{In the interest of being completely transparent – I thought I would post the following journal entry from December 4, 2008.  I know it’s kind of random, but it is interesting to read in light of my current events.  I especially like the part in bold at the end.}

December 4, 2008

(in Missoula at Mom’s doctor appointment)

A man was just wheeled in to Radiology, Walter.  I overheard the year he was born, 1916. I’m amazed at how healthy Walter looks at 92, probably more healthy than I.  He has an empty coffee can on his lap – interesting.  I hear it’s in case he “throws up.”  With the whirling smells of the hospital, wheelchairs (yes, they do smell), stale coffee, and perfumes – I might lose it too, Walter.

I’m in the waiting room at Radiology.  My mom is having some type of special test this morning in Missoula.  I’ve never done this – I have never been on this side of a hospital visit.  I am trying to decide which is easier/harder.  In a very selfish way, I can’t help but feel a sense of relief as I sit here, safely away from being poked and prodded, in the waiting room.  However, I do not rest easily that my mom is the one being tested.  From this perspective, I hear, see, smell, and breathe sickness.  Even though it is not necessarily a sick department.  This department is usually a diagnosis, not a cure.

The uneasy laughter and joking, comfort through a handheld, a gentle shoulder squeeze. The worry is everywhere – it does not reach to despair yet – but flirts with the line between worry and despair.  Why are we so scared and uneasy?  Will the results be that bad?

I am not afraid to die – anymore.  I am afraid of suffering – alone.

Irony – when I go in for a test or exam – my uneasiness is within the test itself and the possibility of more testing if the results are inconclusive.  My fear has rarely been found in the anguish of the unknown results.  Fear is everywhere here.  In a time where the sounds of “hope” resounds – it is not found lurking in these halls of despair.

One – 51 year old man has a brain tumor and a failing liver.  “Take comfort in the time you have,” a friend offers the wife.  Fear, helplessness and despair are written all over her face.  Before I knew the mans diagnosis, I could see the passion between him and his wife; lingering, desperate glances and constant touch.  He has refused treatment – it is too late. Such an intense, clinging love.

Hope.  I want to inject these people with hope.  There are so many sick, sick, sick people coming through these doors.

Three factors that have helped me:

1. Jesus

2. Family/Friends

3. Sense of Humor

Though with the first one – all things are possible and we are able – he gives the last two, freely, to sweeten and spice up our lives.  He is good.


3 thoughts on “Reflection

  1. you are amazing! i love you…your gift of communication is incredible. you truly are remarkable…just saying 😉

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