Numbering Days, Week 153-157

Heading to the hospital in Hartford, I drove through part of the route I have run several times in the Hartford Marathon. It sticks out because the fun runners would let out a little whoop to hear the echo in the "tunnel" (it goes without saying I was not one of the whoopers). Even after all these years, my heart wrenched for the loss of running. 

That morning the Psalm I read had been a psalm of lament. I've been trying to grow in my lamenting...my complaining and honesty with God... so, out loud in my car I said, Fine. I will lament. This stinks. I miss running so much. There are innumerable losses on all fronts and they keep coming. I've been on the edge of what I can take so many times. Its all been so much. God, I know you don't make mistakes and you have trusted me to carry this story. I need you to make good on your promises. I need you to take all of this hard and loss and pain and suffering and use it for good. 

I arrived at the hospital and drove around and around the parking garage with no spots. Of course the plethora of handicap spots would be taken at a hospital...its the same at the cancer center. I eyed the incline of the regular spots, could feel the pain of walking it and decided to bail on the visit, to try again tomorrow. As I was exiting, there on level two was a handicap spot tucked in the corner, right next to the door to the elevators. Okay!

When I walked into Diane's hospital room, I saw someone covered with casts and braces and bandages and tubes, but out of ICU. Having fallen down a flight of stairs more than a week earlier, Shaun's dad's wife was pretty banged up. We spoke for a bit and, amazingly, she seemed happier and more at peace than I'd seen her in a long time. I commented on her smile and attitude and she said, well, I've been learning a lot from how you handle what you're going through. 

We talked some more and then the visit ended abruptly when a flurry of nurses came in to do whatever nurses do. (Its a weird thing being in a hospital. I hate the whole scene and it feels like home...a terrible, comfortable and familiar place).

On the drive back, I passed by the same spot and only then did Diane's words come back to me I've been learning a lot from how you handle what you're going through. I teared up and thanked God for such a swift, direct answer to my prayer. It was the needed reminder that He is such a personal God...He sees and hears; it was the needed encouragement that somehow all of "this" matters and is being used for good.

Early the next morning, word came that Diane had passed away from a pulmonary embolism. I don't understand it all, but God's presence was clear to me that day. I pray it meant something eternally.

Amy had been gently pushing me for a while, so when I was given this chemo break in March, I agreed to use the time to work with the pain management team (again). Since mid-June its been a difficult trial and error process, but recently I've experienced a dramatic decrease of my pain. Its imperfect, but I've gotten some mobility back, a cloud has been lifted and my thoughts feel clearer. What a gift to have some freedom from that constant drum beat of pain. I'm very grateful (and I may have even let out a whoop)!

Thank you for your prayers and love and care. It means so much.