Faithful in the Fray

I’m not sure if many of you follow me on Facebook or Instagram but last Tuesday I posted an update asking for prayer before a big doctor’s appointment the following day, Wednesday. I was going in to have an ultrasound done and check and see how my polycystic ovarian syndrome was doing. It had been four years since I was first diagnosed and with the help of medicine, healthy eating, and losing weight I wanted to see if that helped my symptoms at all. When I had my miscarriage back in April, they never once mentioned my having PCOS was the cause, which was a huge relief. I went back to my family physician, and then my endocrinologist to get as many tests done as possible so that way I had the knowledge for the next time Jeremy and I try to get pregnant. They did a few different hormone tests, they tested me for lupus, they made sure all my levels were doing great with the medicine I am taking and when my result came back a few weeks later with a (literal) A+ on them, I figured the last step I needed to take was getting that ultrasound.

I had told a few people before announcing it that I was having this appointment and asked if they would stand in faith and believe that I was going to be healed. I wasn’t going to settle for anything less. I was asking God for a miracle and wanted to see it happen. I’m not sure if you know this but one thing that comes along with having PCOS is the horrifying statistics of getting pregnant and pregnancy itself. Most people that have this disorder struggle with getting pregnant for years. They try fertility treatments, medicines, and anything else they can get their hands on. Getting pregnant is just the first step as 45-50% of PCOS pregnancies end in a miscarriage. On top of the horrifying statistics PCOS has no cure, just a way to manage symptoms. So, even with doing all the right things, and taking all the right medicines, you still may never be cured from it. They still haven’t found the root cause of PCOS, as 1 in 10 women suffer from it.

Over the course of the past six weeks I have had a few different people come up to me and lay hands on my stomach. They have prayed for my womb to be open and receptive. They have prayed for healing over my body, and over any part the enemy has been attacking. They have prayed for Jeremy and I that as we fight this battle our hearts would be open to what the Lord was going to give to us. Each time I have left those prayers feeling more and more like the Lord was going to do something inside of me.

Last Monday we had a prayer night at church. I wasn’t planning on going, but as soon as I was turning down the road to go home I got a text message from my mom asking me to come. She said she felt like I needed to be there, and so I pulled right into the church, fresh and sweaty from my workout, not having been home since 630 that morning. We had an intentional prayer time for the first hourish and then we prayed for one another. During this time I had two intentional people lay hands on my stomach. I told them about my appointment on Wednesday and we prayed and believed for ultimate healing. We know our God is healer, and I wanted a miracle.

During those prayers multiple people came and laid hands on me as well, crying out to God for His touch. If you know me, I’m not one who really likes to publicly ask for prayer, I’m much more the type of person who will text, tell you in person, or not say anything at all, but throughout this journey of miscarriage I’ve learned the importance of letting people in, and allowing them to hurt and weep and laugh and dance with me, through good times and bad.

When I went to my appointment on Wednesday they were extremely backed up. I had to wait in the waiting room for fifty minutes before I was seen. I was getting anxious, as I had taken some time off in the middle of the day for this appointment. When it was finally my turn I went back into the room and got ready. When my doctor came in the room she asked me how I had been doing, getting an update and then we got down to business as to why I was there. She asked me about two out of the three symptoms that I could give her an answer for, and the third she had to check herself. I had regular cycles, and my testosterone levels were normal. She then checked everything out and I’m sitting there, (for those of you women out there you know exactly what I’m talking about) feet propped up and staring at this big TV screen in front of me. It takes her a second to explain and show everything to me but then I realize what was going on… there are NO CYSTS.

She tells me about the ‘string of pearls’ they normally look for which lines the ovaries but they weren’t there. She continues to look, do measurements, and finally looks and me and says ‘there is no evidence your body ever had anything wrong with it. I’m taking PCOS off your chart, this doesn’t apply to you.’ Okay, right then and there I died. I looked at her and with tears in my eyes told her she had no idea what that meant to me, and how she had just changed my life. The last time I was with her was in the emergency room and now here we are, five months later, telling me that this disease I thought I had (and at one time DID have, per my previous ultrasounds) doesn’t apply to me any longer.

I quickly left her office, shaking with the news that I had been healed. I called and texted everyone that had been praying for me and it was met with an overwhelming outpour of love and support. Our God is healer. Y’all. I still can’t believe it.