“Mom? Are you sick?”
Mackenzie asked me to sit down with her yesterday so she could have a talk with me. Turns out she was ready to ask about my health.
“What do you mean, Kenzie Faye? Are you asking if I have a cold? Or a cough? Or a belly ache?”
I didn’t want to burden her with more information than she needed and you never know where kids are going when they start asking questions.
“No, I mean your body. Is it broken?”
Even though I had been preparing myself for this talk for some time, it still took me a moment to gather my thoughts and catch my breath.
“Well, Mackenzie, my brain has owies all over it that make it difficult for my body to do what my brain tells it to do,” I seriously have to give myself mad props for explaining something as complicated as Multiple Sclerosis using the word “owies”.
“Can you take medicine to help you get better?”
“There is no medicine that can cure MS, but there are treatments which claim to help slow the progression. Multiple Sclerosis is what’s called an ‘orphan disease’. This means that not enough people have it for the research to be cheap and this causes the medicine to be very expensive. It costs about $1500 a month to manage M.S. on a good month. This makes insurance companies nervous and they created something called a ‘pre-existing condition clause’. This means that I will have to wait for one year before our new insurance company starts to pay for me to get treated for Multiple Sclerosis. To be honest, there is some speculation about whether or not these medicines actually help with quality of life any more than not using them. I don’t know if I want to go through the grief of painful daily injections, terrible side effects, etc. if I am going to wind up the same way either way. You know?”
That’s not really what I said. She’s asking the questions, but she’s only six. What I really told her is that there is medicine but I don’t take medicine right now. There is no easy way to explain the many reasons I am unable to, and yet also would choose not to, take medication.
“You should take the medicine,” her eyes burn through me in such a way as she says this that I make the immediate decision that I will begin the daily injections the instant my insurance kicks in. If she believes it will work, there is no way I am going to let her think I didn’t try.
Later on that same day I found Mackenzie in the kitchen with a broom. She had swept the floor and was inquiring as to where the dust pan was. I watched as she expertly did her task and then she began straightening up the living room. I did what any mother would do in a moment like that:
I gave her an apron.
And she beamed.
I know why my six year old daughter was sweeping my floor. I know because I swept my Mama’s floor. Mom has Lupus and when I was about Mackenzie’s age I started to notice the effort with which she took care of all of us. Meals were always prepared, laundry folded, floors cleaned, dishes washed. This woman took better care of her family than a lot of Moms I knew with no illness.
I found her dedication to us and her service of us to be admirable and inspiring. I began washing dishes and sweeping floors long before I was asked because I knew that my Mama was going to do the work if nobody else did and she needed the break. I adored her and I had deep empathy for her in her desire to serve us even as she was so ill.
That’s what I saw in Mackenzie. I saw the empathy. My eyes tear up as I write this now. There is a large part of me that is so over the moon with pride and joy that my little girl has such a beautiful servant’s heart. But it is heart wrenching to know that she is now worried and concerned about things that no little girl should have to even know of. She has some actual, real fears that I cannot deny. I can’t promise that everything will be fine.
In all the years that I have lived with this disease, I have never more than right now felt a desire to see it gone. I want to tell Mackenzie that it is gone.
But then I still want her to sweep my floors after I tell her. Is there any way to refine a servant’s heart without fire? Anyone?
May 20th, 2008 at 1:03 pm
I just wanted to say again, thank you for letting us peek into your home during these moments. I truly believe that this blog ministers more than you will ever know. I am praying for you and your little one, and that’s no hollow promise.
May 20th, 2008 at 1:58 pm
I really appreciate that, Brandy. More than I can say.
May 20th, 2008 at 3:22 pm
What a great story. It is never easy to tell our children how we feel and what we are facing. I know this all to well. And I know the feeling you had watching her sweep because the boys do this at the house as well. Wanting to help is just a child’s nature I do believe. I will be praying for you and your family. God Bless you and yours.
May 20th, 2008 at 5:03 pm
Thank you for commenting and for your prayers, Kori.
It’s not easy, but I think that this community helps. Wouldn’t you agree? I love me some bloggers.
May 20th, 2008 at 5:03 pm
Amy,
You made my nose tingle and eyes water with this one. Children are blessed with such BIG hearts and it is powerful when they show it. Although Mackenzie’s reward was an apron, her reward truly is much greater.
Thanks.
May 20th, 2008 at 5:20 pm
Thank you, Lisa. Watery eyes and tingly noses is all any writer could ever ask for.
May 20th, 2008 at 10:25 pm
I hope I can pass on to my kids a legacy as meaningful as yours. Your daughter must be a pretty special girl. Thanks for making my “eyes water and nose tingle” too.
May 20th, 2008 at 10:31 pm
God is using circumstances to shape her into the godly woman He created her to be…just like He did with her mom! You are blessed!!
May 21st, 2008 at 5:47 am
One powerful post! And, excellent job passing along a servant heart! Thank you for letting the bloggy world see not only your triumphs to His glory but your thorns as well. BOTH are a great testimony!
May 21st, 2008 at 9:06 am
Well, I’m definitely crying now.
May 21st, 2008 at 9:23 am
Thank you, Andi. I do think she is pretty special.
I completely agree, Robin!
I really appreciate your comment, Beth. It is important to rejoice whether with thorns or triumph. Both display His glory.
Amy Beth, go eat some chocolate. Better than Kleenex every time.
May 21st, 2008 at 11:37 am
My dear, what a moment. Refining always comes with fire. No way around it. Personally, I’m glad your not on a bunch of meds.
May 21st, 2008 at 12:39 pm
I was diagnosed with MS in February 1995. That was also the exact same month that the FIRST ever treatment was made available. Since then, there have been about seven or so other options produced. All require lifetime injections or IV therapy. All come with non-resolving side effects. None have been clinically proven to improve quality of life. They have proven to slow down brain matter deterioration, just not the long term progression of disability. And seriously, how much brain matter does a person really need?
If I ever do go back on the meds (I was on 3 different ones over a 5 year period), it will not be because I believe they will help. It will only be because my kids think it will help.
And also because I have a martyr complex.
May 21st, 2008 at 1:38 pm
A servant’s heart is an amazing gift. Some need less refining than others. Mine is sorely in need, I am afraid.
May 21st, 2008 at 2:01 pm
I highly recommend you get an apron.
May 22nd, 2008 at 10:24 am
This was such a great post. Thank you so much for sharing it with us.
May 22nd, 2008 at 8:26 pm
What a great way to talk to her about it. I think it’s better to talk with her and admit what you can (age-appropriate) than to pretend.
As far as a refiner’s fire, I think you and I have both seen some children in much hotter fires.
I love you.
May 23rd, 2008 at 10:49 am
You are doing it exactly right, Amy. This was no surprise to God. He’s got it all figured out for you and that includes taking care of MacKenzie’s heart, too. I’m sorry for the pain.
May 24th, 2008 at 10:23 pm
Beautiful.