In light of Brian’s tests today and results on Friday, I am dedicating this week to reflections on how our life is probably different than yours because of cancer. Today’s is not so up-lifting, but quite real.
Because of this cancer, Brian has tests every two months right now. Today he will go to the hospital for two different types of MRI’s at 9:30. He will sit in registration for 20 minutes giving the EXACT same information that he has given over 10 times this year and the EXACT same information that he gave in pre-registration last week that was supposed to expedite this ridiculous process. He will walk by himself through a series of confusing corridors and elevators that he knows only as well as most staff. He will get a temporary IV so they can inject different types of contrasting fluids for the MRI to take a variety of pictures. He will awkwardly lie on a hard, flat table VERY still for nearly two hours. He will be placed into the small, confining tube with earphones or earplugs and a cloth over his eyes ineffectively trying to mask the incredibly LOUD clanging noises and sudden changes in direction and light of the machine. During this, he will sleep a little, he will ponder a lot, and he will pray…
While this is going on, I will be at home probably on the computer, cleaning house a bit, or possibly working out… like any other day. It will still be going on when I am making the kids lunch, getting Gavin on the bus and getting Grant ready for preschool. The boys will play and fight and eat and stall…like any other day. However, it isn’t any other day, or any other week. This is test week and it is the most difficult week of every 8 that occurs anymore. This is the week that our minds as a couple and as parents are plagued with “what if.” This is the day of that week that I implore, plead and BEG Christ to miraculously heal Brian. This is the day that as I run on my treadmill I dedicate every ounce of sweat to Brian’s healing. This is the day that I almost burn the grilled cheese because I am lost I thought to what Brian is doing right now. This is the day that I stop mid-stream throughout the morning hours lifting up Brian in prayer. This is the day that I get in front of Playhouse Disney in the morning, turn off the TV, and tell the boys we need to pray quickly for Daddy’s healing, hoping beyond hope that the prayer from a child’s heart and mouth will produce more response from heaven.
After the test, Brian will eat lunch, go to work, come home, eat dinner, play with his family, watch TV and go to bed like any other day. We will talk about how things went today realizing that we will not know or hear anything until Results Day on Friday. We will be quieter than usual with each other, both lost in thought as to the seriousness of the situation. I will make dinner, do dishes, put the kids to bed, work on my blog post for the next day, spend some time with Brian and go to bed. Just like any other day, only it isn’t any other day. It was test day and all it produced so far is…
The next step… The Agonizing Wait.
KEEP BELIEVING!
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KEEP BELIEVING.
ReplyDeleteYou did not put that in your end remarks and I just wanted to say it for you today. You are in our thoughts and prayers all week.
I love you,
Mindi
Keep those prayers going. I truely believe prayers work!! Your family will be in my thoughts today.
ReplyDeleteChristina
My prayers are with you today. Thank you for sharing your heart.
ReplyDeletePinky
You communicated well the feelings that the issue of cancer introduces into your normal, everyday life. I know that feeling well. It's the shadow that hangs over everything you do.
ReplyDeleteWe feel fortunate (blessed) when it comes to our dealings with cancer. By God's grace, my wife is past all that. Your husband's case sounds very serious. My sister's husband has stage 4 colon cancer. My brother's wife had breast cancer and his son DIED in November from a rarer form of cancer started in his hip. Our situation could have been worst.
One of the things I hated about my wife's cancer treatments is the "cancer culture" that a person gets sucked into. The first time I walked into the oncologist waiting room I hated seeing the brochures for wigs and other cancer related material. I hated seeing the puzzles on the tables in the waiting rooms - that meant they were expecting you to be there often and long. I hated being part of the cancer world. I understand that people were only trying to be helpful, but it was a world that I did NOT want to be identified with.
With God's help and good friends and family, we made it through. PTL
I feel your pain. God is good. Keep trusting.
(Sorry for the long reply.)
Brian,
ReplyDeleteYou are in my daily thoughts... I am hangin in Illinois this evening (Rockford, IL). I had to fly up here to see if the pictures of the boys and snow was real. I see snow on the ground and the cold crisp air collapses my lungs. I know that I can head back to 70's in Charlotte. :-) I will be heading up in January to Woodale for a week and would like to link up with you guys on the front or back end of that trip. I look forward to your results on Friday!!!
HUDSON
your post has me reflecting on how i can take any day for granted. and how my health issues don't compare to those, like your husband, who are dealing with much harder and serious circumstances.
ReplyDeletemy prayers are for the both of you as you wait. may you feel peace during this time. and i pray that the results will be favorable.