In the Closet

A hospital is the worst place in the world to be when you're trying to believe that God wants us all to be healthy.

Yes, Mike had another hospital stay a couple weeks ago. This stay only lasted four days -- one of his shortest ever. He came home from a checkup one Tuesday afternoon (where he received a bag of blood and platelets) and within minutes of getting home, he felt chilly. He took his temperature and it was 101 degrees. Since his neutrophils were extremely low, the doctor wanted him to come right back in, so I immediately left work and brought him back to the hospital where they admitted him until that Friday. Thankfully, the fevers were under control quickly and the tests they ran didn't show any infection. Personally, we think the fever was a reaction to the blood products he received hours earlier, but with low blood counts the doctors couldn't take the chance that it was something more.

Since getting home from the hospital, Mike's counts have gradually come up with the help of nightly injections to stimulate him immune system, but his body doesn't seem to hold platelets well and he continues to need infusions with each checkup. With this past Friday's checkup, Mike's immune system showed it was strong enough that we were able to have lunch out in a restaurant yesterday and spend some time shopping together. It was such a nice change to do "normal" couple things again.

I'm trying. I'm really trying to think positively and believe in a change for the better. I keep waiting for the visible turning point, where I see the tide start turning and I can finally say, "The miracle has come. Thank you, Lord." But mostly I just see miracles and healings as things that happened in an old book, or that happen to other people you see on "The 700 Club" or some other evangelism show. I really don’t know anyone who’s been healed, and I’ve never seen a healing. It’s hard to believe in this stuff when it's not tangible.

I almost forget what life was like before cancer. I almost forget what it feels like to wake up each day and have joy, not fear. This disease is cheating us of our lives – and God is just standing by letting it happen. I have too much faith to walk away from God, but I have too much doubt to lean on Him completely. Growing up, we had a dog -- a beautiful collie named Shep. My brother and I would play tug-of-war with Shep with whatever toy he had (an old doll, a chew toy, a towel, etc.). Being kids who didn't know any better, my brother and I would try to win the tug-of-war game every time until my dad clued us in. He said, "You have to let the dog win once in a while or he'll get frustrated and won't want to play." It may be a bad analogy, but that's how I feel with God. I feel like He and I are in this enormous tug-of-war. I pray and pray and simply ask that the love of my life be spared and allowed to stay here with me so we can build a life together. Yet, every prayer I pray and have prayed for years now seems to go unanswered. I have gotten so frustrated in my prayer life that I don't want to play anymore.

A few weeks ago on a Saturday morning, Mike said to me, "Can I tell you about a dream I had last night without upsetting you?" Sensing my apprehension, he immediately qualified that it had nothing to do with his health (whew). He proceeded to tell me that he had a dream that we were at my grandparents' house, and we were there with a little toddler boy -- our son, who we called "MAC" (these were the initials for his name; Michael after Mike and Alfred after my grandpa). "MAC" was sitting on my grandpa's lap, and Mike said he could see the joy on my grandpa's face, like he was just eating up every second with his first great-grandchild. And my nana was there, gently and playfully scolding little "MAC" for something mischievous he had done. I thought the dream was so sweet, but it did sadden me. I was saddened that Mike was worried about telling me, that he might somehow upset me. Yes, his dream does touch on a particular sadness of mine. As I've said before, one of my greatest hopes and prayers is that my grandparents live to see the birth of my children. I've watched my grandparents age. Generations get older, can’t do the things they used to do, even pass away. New generations help fill these voids. I realize that we don’t have the new generation to brighten our lives and breathe new life into the family. There's no new life to fill that void.

I titled this post "In the Closet." I chose that title because of something that recently happened. A few weeks ago, Mike was having a particularly difficult night emotionally. I forget exactly what set him off, but it was likely due to some physical symptom he was having which was wreaking havoc with his mind. We were sitting in the den watching TV and he got really quiet, which I knew meant he had lots on his mind. Suddenly, he got up and walked back into the bedroom. I didn't know what he went in there for, but I let him alone for about five or 10 minutes. Finally, I got up to go find him to see what he was up to, but as I approached the room I didn't find him lying on the bed or puttering around the room. In the darkness, I called for him and asked where he was. I heard him answer, but not from the place I was expecting. He was in our walk-in closet, sitting alone in the dark on my storage box full of shoes. He just had so much fear and anxiety in him that he didn't know what to do anymore. I turned the light on, crouched down beside him and just let him talk. I tried my best to reassure him that he was OK. But I also know him well enough to recognize when he doesn't need a pep talk, but rather just needs to let out his frustrations. Mike and I both have our "in the closet" moments when we're so frazzled and lost and don't know what to do with ourselves. Now, we sit and wait for someone -- anyone -- to lead us out of this darkness and back into the light.... and life.