How I Accepted My Illness

Have you read the stories of legendary people in our tradition who display unparalleled patience during times of trial?  I read of a female scholar who had lost her child, showed unimaginable restraint upon her husband returning from home, served him dinner, conversed with him about his day before asking him a question.  “What would you do if someone lets you borrow something for a time and would like to have it back?” She asked after he had finished his meal.  “I would return it of course,” he replied and so she led him to the bed where their child lay motionless and, with her voice shaking just a little, said “Our Rabb asked for our son to be returned back to Him.”  Even as I recall the gist of what I read, I am left speechless at the incredible strength, resilience, and reliance upon Allah ﷻ that is evident through her (rahimahullah) actions immediately after a trial crushes her dreams of a family. 

Numerous such insistences can be found in our tradition and so I struggled deeply with this thought while juggling my own autoimmune disorder.  With its flare ups, energy dips, food insensitivities, and the ramifications of a lifelong illness on my small family, I continuously felt a tinge of guilt that maybe I was not handling it as I should be.  I recall an instance in our previous home where we had managed to maintain a small flock of chickens, not an easy task as some seasoned homesteaders make it out to be.  The winters went fairly easily with routine cleanup and a restocking of the feed.  The summers, however, were brutal as the temperatures seared above a hundred and into the 115 degrees, the chickens required multitude of techniques to stay cool when they can easily overheat and lose their lives.  It was in the relatively coolers months and I was staring out of the window after feeling exhausted for too many days to count that I saw them scampering around from one bush to the next, with their tales flicking back and forth.  Their beaks were propped open but their clucking sounds did not reach through the window and I felt this wave of remorse for a life I was not meant to have.  I had not attended to them in days and although they are relatively self sufficient, my heart felt my body doing an injustice to the creatures in our backyard.  It was as a if a vision of a future flicked by me where I tended to garden beds, cleaned the coop, presented the chickens with a platter of fresh veggies and heard them devour it while scooping up their eggs in a basket to make a nourishing meal for my family.  That vision just flicked by in an instant and instead I saw a reflection of someone huddled by the window staring at her flock wishing to have the energy to go out and just hear their beloved clucks as they dug and flicked the dirt looking for a squirming treat.  It was as if I had just witnessed a death of the Future Samia to be replaced by the Now Samia who couldn’t do a quarter of what the other one was doing.

Comparing my chronic illness to a death of a child is something that I can not even comprehend and that led me to further delve in my shame and guilt.  Am I lacking in my faith because I can not breathe deeply, utter a heartfelt alhumdulillah, and wear a genuine smile?  Had I failed because at the moment of calamity, my response wasn’t of praising God rather it was of confusion and desperation? 

I don’t have the answer to that.  Maybe I could have done better, sure, but it would be accurate to say that this illness – as debilitating and frustrating as it is can be – brought me closer to who I am supposed to be.  Just a few days ago, I was working on designing inserts for a journaling company that I told myself to stop working.  I was approaching my body’s limit and if I had chosen to push further, I would fall into days of recuperation when it can just be one day rather than three.  Understanding my body’s limits, I packed up for the day and headed downstairs to have a meal.  It was a thoughtless moment where I did not bemoan the desire of my mind to continue what my body could not do.  I simply understood and I accepted.  After three years of my diagnosis, it was in that moment that I accepted that the Now Samia may not be able to do all of the things she desired in the span of half an hour but she can slow down, take a few days and accomplish it anyway. 

That moment of acceptance brought with it a wave of relief and gratitude.  It was as if a burden was lifted from my already tired shoulders.  Now I could stretch my arms, feel my chest expand and take a deep breath.  

I have a chronic illness, but I am not my illness.  Not only that, but I was chosen to carry the burden of an illness specifically because I needed it to become who I am supposed to be.  It had not been stopping me rather it was helping me.

I will end for today with a Hadith that I heard retold by Mufti Menk in a lecture recently.  He recounted the tale of a believing women who suffered from epileptic seizures during which her  awrah would become exposed.  She approached the Prophet ﷺ, told him of her seizures and how they resulted in her awrah being accidentally exposed without her knowing.  She requested him ﷺ to make dua for her illness to be removed.  The Prophet ﷺ replied (and I paraphrase according to my recollection), “I can make dua for that and insha’Allah your illness will be removed.  But would you rather be healed or be given paradise?” She paused for a moment.  Her visit was prompted by her awrah being exposed which she would not even be held responsible for.  This shows her character and status as a believer.  She was being given a choice – she could live with the illness to the best of her ability and be given paradise in return.  Or her illness could be completely healed by the will of Allah through the dua of the Prophet ﷺ.  She responded (again, I paraphrase), “I will live with the illness but please make dua that my awrah be not exposed during my seizures.”

I must say that this Hadith had a lot to do with my acceptance.  

So what I can not have the homesteading dream.  So what I can not compete in strength competitions.  So what if I have to take a few extra days to finish a project.  What insignificant loss is that if in return Allah ﷻ grants me paradise?  Me, with all of my faults, the stench of which would cover my body if not for the mercy of Allah ﷻ, is given Paradise because I had to live for a few years with what might be a nuisance compared to the eternal punishment of the Hellfire.  What is a few years of that if the result is Jannah? 

Nothing.

Alhumdulillah.