Dear Body,
It’s been a long time since I’ve thanked you directly. You have been with me since the beginning, through every high and low. You could have given in so many times, but instead, you’ve fought—relentlessly, fiercely, and without hesitation.
When we first got sick, even with all the pain, you kept pushing. You showed up to work when your eyes were swollen shut. You carried me through days when clothes and shoes didn’t fit. Sometimes, I wonder if God gave me you because He knew how well you would take care of me.
Every hospital stay, you kept me independent. After my last hospital experience, you bounced back so quickly. And even now, through dialysis, you continue to push forward. I see others with Lupus, each with their own struggles, their own symptoms. Somehow, we haven’t seen the worst—or maybe we have, and you’ve just protected me from realizing it. Either way, I am grateful.
If you’ve been on this journey with me, you know how rough it has been. And through it all, there’s one thing that hasn’t gotten enough praise—you.
Before I was ever sick, you endured so much. I’ve always been an amateur daredevil—scraped knees, bloody elbows, pebbles embedded in my skin from doing things I probably had no business doing. And yet, you healed. Every time. Like it was nothing.
Doctors told me my third-degree burns would leave scars, but here we are—nothing but smooth skin, as if it never happened.
You take a licking and keep on ticking.
I love you, Body. And I thank God for you every single day.
— Me
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