P.G. With No Baby

I've been told  many, many times that "whatever is wrong is self inflicted" in reference to my leg.  And I've been assured that it definitely couldn't hurt as much as I say it hurts.  I've been told I'm not sick, that there's no physical reason for the symptoms I battle daily.

But recently, that's all changed.  My doc believes in me and has fought to help me heal, and has endured the highs and lows as my leg gets better and worse unpredictably.  And finally, there's a word for what I am fighting.  Two words, actually.  Pyoderma gangrenosum.  Look it up if you want, but be warned that most articles include graphic and rather unappealing pictures.  Basically, it means my body attacks itself from the inside out (so in that regard, I suppose you could call it self-inflicted).  It favors previously damaged skin, but I have no control over when or where or how badly it will do so.  When it flares, my skin first turns red, then warm and spongy, then blisters, then peels and rapidly erodes  until I have ulcers muscle-deep and usually bigger than a silver dollar.  It is excruciatingly painful - far more so than it should be given the wounds themselves.  It has coupled with a disturbing lack of immune response to allow infection after infection to form, for which I am almost daily at the clinic receiving treatment. 

Now, that said, I'm not trying to whine.  I honestly have a beautiful life, made that way by a faithful God.  It's just that people often wonder what it is that is actually wrong with me - what keeps me so sick so much of the time.  And this is certainly not the only problem, but it is a big one.  One I'll overcome.  And when I do, God will get the glory because it will be by His grace.