Reflections on the Diagnosis

When we got the diagnosis that we never expected, seemingly from left "universe," everything changed.  Immediately our thoughts raced from future outcomes to present details, and everything in between.  

I couldn't speak for five to ten minutes in that ER room, shaken by the scan results the doctor had just read from her phone.  I just kept looking into his eyes and reaching down deep inside me for comforting words to help him adjust to this news.  I held his hands, kissed him gently and let him know that we were in this together.  Whatever the path we had to travel, wherever the journey led us, I promised to remain right there beside him.  I was going nowhere.

I knew we had to phone our sons and tell them.  I knew that they would be deeply saddened and shaken just like us.  But I also knew they would pray.  I texted my family and some friends also.  Somehow we knew the more people we had on our new team the better.  No one should suffer in isolation.

We were told that he would be transported by ambulance to a Pittsburgh hospital.  I was glad when they told me I could ride with him.  The gravity of the situation still slowly dawning on me.  I had a little time to pack a bag for our hospital stay.  It's funny now when I remember how I rushed into the house, grabbing what I thought was necessary, leaving some really important things at home.  My thoughts were all focused on staying next to him.  

The ambulance drivers were very nice.  They put him on a gurney and wrapped him like a burrito with insulated blankets and straps.  I wondered if he would be comfortable like that.  The pain meds helped him to fall asleep quickly.  He doesn't remember much of that ride.  I chatted with the driver in the front seat for a while and then rested my head against the window and dozed myself.

We arrived at AGH shortly after 11 pm, a flurry of activity, nurses, questions, paperwork, IV tubes, bags of fluids, medicines, pillow, sheets, blankets, and a comfortable chair next to him that would be my home for the next 5 days.

Just when the activity settled down our friend, Rick, walked into the hospital room.  We were happily shocked that he was there, in the middle of the night, with his loving smile, jokes,
ready to pray with us.  To know Rick is to love him.  He and his lovely wife have been faithful godly friends of ours for almost 40 years.  Rick is a Pittsburgh guy who bleeds black and gold for the Steelers, says "yinz" without apologizing, and just happens to have a doctorate in theology.  He loves God and His word, and on the rare occasion when I successfully get him to start talking about scriptures, it's like listening to beautiful music. He stayed for a couple of hours while we started to process all the new information, joking with Tony about the good old days when they taught together at a Christian school.  Before he left he pulled his anointing oil out of his sweatpants pocket and prayed over my beloved.  I don't remember the exact words, but I know that it was exactly what we needed.  Somehow I understood that in this strange new place, God was with us.

The next few days in the hospital brought lots of tests, waiting for tests, talks with urologists and oncologists, trying to rest, cafeteria meals, texting, reading, praying.  We loved our nurses, all of them.  Tony engaged each one in conversation, drawing them out and enjoying their stories.  One nurse, Vickie, told us she had never had a positive experience with anyone named "Tony."  So my sweetie made it his goal to change her mind about that before he left the 9th floor of AGH.  I think he succeeded.

On Sunday one of my friends texted me about a church that was across the street from the hospital.  Since it was mid-December they were having Christmas services.  I hadn't left the hospital for days and wasn't sure I should leave his side, but decided to venture out for a walk anyway.  I strolled through the park looking at people around me, almost like I was staring through a glass bubble at what normal life looked like.  I entered the back of the church auditorium and sat in the last row next to a lovely woman who liked to sing as much as me.  The choir was singing about Jesus enthusiastically.  I moved my mouth to sing but I'm certain that no noise was there.  I felt bathed in the comfort of God's praises all around me.

When I left the church I continued my quick tour of the park.  Through the cold air I heard worship music blasting from a truck and followed the sound until I saw the most beautiful sight.  A group of people were serving steaming hot meals and giving out warm clothing to the homeless in the park.  I walked through the crowd, choked up, tears filling my eyes, at the presence of God all around me.  People were eating, talking, praying, and trying on coats, unaware of their effect on me.  Once again, God was driving home His message to me, "I'm here."

The testing was finally done on day 5 at the hospital, the results of the biopsy would take a few days to complete.  We were discharged on a cold Tuesday afternoon.  Our friend, Bob, came to pick us up.  Tony sat in the front seat for the ride home discussing the details of our hospital stay.  I sat in the back and listened to the conversation, but keeping my heart and mind always open to whatever God would whisper to me.  I was beginning to understand that there was almost no line for me between breathing and praying.  It's just the way I exist now, the way to move forward.  At my feet I felt a glass container of frozen soup that Bob's wife, Danni, had sent for us.  It's something how a bowl of soup can speak of such love.  As we continued on the long drive home I kept bumping the soup with my feet, every touch a solid reminder once again from my Lord, "I'm with you, and I'm taking care of you."

We spent a few days at home waiting for our first visit to the Cancer Center to hear the biopsy results, all new territory for us.  When we arrived on that Thursday morning, one lovely nurse took us into an exam room and started taking vitals.  Then she looked at Tony and said he had a very calming presence about him.  She asked if he was a pastor.  He said no but replied that he loved God very much.  She asked if she could pray for us and, while we cried holy tears, spoke to her Father in heaven asking for healing and comfort.  God was proving to us that it doesn't matter where we went or what facts came our way, He was right there with us.

Our wonderful oncologist took some time to explain the different types of lymphomas and how they would be treated and then gave us the news, "Diffuse Large B-Cell."  It's an aggressive, common, but treatable lymphoma.  She outlined the procedures that my beloved would have to endure and gave us a warm smile to indicate that it would be ok.  She has proven to be a fierce ally in our fight against this formidable opponent.  

So now I have tapestries upside-down in various places around my house.  Each one a reminder of our earth lives.  Just like my hero, Corrie Ten Boom, wrote how all we see here is like the underside of stitching with knots, frays, tangles, all a vague impression of what the Grand Weaver is really working on.  Only when we are in Heaven will we see the final result, the beautiful stories of our lives as only He can embroider.  Only then will we see how the contrasting dark and foreboding colors allow the cheery tones to pop off the canvas.