A Christmas Miracle

“I know what it is,” she said mere moments into the video call. I could hardly believe her words.

For eight long years, I had suffered on and off from a myriad of strange health problems. It began in the summer of 2014 when pus-filled sores began appearing on my fingers and elbows. Before long, bleeding sores had developed on my knees, I developed itchy rashes all over my body that offered no reprieve, and I began to experience debilitating brain fog, migraines, and vertigo. The suffering was agonizing as I was passed back and forth between dermatologists and allergists, gastroenterologists and neurologists. Nobody had any idea what was going on, other than I had developed seven food allergies. Their best guess was to load me up on allergy medications and see how I fared. Luckily, this did improve some of my symptoms. Switching to a gluten-free diet helped solve a few more. But I still didn’t have a diagnosis. There was still no long-term plan for how to prevent future flare-ups.

In August of 2022, after having our third baby, I had a relapse of symptoms, specifically brain fog, itching, and intense anxiety. The brain fog was so debilitating that I had to spend most of the day on the couch. I couldn’t drive. I began to forget words, I dealt with slowed speech, my vision seemed blurred, and the simplest tasks felt like I had run a marathon. Not only that, but I began to deal with allergic reactions to various foods again. I was desperate for someone to help me. But who did I have left to ask?

I had no choice but to keep searching for answers. Most doctors thought I was making up the debilitating nature of the brain fog. Even post-COVID, it was still not something widely recognized. When small-town medicine failed me, I turned back to the world-class clinic in my hometown. I had tried it before in 2014, and there hadn’t been any answers for me, but something told me to give them another try.

In October, I scheduled an appointment with the functional medicine team, the team most likely to look at my whole case rather than in pieces and parts. The earliest appointment they could schedule me for was March. Knowing I had five months ahead of me and no guaranteed answers was too much to bear. I began to lose hope.

But then God sent me a few Christmas “angels.” Three to be exact. The first was a sweet lady from our church who, without even knowing much about me, came into our home and helped me around the house. She put up our artificial Christmas tree and painstakingly pulled apart all of the branches to surprise my two oldest children.

The second Christmas angel was a friend’s mother who put together a whole pack of meals I could pull out from the freezer, specially prepared to accommodate my many food allergies. I’ll never forget how loved I felt knowing that our beloved babysitter and my friend’s mother had put so much care into those meals. They were a lifesaver on my worst days.

The third Christmas angel was a relative of my parents’ neighbor who called in a favor to the functional medicine department. Suddenly, there was an appointment open for me during the week of Christmas. This was only the beginning of my Christmas miracle.

Prior to the appointment, I was asked to write out my symptoms and all previous health problems. The doctors wanted to see the big picture of what was going on. As I had done this a few other times by now, only to be ignored, I was cynical, sure that the doctors wouldn’t actually read it.

To my great disappointment, the day of my appointment, a snowstorm hit, and the functional medicine department contacted me to let me know that my appointment would no longer be held in person; however, they planned to still hold my appointment via a telehealth call.

As I prepared for the appointment, I had to keep reminding myself, this is probably going to end in disappointment. But at the same time, my heart wondered the ever pressing hope– what if?

From the doctor’s opening statement, I knew I had found a good doctor. “I’ve read over your report,” she said. My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. A doctor had actually read my story. She cared. This was a good start.

And then, without any delay, she said the words that changed my life, “I know what it is. You have Mast Cell Activation Syndrome.”