I witnessed a miracle
I don't believe in miracles.
Despite my strong faith in God and being raised in a Catholic household, I remained skeptical of its existence, at least in our time. There is so much deception and corruption in this world of ours that it's hard to believe in miracles.
But when I was 27, I witnessed a miracle despite not asking for one.
I've always been sick. I remembered one of my earliest memories was waking up in a hospital room because I had stopped breathing in my sleep. I was only two years old.
As I grew older, I started to become stronger, but I remained cautious. I stayed away from extreme sports, scared I would end up in the emergency room. I was conscious about my diet because I didn't want to develop any health conditions that my family already had, and it was a long list.
As much as I could, I tried to be the pinnacle of health, driven by the anxiety of waking up in a hospital room and not being the same again.
On June 18, 2025, a rush to the ER for persistent vomiting due to two kinds of gastrointestinal infections led to an official diagnosis of lupus nephritis.
Lupus nephritis is a serious kidney disorder caused by systemic lupus erythematosus, an autoimmune condition in which the immune system attacks the body's own tissues.
I was admitted to the hospital the same week that the US launched strikes against nuclear facilities in Iran, which led to the temporary airspace closure in the country where I’m currently residing, the United Arab Emirates.
Everyone in the Middle East was bracing for a possible third world war, while I was stuck at the hospital because my body was fighting itself, and despite my best efforts, I wasn't winning.
My biopsy results, which were taken a week after I got discharged, showed Class IV-G(A) lupus, which meant severe inflammation. It also showed markers that would prompt any doctor (as my nephrologist would like to put it) to push for chemotherapy as the main treatment.
I felt like I had died despite a working brain and a beating heart (albeit rapidly, and at a fragile state). I kept asking God why he had to do this to me, despite living my life to be a good person. I still don't have the answer, but I did get a response.
Yes, chemotherapy. Lupus patients with severe, organ-threatening disease (such as in my case) receive chemotherapy drugs to suppress an overactive immune system. I didn’t even know that was one of its main treatments.
There were days when I could feel the severity of this disease. I spent four days completely bedridden after the biopsy. I spent seven more days dealing with another infection. I spent most of the other ones trying to recover from fluid retention, muscle spasms, vomiting, fatigue, chest pains, and so much more that was caused by my condition.
I would lose clumps of my hair due to the strength of the medications I was taking. I was covered in bruises from the endless blood draws I had to go through to monitor progress. I lost so much weight and muscle mass that I was nearly just skin and bones by my 28th birthday.
Every day, I was cursing God for punishing me with a condition that would strip away all of the things I enjoyed about life. I can't have sunlight exposure anymore, as the UV rays could trigger inflammation. I can't have fried chicken because its high sodium content might further damage my kidneys and elevate my blood pressure. I can't even walk to relieve stress because my muscles and body are too weak to handle long-distance walking.
I felt like I had died. I no longer felt human, just a piece of flesh in bed, not able to move despite a working brain and a beating heart (albeit rapidly, and at a fragile state).
I would often look around my bedroom, asking God why he had to empty me despite showing gratitude for having everything I wanted and needed. I was patient, kind, understanding, compassionate, and all of the other qualities an all-loving and powerful God would ask of me. Why choose to destroy me when I have done everything I can to be good?
I still don't have the answer to the millions of questions I asked God during those times. But I did get a response.
Despite having concerning lab results, I didn't need an aggressive treatment plan, which meant there wasn't a need for chemotherapy. I was responding well to early intervention medications, and my condition was getting better in comparison to other cases.
My doctor went on and on about how lucky I was. I was lucky that my lupus diagnosis was caught early. I was lucky that the damage to my kidneys was treated as soon as possible and was reversible. I was lucky that my medications were working effectively.
Lucky. But I'd like to believe that luck didn't have to do anything with it. It was a miracle.
If not caught early, my lupus could have damaged my kidneys beyond repair. If not treated early, my lupus could have worsened all of my pre-existing conditions and started to attack more. If not diagnosed early, I could have lost my life, not knowing what was wrong with my body.
The early detection and treatment weren't the only miracles I witnessed; it was the seeds that were planted along the way to help me navigate this illness without knowing its impact later on.
I got diagnosed when I had just moved back to the Middle East, where I'm receiving great health care with an excellent insurance package, one that I don't need to fight tooth and nail for to get the treatment I need.
I got diagnosed a month after I had just gotten promoted from my dream job, allowing me to have additional funding for mobility aids and other new necessities.
I got diagnosed when most of my family members were here with me; I didn't have to fight this alone.
A few months after my diagnosis, I slowly learned how to walk on my own, how to bathe myself, and how to eat properly to avoid flare-ups. I'm able to go to the hospital alone again for weekly appointments and treatments. I’m able to commute to work and live my life as normally as I could.
The Christina that died in June is slowly becoming herself again, as if resurrecting from a death she never asked for. There's still a long way to go, but I'm fortunate to have already come so far in this journey to remission.
If there's anything that I learned throughout this whole ordeal, it's that miracles do exist because I just witnessed one of my own.
