delay (1/13/12)

It's been a while - haven't known what to write because I don't know where we are or where we go or if life ever stops hurting. I feel bombarded by hurt - like every time I turn around there it is again, like an old acquaintance I should be so used to, but hate to see again -and can't emotionally deal with it every time it comes around. sigh . . .what to tell you . . . .Mike went to MD. Cincinnati drs gave us real hope that a diagnosis might be in sight. They talked of a case just like Mike's many yrs ago and a guru of the disease and this dr was talking with the Cincy drs and was very interested in Mike's case. So Mike went. Mike did not see the "guru" as he only does research, but Mike saw his associate, and he was told "you're one of the most complicated cases we've ever seen". We're aware - but thanks for the memo (little sarcasm there). It came down to funky unexplainable bloodwork, no real answer for headaches - just things to try, a reduction of prednisone and no diagnosis. Mike was tested for the rare disease, but was told his prednisone was likely throwing the numbers off and a decrease was necessary to retest. The dr was concerned about the high level Mike was on, but with a decrease in prednisone comes the reality of Mike's body's inability to keep him healthy - kidney stones, high fevers, raging headaches, abscesses, sleepless nights due to headaches and vomiting and passing out and a general beat up feeling are what Mike has been dealing with since the decrease in prednisone. Mike said to me last week, "I wish He'd either take me or heal me." My response was that no one would blame him for feeling that way - sometimes that's how I need to respond - not "cheer up" or "this'll be figured out", or "tomorrow will be better" - but I can totally understand why he would feel that way.

And what about me . . . . here's what I just don't get right now. I've battled with the Lord many times through all this, and this is my current and strongest battle- why the false hope???? Why the seemingly open doors and possible answers and things that have appeared to us, granted in our own human minds, to be gifts and God ordained appointments, only to be disappointed again and again and again. I'm just being real here, friends. Is it so we "keep the faith"? Is it so we know He's real? Is it so we learn some lesson we are just too hard headed to see?

So perhaps this is what life is - me working to support my family and carry insurance - Mike being on disability and being sick for the rest of his life - us fulfilling a caretaker/patient role for the rest of our married lives - at 32 and 35, that looks pretty grim, but perhaps it's reality. We've held out hope that something somewhere would come about - but when do you stop hoping and start accepting that this is life? When does this unknown illness become more serious and what would we even do about it and will it ever? I totally hear creation groaning sometimes and it's hard to rise above.

I will end with this. Two weeks ago, the Wednesday after Christmas, we lost our sweet Shepherd. I can hear some of you, " It's a dog, get over it". Allow me some perspective sharing here. When I moved to Cincinnati, I knew no one, had no job, was home by myself a lot as Mike was working. Justice was my company. He followed me, he walked with me, he ate with me, he watched me, he took charge of me. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't question that dog would give his life for me in a minute. Shepherd loyalty is unbelievable. When Mike was seizing, and I was at work, Justice stayed by Mike's side to lick him when he woke up so Mike would know someone was there with him. When Mike was seizing hard, Justice would put his head on Mike's legs in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. When Mike and I had had our fill of life and we would sit and cry, Justice would sit with us. When we went to bed, me in our room and Mike in the chair so as not to keep me up with seizing, Justice would lie equidistantly between us, to ensure he could watch us both. You may also remember that I talked about losing yet another thing in life and how much that would hurt and how I didn't know if I could handle it . . . .Justice was family, friend, caretaker and protector all in one. It hurts every day he's gone, every day I walk in the door and he's not there, delighted to see me. My enlightenment in thinking about his life has been this. Justice's character reminds me that God is our Shepherd, and perhaps, in all those times Justice was there, God was too, and I needed a tangible presence.