Thanksgiving Week

It's Sunday night of Thanksgiving week, 2014. My husband is sleeping soundly in the rocker in the bedroom, propped on a pillow and buried under a blanket.  I can hear him softly breathing as he sleeps.  The color of his face is closer to normal, a far cry for the flushed appearance he had most of the day as he struggled with the side-effects of the chemotherapy from Thursday and the Nuelasta shot from Saturday morning.

Thanksgiving is this week, as is my mother's birthday which happens to fall on the holiday as well.  My family lives in town, so it's possible to go to a meal with them easily as Ben doesn't believe he wants to travel far.  In fact, he has an appointment on Friday anyway; we need to stay in town.

Problem is, we have no idea how he'll feel this week.  Will the nausea subside in time to enjoy Thanksgiving?  Or will the holiday be spent with him lying miserably on the bed?

As I type this, he awakens and he feels terrible.  The little dark storm cloud that has come to be my constant companion is in full force, making me feel like I can barely function, barely take another step.  But, by the grace of the LORD, I do take those steps.  He is capable; I am not.  I can't do this on my own strength, but only by the power of the LORD.

Still, it's hard to watch a loved one hurt so much, be so miserable.


FLASHBACK:

It's the year of our LORD 2014, and the date is 18 August.  I'm upset with Ben because he took Friday off from work and now he's taking Monday.  To my eye, he looks fine, so I'm upset.  Just or unjust, I'm upset.  I decide to take matters into my own hands and call my gastroenterologist who treats me for ulcerative colitis.  If Ben is that miserable, he needs real care.  And if he's not, I reason, a colonoscopy will discourage him from doing this again.  That's my reasoning.  Silly stuff in hindsight.  Ridiculous thoughts, honestly.

When I describe the situation to the nurse, and she gives us a Wednesday appointment for an EGD and a colonoscopy.  She's concerned about his visit to the ER back in the spring, but thinks that date is fine. 

The night of the ER was strange.  I suppose men and women are different in their approach to illness.  I go quicker than Ben, anyway.  Maybe it's just he and I.  Maybe I'm a wimp and he's stoic.  Who knows?  He started out at PriMed, then they sent him to the ER. The doctor there sent him home with a diagnosis ("looks like an ulcer"), medicine to reduce stomach acid, and directions -- go see an gastroenterologist.  

But here we are, six months later, and only just now seeing the gastroenterologist.  He had so many bad nights of feeling terrible.  I begged him to see someone else, to get more information.  "We pay too much money for insurance for you to suffer like this," I'd plead.  But alas, he would feel better and see no real need.  I can half-way understand his thoughts.  Doctor office visits involve tons of paperwork, lots of waiting, and intrusive tests and exams.  It's not fun.  It's not meant to be.  It's just necessary sometimes.

The phone rings and the gastroenterologist's assistant has changed the appointment.  It's best to do this sooner, so the date is now set to Tuesday, 19 August, and the birthday of Ben's mother.  I cringe a little at the thought of the disruption, but I really think he should handle this soon.  And when I tell Ben, he surprises me by agreeing that the time has come for a visit.

So, off we go into a afternoon of colonoscopy prep and general hungry misery.  I know the feeling.  I have a colonoscopy every other year and have had them for 10 years.  Not something I'd classify as fun, just necessary.  When we go to bed that night, it's blissful.  How could we know that the next day, as we take a step from one moment to another, life would change forever?  

Jeremiah 29:11 NASB ¹¹ For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.

*Graphics at beginning of page is from the creator of the website The Graphics Fairy.  All credit for the detailed sepia acorn belongs to her.