Unexpected Hospital Visit
Faith, Fear, and Flickers of Hope
Late March has a way of toying with my emotions. One day is sunny and warm, the next brings freezing rain and misery. We can all feel the warmth, taste the long days of sunshine.
And yet, we understand that snow can still mock us for the next few weeks.
I am feeling the full force of discouragement. The grey sky is an exclamation mark.
David has been battling something (chemo side effects? A cold?) for the past two weeks, with little relief. He has lost too much weight. Some days he barely gets out of bed. It’s hard to know what to do. What we can do.
Cancer patients must jealously guard their temperature. Anything above 38 degrees means an automatic trip to emergency. Since David was not running anything near that number, I watched him suffer without any medical intervention, wondering if there was something we were missing. His oncologist prescribed something for his persistent cough. It did little to alleviate the symptoms.
Night times are the worst. His coughing means little sleep. For the first time in 35 years my dear husband sleeps in a different room. To protect my sleep. But I just feel lonely, and I still hear him coughing down the hall.
A Trip to Emergency
This was the third day in the hospital. David was feeling a bit better.
This past Sunday evening (March 29) David was admitted into the hospital here in Burlington. He finally hit that temperature mark where we could no longer ignore his body. While at emergency, David exhibited signs of confusion, his temperature steadily climbing.
It was scary. Truly. I’ll always remember the pounding of my heart as I tried to get my husband to focus on me. For his eyes to clear so he could see me. “David, I’m here.”
They quickly got him hooked up to an IV, drew lots of blood, swabbed and poked, did an EKG. He was given antibiotics intravenously.
What he really wanted was a blanket. He was told no, not while his temperature was this high. My heart broke for him. A warm blanket is such a little thing.
At 3:00 in the morning a doctor came to us with news.
David is neutropenic.
This means a key group of his white blood cells is very low. His body’s strongest soldiers – the ones that fight off illness – are simply too weak.
So we wait for his body to get back in the fight.
Fighting is hard work. Lonely work. Some days I feel like sleeping all day too.
Today is Wednesday and David is still here in the hospital. I spend most of my time with him since he’s a bit emotional and prefers me to be with him.
I’m emotional too so we make sense together.
In my last post I mentioned us hearing God’s voice through this journey. I wanted to use this post to explore what I meant by that. But, with the weight of this week, I’m not ready for that post.
For today, I’m just hanging on, listening to God’s voice in this moment.
Dangerous Hope.
Hope is so dangerous isn’t it?
Some days I have that “get up and go/we can do this!” attitude. On those days I’m all over our new (mainly) plant-based diet. I juice. I make salads with plenty of raw veggies. I experiment making yummy treats sweetened with dates instead of sugar (it actually works!). I dream about David’s body responding well and getting strong.
But then a week like this takes the wind out of my sails.
I can’t help but wonder, what if he doesn’t do well? What if?
So yes, hope is dangerous. Because we don’t know what’s coming.
And yet, I believe. I believe in a God who sees me. A God who knows my name. Knows David’s name. I believe that He has a plan in all of this. I cling to that belief.
I cling to Him.
I’ve been reflecting on a passage in the bible that says we who belong to God don’t grieve like the rest of humankind, who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18). We grieve differently. In the biblical context, the writer was speaking to those whose loved ones had died. The living relatives were afraid their family members who had passed away would miss out on Jesus’s return.
That’s how pumped they were to see Jesus come back again. That’s a cool thought. Especially with Easter Sunday this weekend.
I love the way Eugene Peterson translates verse 18:
“…there will be one huge family reunion with the Master. So reassure one another with these words.”
We have so much to look forward to. In this world and in the world to come.
I must remind myself of this on days when I feel like I don’t want to get out of bed. There’s so much more… so much I can’t understand, but so much to imagine. God has this.
So, while David’s soldier-cells regroup, I’ll look to God’s soldiers – our dear friends – who are praying for us and loving us through this. We’ll regroup too.
Precious Martha cheering up her Grandpa.
Good Friday.
Yesterday was Good Friday, three days after this post was written. It’s been sitting in my drafts. David came home from the hospital Thursday night after supper.
It is so good to have him home. But it is so hard to see him weak like this.
Our church here in Burlington is precious to us. Yesterday we gathered together and contemplated the death of our Lord. As I read over my notes, noticing the historical realities of death by crucifixion, I was struck again by the magnitude of God’s love for us. Crucifixion was chosen deliberately. It was used to publicly humiliate the condemned person.
Execution by crucifixion proclaimed: “This person has no power. This person is nothing.”
Jesus stumbled under the agony of that cross.
You cannot carry a cross without suffering. There is no comfortable way to carry it.
Jesus faced death for us. He suffered physically for us. He suffered emotionally for us. He called out to His Father, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” Where are you Father?
Jesus, more than anyone, understands what loneliness and suffering is.
Jesus offers me comfort through His agony.
My husband was unable to attend the service with us. He told me later that he watched a Good Friday service online. He said he felt emotional through it.
Jesus is offering David comfort too.
Friends, once again, thank you for following along with us. It was difficult to get this post finished and posted this week. In a way, being accountable to you helps me carry this. Getting my thoughts out matters.
Even though it isn’t always easy to share, it is helpful for us to hear. It is not easy to pastor people when you are going through your own personal hell. Sometimes it’s a healthy distraction but other times it’s overwhelming. The things that confound people can seem so petty and inside we can feel impatient and snappy. I don’t know if that’s been your experience, but I pray that your people continue to be their comforting selves, as you have said. I also pray that people in TSA who have power to help and offer you a relief will do so.
What a great piece, April. So raw and vulnerable. God is going to bless you and your family through this by reaching others who may be going through this, and still others who will pray for David. Give him my love and know that all of you are in my prayers daily.