Walking up to the front desk I realized this could take lots of minutes. The room was full of masked faces. Is this really the world I live in now? As I move up one spot in line someone caught my attention and said “can I help you?” Anxious I walk up to the counter and ask if I can go to the room my husband is in. She inquires who I’m looking for. I tell her the name and she leads me down a hallway to a room that holds my husband as well as the doctor, nurse and a med student. Dr Something-Something was mumbling about being proactive and that he believes blah, blah, blah, then yaddah, yadda, yadda and my vision narrows as he begins to explain what he thinks is the likely diagnosis of the enlarged lymph node on my best friends’ neck. He notices my expression and his dialogue becomes more upbeat and positive. (Does he recognize this look in my eyes?)
I look at the Preacher and he is listening and smiling with his eyes and nodding his head. Proclaiming that he is a fighter and understands when Dr So and So says “know that this will not be a sprint but a marathon.” To his credit the Preacher stays positive and shares that he has run marathons and understands what Dr Such and Such is telling us.
I feel frozen in time. Tears burning the rims of my eyes I can’t even breath. He finished up his discourse regaling to us that he will be in Colorado with his kids and wife the next week or two so it’s likely his trusted nurse will call us with the “news”. What does that even mean? Does he realize how his comments make him sound like a pompous, affluent, out of touch jerk? Okay so I’m a little testy at this point. When medically scary words get tossed around like confetti it’s like someone singing silly songs to someone who just lost their dog.
He shakes the Preacher’s hand, then mine and waltzes out the door. The nurse leads us to another room to make appointments. Ms. Doing-Stuff is tappity tapping away and asking the most mundane questions. It’s taking everything inside of me and the grace of God to not yell at the woman when she informs us that the Preacher has to be off blood thinners for 5 days prior to the biopsy... my brain exploded. I explain to her that no one has indicated anything like this in the 3 weeks leading up to this appointment. She looks pensive and the Preacher looks at me as of to say “It’s okay, I will be okay”. But I DON’T feel ok right now. The snails pace that they are handling this is frustrating me. I want to tell her if it was her family member she would understand. It’s like December and Covid all over again. Spinning wheels inside my head with so many questions. And no answers.
The timetable of the medical world and the insurance world is no respecter of men. She schedules the appointments and we rise and walk out. I try to stay calm. I want to warn all the masked faces peering at us, to get ready for a less than stellar visit with Dr Such and So. I don’t. I take the Preacher’s arm and keep walking.
I swallow the tears and ask God to help me not fall apart on the one that needs me to be strong with him, for him. He smiles and tells me it’s going to be alright. He reminds me that all of us have numbered days and that he wants to enjoy all the ones God gives him. I know he’s right. I love him even more than I thought possible. I still want answers. We arrived in separate cars so we leave together, alone.
Driving away I can hardly think. Right now I’m angry. For lots of reasons. Some of them understandable by anyone. Some of them known only to me. Time slows down. I go to Harp’s. Buy some things I don’t need. I can’t find the list I had. Madness, sadness, questions and overwhelming tiredness.
It seems possible to surrender all of this to the Lord after some hours of quiet time and the prayers of family and friends. Decision made.’Not mine to carry. “His yoke is easy, His burden is light’. Therein will I remain.
