Saturday, September 27, 2003

KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BALL

It doesn't take much to get our dogs to pay rapt attention.



I merely have to hold a tennis ball in the air and their frenetic lives come to a halt.




In that brief moment of time there is nothing on this planet that concerns them...only the ball.

The ball's implied promise of release and the slobber punctuated frenzy that will follow, holds them still.



Amy is home. She told her doctor she wanted out of the hospital last night and he capitulated. She's still in pain. Modern medicine has found a few relatively minor medical anomalies in her innards, but it looks like still more wizardry will be needed.

I may get distracted at times, but weeks such as this give me focus too.

Friday, September 26, 2003

SIGNS

Each day this week as I drive home from the hospital I pass an IHOP restaurant with a sign out front reading, "Pancakes that never end - $3.99"

It's on a busy street and I'm often stuck in front of that sign for significant periods of time.

Pancakes that never end.

Does anyone else find that disturbing?

At what point does pancake pleasure



turn into pancake pain?



It seems like it has all the ingredients of a nightmarishly abysmal B-movie.

PANCAKES THAT NEVER END!!!!!!

Shouldn't there be some culmination?

I guess it's symptomatic of my mood. This week, more than ever, I am looking for resolution. I am praying for it.

Never ending stories, even those smothered in syrup lack appeal.
=====
There is another sign which I've seen a lot this week..



That sign is outside the elevator in the hospital where Amy is now well entrenched.

Each time I step into the elevator I look out upon that sign and think of the people who stood in the same spot pushing button 3 to the transplant floor.

What a long ride that must be.

Amy is in room 525, and as the elevator doors close I am thankful that I am pushing button 5.

Amy's prognosis is still clouded in uncertainty and concern, but nevertheless we are quite blessed.

I don't have to look far to see clear signs of that.

Psalm 11:7
For the Lord is righteous, He loves justice; upright men will see his face

Thursday, September 25, 2003

STASIS

Amy is undergoing a bunch of tests today and there are too many to cram into just one fun filled day in a hospital gown, so she's not being released. I will say having my life focused on Amy's health has made the week fly by. It hasn't exactly been a productive week. I don't think I've done my best at the office, but sometimes you have to work by rote I suppose.

This has been the routine: Work. Hospital. Home. Nap. Hospital. Home. Sleep. Work. In between, I yell at the dogs for barking...and occasionally I feed them.

Amy is actually feeling pretty good, which makes all this much more tolerable. Early on, when she was just pained and drugged, it was a different story.

I'm reminded frequently that others have much heavier burdens to bear.

Patience is not my specialty, but obviously it's a character trait God is willing to instill in me by force if necessary.

I know this hasn't been the most enlightening or coherent writing this week. It's the first week since I started this blog that I haven't felt like saying much. However I promise that coming soon I will write about important things...like elevator buttons, bluebirds and pancakes.

There are lessons in those things...at least to me.

EARLY THOUGHTS

Amy asked me to bring a blow dryer, her makeup and hair gel to the hospital today....the tide may be turning.

Yesterday's tests did not spotlight the need for surgery, which is good news. The bad news is the tests didn't tell us much of anything else. Today another exam is planned, basically sticking a camera down her insides and looking around. There is a possibility that after that I can bring her home.

I hope she wants the make up for the trip home...and not for the medical photography.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003

THE REST OF THE STORY

I'm not complete today. Amy isn't here.

It's been tiring, and little things are started to frustrate me...big things are becoming infuriating.

I don't write well in this condition...I whine.

I think today will be a day of rest.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

117

Amy was born at 1:17, and thus began a life long obsession with that number. She notices when digital clocks read 1:17; I've pointed out this happens twice every day, but it still doesn't seem to demystify the event for her. She sees 117 on license plates, billboards, phone numbers, etc... Today at the hospital as she was getting prepped for a "PICC line" which will force feed her iron, she turned to me and said, "Do you have your camera? Get a picture of that."



Some machine above her head had a readout of 117.

117 pops up everywhere for Amy...except on lotto tickets.

My blog friend Jim points out that not everyone who reads this is familiar with Amy's health concerns. I guess a little background is in order since for a while I'm going to be consumed with her health when I have time to write. In a nutshell, Amy had gastric bypass surgery several years ago. She's had some complications, two of which have required additional surgeries. A fourth surgery looks like a distinct possibility. Despite her numerical fixation, I'm fairly certain Amy is not secretly trying to reach 117 trips under the knife.

It's odd, for the past week Amy has been in a state of near mania as the pain increased and the glare of additional hospital stays and surgery seeped beyond our collective ability to ignore it. I was fairly calm and did my best to remain optimistic.

As soon as Amy hung up the phone with her doctor last night she seemed completely at ease. She was in control. She had a game plan. She started making calls, packing her bag, getting prepared. I, on other hand, lost all focus and function. Amy got checked in to the hospital, and tucked in for the night. I tossed and turned. I prayed and searched for pity. Then I went to work in something of half functional haze.

Today, Amy is feeling fine



Of course when morphine is your breakfast offering a cheery outlook is a lot easier to achieve.

My breakfast was bacon and eggs...I couldn't sleep so I cooked..

Today, my attitude is better. My time at the hospital this morning was reassuring. Seeing the caring approach to medicine Amy is receiving has made me feel better.

I know we will deal with what's ahead from a position of strength. I have any number of reasons to believe that.

For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. - John 1:17

Monday, September 22, 2003

A ROAD TOO WELL TRAVELLED

Amy is packing her bag. She's checking into the hospital tonight. We finally managed to get her doctor to call us and he is relatively convinced more surgery is ahead. If that proves true it will be the fourth surgery in as many years.

Tomorrow will be full of tests and apprehension.

Tonight is absorbed in an all too familiar disorientation.

This is a road we've been down too often...I'm learning to traverse it on my knees.

THE MEDICINE, MAN

My friend Sam had to go back to the hospital yesterday following his snout rerouting. He was having some bad pain. Sam is a fan of the Houston Texans but it's only worth passing mention that the pain became unbearable as the Texans game against the Chiefs wore on....and on...and on.

It was Sunday afternoon, which of course meant his doctor was not available. I've learned over the years that on Saturdays, Sundays, and most holidays the on call physician is never going to say, "Gee, I think I'll go open my office and you come in right away." Instead they're always going to say, "Go to the emergency room". That's what happened in Sam's case.

Pass the buck medical style

Anyway, my friend Ben drove Sam to the E.R. and I decided to meet them because the hospital is nearby. Plus, the Texans game had just ended and I'm really not above kicking a guy when he's down.

Sam got poked, prodded and repeatedly asked questions that had nothing to do with his condition, but were required for some important insurance company medical form that will be filed away. The forms no doubt will go unread until archaeologists unearth them in 10 thousand years and scratch their collective heads saying, "Why do you think they needed to know his shoe size?"

Ben and I sat in the waiting room.

Ben is quite possibly the wisest person I know. He lives and works in a secular world, but he is spiritually centered. You will be talking with Ben and he will gently guide you toward insights of how God is working in your life. It is effortless on his part, because he lives that life so fully...so devoutly.

Ben is a gentleman and a gentle man.

When I met Ben I thought, "That's the type of man I want to be."

I've known him for seven years. My opinion and my aspirations have not changed.

When Amy and I met Ben's children we prayed our kids would turn out so well, and over the years we have asked Ben for his advice on child rearing. He has never steered us wrong.

I know of no better witness for Christ.

Ben and I talked about where we each are in the seasons of our lives, about the crises we have faced and are facing, and how we cope with the world at large. In his tender manner he coaxed me to unload my thoughts and burdens. He offered sympathy, but also sound advice.

The time flew by.

After a couple of hours of the hospital staff doing what weekend hospital staffs do best, ignoring us, we barged our way in to check on Sam and learned the doctors wanted to get another skull shot. Figuring they'd be dismayed by what they saw, and that it would take at least another hour as well as a few more forms, Ben and I went to dinner.
The meal was good...the conversation was fulfilling.

When we returned, Sam was dosed up with something that not only alleviated his pain, but also blanked out all memory of the Texans performance. No one could ask for more, obviously they had given him the good stuff.

Ben drove Sam home and I drove away realizing that this trip to the emergency room was just what the Doctor ordered...for me.

Psalm 37:30
The mouth of the righteous man utters wisdom, and his tongue speaks what is just.

Sunday, September 21, 2003

CRIES TO THE SKY

Amy is in increasing pain, and I am unable to do much of anything for her. There are few things that rank higher on the scale of misery.

We await the scheduling of tests; the results of tests.

We are mired by the realization Amy's doctors do not share our sense of urgency.

It's a road we've traveled before, but the course is made no easier by familiarity.

The horizon is obscured by the foreboding mist of vagary and fear.

I can only offer it all up to You, Father...and in doing so know I am no longer helpless.


Psalm 28:2
Hear my cry for mercy as I call to you for help, as I lift up my hands toward your Most Holy Place.