as more grace heals, changing my life.

Finally home, I collapse in The Chair.  I look out the window and sip the Elixir of Knowledge, thinking about how I'm gonna get through the next few weeks.

And the remaining years of my life.

Yeah.  I s'pose. 

The trick is to focus on what will be and not so much on what's happening .  Eyes on the prize, laying all that other stuff aside.  A fixation on the good.  On the promise.

It's going to get better.  He promised it would.  And He keeps His promises.

So I'll take my pills, herx, hope, and hang in there.

And I'll get convicted by the Spirit, herx, hope, and hang in there.

The promise gives me hope.  And hope springs eternal.  And He's our Eternal Hope.

Kinda neat the way that works out, eh?