I try to write something every day. That’s right, I try, but I’m not always successful. One thing this effort produces is several unfinished pieces. Lately, I’ve been looking back through my files, and I’ve been discovering some unfinished efforts. Here’s one (…changed a bit to reflect more accurate tense):
On Valentine’s Day, two years back, my wife and I went out for a nice dinner. The restaurant to which we went had nice ambiance, and the food was just as good. We enjoyed every bite, as we enjoyed each other’s company. Later that night, I started to feel bad (for lack of a more descriptive characterization). As the night wore on, symptoms started to accumulate: fever, nausea, diarrhea and more. Around two a.m., following Valentine’s Day, my temperature had risen to 103, and I felt as if I had been run over by a Mack Truck. Being the Multiple Myeloma patient that I am, we knew it was time to make a trip to the emergency room. Fortunately, the ER I go to is part of an academic medical complex that also houses the cancer treatment center where my oncology team resides.
I was hopeful that I would spend a few hours in the ER and be released to go home. This was hope against the reality I’ve experienced on more than one occasion. There is no way the ER staff, after consulting with Myeloma caretakers, would ever allow a Myeloma patient to return home, even if the symptoms were less severe than what I was experiencing. Compromised immune system, plus the symptoms I displayed make for a life-threatening scenario.
After being admitted to the hospital and connected to an IV, containing powerful broad-spectrum antibiotics, I finally dosed off to sleep. Of course, anyone who’s ever been in a hospital knows that peaceful sleep just doesn’t happen. Nurses and medical technicians are disturbing your slumber throughout the night to check vital signs and administer medication.
I ended up spending three days and three nights in the hospital, which were just long enough to find me skirting the depths of pity. During my stay, I found myself so tired that I didn’t even have the energy to eat. Standing, sitting and, of course, trying to walk around my room were pathetic attempts at displaying normal activity. For a short time, I felt so bad that I found myself telling God that if it was His will to lift my spirit on, that would be fine with me. Then, I remembered a promise contained in the Holy Scriptures from Matthew 28:20: “Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.
You might be wondering why I didn’t think of something more appropriate at the time, given the emotional and physical imbalances I was experiencing. I’ve learned to not question whatever the Holy Spirit brings to my mind, especially when He brings flashes of comforting light. Anyway, it was the latter part of the verse that resonated loudly with me. I realized that God had promised to be with me always, even during times such as what I was experiencing. I was not lone, and I had Him fighting this battle with me/for me. His promise was one I could take to the bank and there would be more than enough funds to cover my much-needed withdrawal. What I felt would soon be gone a few days later.
I’m old and blessed with the knowledge that God is carrying me through my life-threatening journey. I hope you will be blessed to have this confidence too, if not already.
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