morning. She spent the night here with my son, Sam, after attending Secret Church last night. I arrived late but sat on a front row pew with them for two hours, indulging in the teachings of David Platt. It was one of several events I've enjoyed since my biopsy was cancelled.
Yes, the biopsy of my spleen was cancelled. I should have mentioned it on FB before now but it's taken me a few days to digest all the information and put it out here in black and white.
Around 3:30 Wednesday afternoon, a nurse called from the hospital to go over procedure protocol. When we hung up, I was to check in at 8:30 the following morning. Within an hour, my primary care physician called, informing me that a hospital radiologist had called to say they weren't comfortable performing the biopsy due to the risk of bleeding. After much discussion she decided to order a PET scan to measure how fast the lesions were growing. But five minutes later she called again, saying an in house radiologist didn't feel a PET scan would help and encouraged a follow up MRI in six months. We opted for four, and since a month has already passed since the original scan, I'll have the MRI in July.
Medical. Chaos. I've been swirling in medical chaos.
While not knowing what the next day will bring has forced moment to moment living, I'm actually OK with the final plan. Waiting has its benefits and not being poked with a long needle is one of them.
And not only did I get to attend Secret Church for a few hours last night, I also ate dinner at a Longhorn Steakhouse with Don and his Home Depot sales team. Their manager is leaving so the group chose to honor his departure with a family meal. Having never met most of the people in attendance, creative conversation ensued - like why I married a man fourteen years my senior.
The topic started when I mentioned a sales call Don made last week. As he began his window spiel across a table from a woman in Adairsville, she mentioned she'd worked for the sheriff's department for thirty-two years. After some quick math, Don asked, "Where were you in December of 1972? Our little football team came this way for the State Championship game that year."
"I remember that game." she replied, "I was a senior in high school that year and it was a cold, rainy mud fest of a game."
[In case you're wondering, I had just turned three and moved from Hawaii to Pennsylvania to Georgia.]
Don hesitated and the woman continued, "We lost to y'all in the final minutes of the game. We out played you, but we still lost."
Not sure if he should go on, Don finally asked, "How would you feel if I told you I was the guy who caught the winning pass?"
I'll let you imagine her response.
After the hub bub died down Don continued, "I could be bluffing you know. I might not have caught that pass after all."
"I doubt that." she replied, " You have kind eyes."
At this point in the story last night, I told his co-workers that I agreed with the woman since I married Don because of his kind eyes. I'd looked into several pairs of eyes during my ten years of widowhood, and Don had the kindest eyes I'd seen.
Of course it helped that he was a hometown football hero. As the geeky drum major who never mingled with athletes, I quietly entertained distant crushes on quarterbacks. I told Don that while I'd always wanted a quarterback, marrying a tight end would suffice.
And that brought to mind one more thing his work mates needed to know about my mild mannered husband. On one of our first dates, he killed a rattle snake with just a stick. The slithering pest was sunning in the street on a back road in North Georgia while a little girl road her bike near by. So Don put the car in reverse, backed up behind the snake, and left me screaming like a girl as he approached the viper.
Stick in hand, he whacked the unsuspecting creature just behind its head. Then he picked it up,careful to keep the jaw from his flesh and offered me a close up look. Still undone, I only peered through a window. After we drove off again, he realized he should skin the varmint for my children. I wasn't so sure, but the rattler and snake skin road home in the trunk that day.
So while I sort through medical chaos and unanswered ailments, I slog through it all with a snake killing hometown football hero with very kind eyes. Some days the snake killing side takes me for an uncomfortable ride. But at the end of the day, Mr. Kind Eyes sleeps by my side. And it's a good thing.
photo credit: coffee04 via photopin (license)
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