"Come unto Me
All Ye That Are Weary and Heavy Laden
And I Will Give You Rest"
When I was younger, my parents were involved in the Eucumenical Institute, now known as
Institute of Cultural Affairs. We would be hauled off to Fifth City in Chicago at some awful hour for a weekend of (at that time) torture. We would complain, moan, and complain some more, yet it provided a foundation for my life and some of my beliefs now. We used to sing that verse to the tune of "Bye Bye Love". In our many trips to Johns Hopkins so far, I have only been to visit Him in person once(this year), for this photo. Yet I know He is there, so I hum "Bye Bye Love" singing to myself "Come to Me, all who are weary and a heavy laden, and I will give you rest, and I will give you rest." My FIL claims to be an atheist. His older son has been a patient, on and off, of JHH for over 30 years. The last one was a close call and afterwards, he bought a replica of the statue for his home. It's not spoken of but is prominently displayed. Comfort comes in many ways.
The surgery went as expected. The nodule was metastatic, from his bone tumor of almost 15 years ago. No other treatment is expected. Hopefully, this was it. As a friend wrote me, a slight detour, not the path.
Relief flooded me after the surgeon spoke to us. My Father and Father in Law (named Big Dad by Audrey - the youngest grandchild) stayed with me that afternoon. I had trouble maintaining my calm (okay, I tried not to cry) as I called each of my children to tell them the good news. My Dad left and Big Dad stayed, he was taking me home. Finally we were able to see My Handsome Prince in ICU.
When we walked in, the nurse kept the small talk up, commenting on how well he was doing, wanting to know what I was making (I had knitting in my hand), yada, yada. Poor baby, grimaced and groaned with every breath he took, yet managed to sweep his hand towards me and tell the nurse "She is beautiful". I did not want to cry. He kept talking about it hurt to lift, as he lifted his head. I kept telling him, don't do it. Finally, he said "No, it hurts to live." I've never been a queasy person, but at this point, I was sweating, cold and naseaous and had to sit down. I didn't want them to mop me off the floor. This was my husband, in a state like I had never seen before. If I felt like this, I can't even imagine the helplessness my Father in Law felt that evening. Finally, a good dosage was set on the morphine pump that he could administer every 5 minutes. He snoozed, woke, assured us he was fine, snoozed, wanted to watch Walker, Texas Ranger (a private joke - check out the
Chuck Norris page), and wanted us to leave. We made him anxious and he could rest if we left. We did and it was probably the hardest thing either one of us had done in a while.
Friday, 6:30 AM, phone rings. Shit! Panic. It was My Handsome Prince, saying he has his own private room, he was out of ICU. Amazing guy, thinking of me.
Todays visit was very subdued. He slept. I knit. My Mom read. My Dad came and a friend from church came. Later, after I arrived home, Big Dad called, MHP had been up walking and was sitting up in a chair. He is battling the naseau from anesthesia, but the morphine has been cut off, and he is doing well. His color is good, his breathing is good, he's doing what he's supposed to do. He is such an excellent patient.
This husband of mine is the bravest soul, the most thoughtful man, and the most amazing man. He has had many battles and has come through with faith. I am a lucky woman.
Emma is coming home tonight. All three of us will visit tomorrow. I will show them the statue. I hope it will bring them comfort. I will call my sister and get all the words to the song and teach it to my children. And we will sing.
Post note: Saturday, we brought him home. It's tough, but he's here and we can take care of him. Through his fog of pain and meds, he hears the girls laughing and I think that brings him comfort.
I would say he is feeling better. What a goof!
