Hospitals -&- Thanksgiving



    Hospitals are peculiar places. Each day in a hospital feels incredibly long -- yet somewhat like it only lasted around four hours. It feels like you entered some other dimension where the outside world just pauses until you leave. The only way to occupy oneself and escape from the tormenting thoughts demanded by your surroundings is to stare blankly at a small table in a waiting room nearby and lethargically put together a puzzle that is most likely missing pieces. 

I met a woman in that waiting room. Her name was Lily. Lily was beautiful and alone. She spoke broken English and had a broken heart. She told me about her husband who either had cancer, a stroke, or both (it was hard to understand some of what she said). Either way, she was obviously afraid. I asked her if I could pray with her, and she let me. 

~let's rewind~

Everything started when I was at a conference playing the cello in the band. I got a call that my mom was taken to the ER in Seattle (she was there on vacation with family) and an MRI had found "lesions on her brain" (which is a very vague and terrifying thing to say). Mom's health continued to deteriorate -- she could no longer walk, eat, move half of her body, or stay awake for very long. She barely talked and she couldn't eat solid food. All in a matter of weeks. Doctors continued to do tests that continued to reveal nothing.

I had to leave the hospital without finishing that puzzle -- the doctors didn't finish theirs either.

Happy Thanksgiving.

  • Thank You, God, for family. 
  • Thank You for the older man in the elevator who patted my back and said simply, "everything's going to be okay."
  • Thank You for Jaren who abandoned all his plans just so he could be there to support me.
  • Thank You for doctors who genuinely care.
  • Thank You for a mom who will reach out and pray for me when she is in more need than I am.

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