Beginning A New Chapter

I’ve been working my way up to going camping again. But I went out to our Airstream that we bought together, just to inspect the state of readiness; and I got a whiff of her perfume…

And I had to sit down for several minutes, wiping my eyes, unable to see, barely able to breathe.

When we bought it, we were delighted with it, and enjoyed taking it camping. She especially loved it, because we’d dreamed of having an Airstream for some 20 years.

And then she got too sick to go.

I’d asked once or twice on good days if she’d like to go camping, and she had replied that she just didn’t feel up to it. So I chose to concentrate on the things she could do, rather than the things that she could not do.

And so the Airstream sat, in the upper meadow.

For six years.

I began to pray for wisdom for what to do about the trailer, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this particular trailer was WAY too much for me. It was fine for us and her, as she loved the luxury and the size, and the way that she felt safe to move around inside, even with her reduced mobility. This is something that Airstream does not advertise, yet they should; for people with reduced mobility, these trailers are an excellent fit.

Several good friends helped with wisdom, most especially my best friend since college days, who lost his own wife many years ago: “You have to live your own life. We mourn what has happened, but we have to move on. “

But in considering what to do now, I realized that I needed a serious downsizing. At 8-1/2′ wide, the trailer was difficult to handle on our narrow country roads; when my wife was with me, I could ‘talk out’ my nervousness (and we could pray together) when a semi was approaching from the other direction, taking every inch of his lane. There is also the length – I want to go back to some of the wilderness areas where we used to camp, and a bigger trailer can be a drawback, to the point of excluding you from some places.

I took a look through other manufacturers’ offerings, and their mantra of ‘bigger, taller, longer’ doesn’t fit with my worldview (it never did, actually). And then there were the sacrifices of quality in going with most of those manufacturers from Elkhart, not to mention how difficult it is if your mobility is compromised. I came right back to Airstream because they’re more accessible, and the consistent quality is a known factor.

I began talking to the dealer, finally making a visit. They told me they had just gotten in a 19CB, and it was being prepped and pre-delivery inspected. But, as I was interested in that very size, I would be welcome to take a look at it.

I stepped in, and it was like meeting an old friend. The layout was almost exactly like a trailer we’d owned many, many years ago, that one built by a Northwest manufacturer. We went just everywhere in that trailer, having many good years with it.

I was sold; THIS felt right, was right, IS the right path forward. This new Airstream is EIGHT FEET shorter than the Airstream that I traded in. It pulls and tracks beautifully, like an Airstream.

Most people name their Airstreams, and we were no exception. You register with Airstream, and they send you a nice medallion with your VIN number and the name, ready to mount in a spot on the skin, specifically made for this.

I originally thought of naming the trailer “Song 16″, in honour of my wife and our epic love affair, and the way we would periodically watch (and sing along with) her favourite musical, West Side Story. Song 16 is from the original score, and is the song, “Somewhere”:

There’s a place for us,
Somewhere a place for us.
Peace and quiet and open air
Wait for us, somewhere.

There’s a time for us,
Some day a time for us,
Time together with time to spare,
Time to learn, time to care.

Some day,
Somewhere,
We’ll find a new way of living,
We’ll find a way of forgiving.
Somewhere,
Somewhere . . .

There’s a place for us,
A time and place for us.
Hold my hand and we’re halfway there.
Hold my hand and I’ll take you there
Somehow,
Some day,
Somewhere!

Steven Sondheim

But, I’ve reconsidered. I want to be looking forward, not back. When I was looking at this Airstream, a name had popped into my head, and I’d dismissed it. After spending a few days out with it, I’m going to name it “Dot”. Fits better. A couple of photos in the upper meadow, back from one trip, waiting to go on the next.

The first place I went was the special place we’d been going for decades, but we never got to visit with the Airstream together. We were making preparations, and she had a major setback; so that special trip remained incomplete.

And I saw something in the comics that was especially touching, given that I’m bringing my buddy Thunder with me on these adventures:

When someone asks me, ‘where to, next?’ the old Trekkie in me can’t resist vaguely waving and adding, in the words of Captain Kirk, “Out there… Thataway”.

Grief Brings A Sad Anniversary

It was eight years ago that my vivacious and active wife was thrown onto her back by our overly-enthusiastic Golden Retriever.

We had just arrived at a new-to-us campground, and he saw a squirrel. Bolting after it at full speed, his flexi-leash was being held by my wife, who was looking the other way. When the slack ran out, her grip on the leash was such that it didn’t spring out of her hand, but instead instantly transferred the energy to her, throwing her violently onto her back.

Initially, it didn’t seem like much of an injury (although it hurt like hell for her), so we elected to stay out for the weekend. We had Tylenol and such in the trailer, and so she took some and just ‘stood it’, saying that she should be okay soon.

Meanwhile, completely unknowing the heartache to come, I innocently made a couple pictures of the sunset. Every time I see this picture, I’m reminded of her injury.

.

And her back never got better.

There wasn’t anything we could have done at the time.

But this day was the beginning of six years, six long years, of agony and increasing debilitation for her.

—————————

A year and eight months on, Grief’s longest shadow still walks alongside me. The silence in the wake of her loss is no less deafening, the darkness no less dark; I have instead learned not to give in to it, but to allow it to remind me to turn toward life and our Creator.

My book is still underway; part of it will be a celebration of our epic love story together. This kind of love never diminishes; it only becomes harder to see when Death temporarily separates us. The fire of our love will never go out; it is only occluded for a while.

This story needs to be written; its words burn in my bones.

Wildfire – Too Close For Comfort (picture post)

Having spent time in news, I would normally be reporting on this and posting lots of pictures. But I can’t, right now.

Personal and property safety concerns have to take precedence. An evacuation was very much a possibility – a strong possibility – until yesterday. I was busy figuring out what I needed to take, should I have to leave our home. I had to weigh what I could carry, versus what I’d like to take. I’m fortunate, in that I have most everything I need, already in the Airstream.

But the questions are of great consequence: what’s important to take, if I have to completely abandon my house? What do I REALLY need to have with me? A series of very poignant decisions ensued, and not under the calmest circumstances.

If you live in wildfire country, or have such country nearby, I would encourage you to do this thinking beforehand, rather than have to do it under duress, as I did. We did discuss this kind of thing, years ago; but those memories are dimmed by time and lack of need. But present need has a way of snapping things back to front-of-mind.

My list became clear, and then I had some additions once I calmed down a bit:

• Meds – I have some spare “daily pill” containers (because of my late wife’s sickness); it strikes me that it’s a good idea to fill these when you are notified that you’re in the LEVEL 1 – GET READY area. It’s also probably a good idea to fully sort out and empty all bottles into it, when the local fire is unstable and growing chaotically. Just set the pill holder out and take your daily meds out of this, for now.
• Thunder’s dog food – check. Already have that out in the Airstream, ready for camping.
• Clothes – enough shirts and underwear for a couple weeks. Being a guy, getting a few (or more) days out of a shirt and pair of gym shorts is okay…
• Toothbrush and stuff – check. Already in the Airstream.
• Food and water – half-check: Have gallons of water on standby already in case of power failure. I will start the fridge in the Airstream, and will carry up some frozen stuff if it gets to that point. Note to self: put a hook for bags from the freezer handle, so they’re right there.
• CPAP – I repurposed my wife’s unit for my use; next trip up to the Airstream, it’ll go to its permanent spot inside.
• Important Papers – I have a briefcase purposed and positioned for these; this will be a grab, stuff, and go item.
• PCs and Backup Drives – I have a spare power supply for the home PC, and my work PC has a spare power supply for mobile use. If I can get WiFi wherever I end up, I’ll be golden. A small note: My work PC doesn’t belong to me, but I am responsible for it. It’s actually more portable than the home unit.
• Password Hint Book – Yup, need that. Grab with the PCs and power supplies.

Now that things have settled down somewhat, the Evacuation Zones have changed, leaving much more distance between me and the active zone, my mental state is much less frantic. I can calm down a bit and sleep a little better. I’m at a place where I have time to spend in posting information on the Nakia Creek Fire, which is about 8 (air miles) from my home.

Yes, you read that right. Eight air miles. Actually, about 20 ground miles, as the terrain is REALLY steep and almost impassible. Many difficult obstacles for a fire to cross, before it starts getting really dangerous here.

Let’s talk about the fire itself. The Nakia Creek fire, as of this writing, has these characteristics:

• 1,796 acres, grown 200 acres overnight from ~1,580.
• Human-caused. One story circulating has young people on minibikes, getting grass caught against the mufflers.
• Fuel – important to note that this fire has old logging slash as a major source of fuel; I’ve yammered on about improper forest management, and this is the old lecture being proven true.
• Flame lengths are 4-8 feet.
• Currently 380 personnel involved.

I noticed smoke and called it in last Sunday evening, to be told that they already knew about it. Turns out that the initial call had come several hours earlier. Thunder was on his way in from a ‘sniffabout’ in the back meadow, when I grabbed my phone and made this initial snap after making the emergency call: (Click any picture below to enlarge.)

The fire was moving VERY fast. Within an hour, it had grown frighteningly.

Darkness fell, and the spectre was even more grave, made more infernal because the phone camera is especially sensitive in the infrared band.

By the time I was ready for bed, we obviously had a real conflagration going on.

Midday Monday, things looked a lot better – it was obvious that those brave people from DNR (Department of Natural Resources) were REALLY on the job. They began water-bombing it, continuing through all week, and had called in greater resources to bomb critical areas with retardant. At one point, there was one of either a 737 or an MD80 on the job.

And things seemed to be going well. But over the weekend, we’d had our typical seasonal winds of 15 – 20 MPH sustained, with gusts well over 30 – and it really brought the fire back to life.

As of today, I can’t tell you what it looks like. Winds are calm, and the smoke layer is heavy. I can’t go outside at all, and I have to keep all doors and windows tightly shut; the air quality is THAT bad. I stepped outside a moment, and the first breath I drew, I tasted smoke STRONGLY on my tongue… As this shot shows, you really can’t see much at all past the edge of the meadow. Unfortunately, the camera white balance compensates for the sickly orange color of the sun right now.

I’m just relieved that our brave firefighters have kept this from spreading toward more populous areas – although the folks up in the wilderness on the North side of the fire aren’t so lucky – it’s spreading toward them.

We are all praying for a good, soaking, and continuous rain over many, many days; to help put this thing out. NOAA shows rain in the forecast, but not until this weekend – several days away, as of this writing. Yesterday I was praying, “Thank you Lord, for bringing the rain – we see it coming – and I know things happen at YOUR timing, not mine; BUT CAN YOU PLEASE HURRY IT ALONG!!”

Should you wish to add your prayers to ours, it would be most welcome.

Faith, Exercised in the Darkness

Lately, I’ve been having some dark evenings, when the loneliness left in the wake of the loss of the love of my life; the loss of every bright point in my universe, the loss of she who was more than half of me; has weighed very heavily upon me.

I’ll put my Kindle down, and the …deafening quiet… lurking in the arrant, excruciating silence of the house begins to bear down on me. The utter emptiness of the dark begins to become frightening in its oppressiveness.

Were I not a person of faith, I would be lost. But I pray for guidance, and…

I had something literally come to hand a few days ago, and it speaks volumes to this. The actual quote is longer, but I’ve very lightly edited it to keep it on-point:

Faith means something when it’s exercised in the darkness.

I believe that faith means something when you don’t understand the whys. I don’t think God ever condemns you for asking why. But in the ultimate analysis, the question is not why but it is Who? God calls on you to believe in Him who said, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father but by me. I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live again’ [John 14:6, 11:25].

Ultimately you must trust in that.

Dr. Robert Jeffress

And there was a prayer that went with this:

Lord God, I have so many questions and doubts and feelings of guilt and blame. Where do I go from here? Lead me in Your way, truth, and life. Amen.

Complications… Continue

My wife was discharged from hospital to the Physical Rehab facility Tuesday afternoon. She was OK with going, since things are opening up and I could be there to visit every day (after a 24-hour settling-in period).

01:00 Wednesday morning, my phone rings. They hang up. Then the house phone rings. I’m sleep-deprived, and my temper flares. I bark at it, “Who do you think you are, calling me at ONE IN THE MORNING!!” It was the hospital; they’ve re-admitted her with her CO2 levels way high and her SpOx levels way low.

Oh Lord.

As of today, things are getting sorted and her ‘sats’ are better, and they’re getting control of the CO2. The antibiotics for the pneumonia are working, and she’s moved from IV to oral antibiotics. There’s still some sorting-out to do regarding her diuretics and effects on her heart condition; they’ve been adjusted twice to generally move in a positive direction.

Release to Physical Rehab… Monday? Not sure. And my wife’s not sure if she wants to go back to that particular facility, since they screwed up her care and put her back in hospital.

About Dara: Her spirit is undimmed by the bandages and now a cone. A couple days ago, we went to the cone, as the Vet wanted that big wound to air-dry. But yesterday, we had to go back to bandages because there just isn’t enough skin to cover the wound area. The terminology revolves around ‘granulation’ where the body regenerates tissue and skin where it’s been lost. But this is going to take quite a while.

Yow!

The house remains quiet and devoid of my wife’s bright spirit. Sleep, good restful sleep, remains somewhat elusive. Dara is figuring out how / where she can go with the cone on, bonking into all kinds of stuff. Including me – ouch.

Meanwhile, if you are in front of our Creator and happen to think of us, we appreciate any mention.

Now, on to the NEXT Bump in the Road: The HVAC is Fried…

First, a minor diversion – because it is part of this journey: A long time ago, I recall talking with my best friend, who at that time had a habit of asking, “What ELSE can go wrong?”

Not to seem superstitious, but it always seemed that something else bad would happen to him shortly after he said that. I remember years of coincidences, and so I resolved myself to never say this out loud.

I am so very far from perfect (look, I can’t even see ‘there’ from here!), but there are times like this when I’m talking to God and say, “HEY!!! Look, I KNOW that you said you’d never let us be tested beyond our ability to stand it, BUT DO YOU HAVE TO GET SO AWFUL CLOSE???”

I remember some teachings that encouraged us to completely share ourselves with God in prayer. And stuff like this has to be part of it. You feel like yelling at God? Go ahead! He can take it!! He knows us, and wants us to be fully honest and humble when walking into his presence. I want to say something important here:

Prayer should never be considered to always be ‘a quiet activity’.

Humble, yes. Quiet, no. Think of the (good) kings in the bible crying out in anguish for their people and prostrating themselves before God. Not much quiet about that!

Prayer is sharing your heart, your feelings, your fears and emotions with your Creator. The Way was provided through Christ’s death. We can come boldly into God’s presence and speak with him in the manner of a child to his Father. And like you would be with your own father, your friend, be honest. Be … YOU.

Okay, so let’s get to the second point of this story: the heat pump system is busted. Big time…

About a week ago, we had a power surge. A big one. It sounded and felt like a truck had hit the house.

Now, we just don’t get power surges way out here, as they’re dissipated in the sheer length of the power lines. The last surge like this we had was at least fifteen, maybe twenty, years ago. Some kid hit the power pole at the end of our long dirt road at high speed (takes talent to do that – it’s 20 feet off the road).

This new power surge just plain killed the heat pump system: The guys came out to look at it, and we have (at least) a fried controller in the air handler, and (likely) a pair of fried boards in the outdoor unit. I asked if these are still under warranty, and YES! Thank God! (And I mean that seriously!) There’s at least three thousand dollars’ worth of damage there. What’s not covered by warranty is the smart thermostat (Lennox). It was discontinued about six months after ours was installed, and obsolete items are not warrantied.. So we’re on the hook for $900 or more.

Trying to look on the bright side: at least it’s not the dead of winter. But wow, do temps in the mid-90s make it HOT inside the house! Difficulty sleeping, or doing any kind of physical activity.

I have estimates coming for a whole-house surge suppressor, and we’ll never take the system for granted again…

I’ll post updates once I have them.

First update:

The guys were able to fit us in yesterday and the system is running again. Meanwhile, the day was 78° and it was the coolest it’d been in the house for a week and more. The bill? Not so fun. Roughly $1300.

Second update:

Had a couple electricians come out and estimate the whole-house surge suppressor: $580 from one fella, and dead silence from the other. Tried four times to contact him; emails bounce, texts to his phone bounce. It’s obvious he doesn’t want the business. Or doesn’t care to maintain the back-end of it.

The Latest Stone in the Road: Canine Mast Cell Cancer

Last Thursday evening (July 2), I noticed a pea-sized lump on Dara’s front right leg. No fooling around: if this was an infection, it needed tending-to. As soon as the vet was open, I’d be calling for an appointment ASAP.

The next morning, it had gone from pea-sized to walnut-sized. Clearly this was something not to be taken lightly. The receptionist at the vet said that the next regular appointment was IN A WEEK! Not good enough… I asserted that we had something serious going on here, and she needed to be seen soonest.

Look, I’m not some alarmist that positively insists that you look at little Precious’ scratch right now… I’ve seen enough of this kind of thing that I KNOW this is something serious.

“Well… (long pause). We do have a drop-off available on Monday.”

“Okay. See you Monday at 8:30”.

Dara was nervous as we headed to the vet’s, and it showed as they led her back to be kenneled and then examined. She usually goes willingly, tail wagging. Not today.

I got the call mid-day, (and will shorten the conversation here):

“I got a look at this mass, and it’s Mast-Cell Cancer. I don’t have to send the sample for biopsy, the diagnosis is clear. It’s good that you got her in so quick; this is an extremely aggressive form of cancer. But I think we can successfully treat it.”

Pause here for my intake of breath and to acknowledge the forming of a cold mass in the pit of my stomach:
We lost Wheaton (our former rescue and Golden) only four years ago to osteosarcoma. I lost my Mom to metastatic breast cancer some 42 years ago; she was only 57 years old.

“OK”, was all I could manage for an answer. Oh Lord, please – no. Not The Golden Curse!

“I’ll need your permission to do a set of chest and liver X-rays. This type of cancer can spread quickly to the lungs and internal organs.”

The rock in the pit of my stomach grew. A quick prayer, and then, “Okay. No problem, let’s go for it.”

“Great. I’ll have some results for you later this afternoon, and then you can pick her up a bit later.”

I hung up, called my wife (at this time, she was still in the Physical Rehab facility), and we prayed.

Let’s also take a moment to thank God that, for whatever reason, I was petting Dara on the leg and found this. I don’t normally touch her in this spot. All I can say is that my hand must have been guided to find this.

Later in the afternoon, the vet called with the first bit of good news: “Her x-rays are clean; she doesn’t have any tumor spread to her organs. Looks like we might have caught it in time. You can pick her up at about five.”

I hung up and called my wife with the news.

Five o’clock came and I was there in the vet’s parking lot (social distancing) and waiting for her to come out. The tech was letting her set the pace; she was really woozy from the anesthesia, but at least (sort of) walking. We came home with a bottle of Prednisone pills (which are a chemotherapy for this kind of cancer), and she got the first of them as soon as she was awake enough to notice that I’d wrapped it in a piece of pre-sliced ‘singles’ cheese (her favorite snack of all time).  She had a surgery date for very early next Sunday morning.

The week passed slowly, with her drinking lots of water (and lots of trips outside to potty), and me giving periodic updates to my wife.
Wednesday, I felt the lump, and… I can’t believe this; can it be – it feels a lot smaller!

It was an answer to prayer.

The night before her surgery, I was outside on the deck for devotions, and I had the strongest feeling, one that went beyond words. My hand is on her.
When she went to surgery on early Sunday morning, the tumor had shrunk back to close to the size it was when I found it – it was the size of a peanut, versus the size of a pea when I found it.

The vet phoned in the late afternoon and said he felt he got good margins, and asked to send the tumor to biopsy to verify that. Well, of course; no problem with that, here.

So now she’s on the end of the leash so that we can watch her constantly – to keep her from bothering her stitches. We just know that she’d be going nuts if she had to wear a cone. For her, it’s also tough because she has a strong neck and it’s actually almost as big around as her head. So there’s not much way it would stay on. She also is on restricted movement – no running (this is me laughing, because she really doesn’t run anywhere) or jumping for the next couple weeks. She goes to have her stitches pulled in a couple weeks, and then she should be good to be a free-roaming dog again.

Lord, thank you that she’s doing so well. Please, please… We need a cancer survivor. Amen.

Let Us Take a Few Moments to Think About Those Who are Supporting Us by Making Masks to Keep Us Safe

The people in our church are amazing. Whenever there’s a need, there’s always someone volunteering to pitch in. We have a group who does quilted blankets for disadvantaged Native Americans, and when they heard the need for masks for this pandemic, they immediately turned all their efforts to fulfilling the local need.

They graciously and happily accepted the work and help of others, whose talents weren’t, perhaps… as finely honed… as theirs, and the combined output from all has been amazing and moving. I would not be exaggerating if I said it has to be in the thousands of pieces. It has been an uplifting story of everyone joining together to make a real difference, and what they have done so far is a real blessing to do a great service to very, VERY, many others in need.

My wife is one of those for whom this present danger is a very high risk, and I am humbled to have two of these masks on my entry table.

By way of acknowledgement and blessing upon their efforts, I want to share with you, from this week’s service-in-absentia, the prayers of blessing upon all who had a hand in this massive effort; and the blessing upon those whom are blessed by their efforts. All of these blessings below were written by members of our church. Each writer’s name is at the end of the blessing

A Blessing for Face Masks by Rev. Donna Vuilleumier (adapted)

Blessed are those who give the gift of their time and their talent to create face masks for others, from cloth, flannel, elastic, wire, yarn, and buttons – for their community, for strangers, for they shall help to save the lives of many people. Adam Sitler

Blessed are those who make masks for others to wear so that together we may protect especially the most vulnerable for they shall truly know the value of each human life. Norm Bembenek

Blessed are those who work tirelessly to fill bins in the market or the clothesline across the front door of the church with masks of all sizes and types, for they shall know that this is grace, compassion, and love of neighbor. Jim Bibler

Blessed are the mask makers who send face masks to those who may be forgotten, to the agencies that support the homeless, nursing home staff, and residents, the mentally ill, the prisoner, the tenderest among us, for they shall have respected and remembered the least of these. Paul Dailey

Blessed are those who create ear savers and hunt down the buttons that hook on to the face masks for comfort for those who wear them for endless hours, for they shall see the face of God in each caregiver who wears one. Doug Danielson

Blessed are the mask wearers and the masks, may they protect us, and all those we encounter, from the threat of this disease. You willed that all people should have life and have it abundantly. You call us to care for one another, putting the needs of our neighbor on par with our own. May those who wear them never bring harm upon anyone, knowingly or unknowingly, by spreading this terrible disease. Mike Ladage

Blessed are the transporters of masks, those who give of their own money for supplies, fuel, and postage for face masks. Those who have picked them up and driven or mailed them to places in need, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Joe Keller

Blessed are the mask wearers; may we see the masks as a sign of care and concern for others; open our eyes and hearts to see the face of our beloved neighbor beneath each mask. Open our ears to be able to listen in new ways to the hearts of the mask wearers, for they shall be called children of God. Bless the mask wearers and the mask makers this day through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. Brandon Zarzana

She’s Home

Finally, light and life return to the house.

After a week and a half in the hospital, she lost some 20+ pounds of excess water in her body, had her heart meds changed out for different ones; and unfortunately, the hospital gave her the flu and pneumonia. She was in quarantine for most of the time, not something that would contribute to any feeling of freedom and being able to get out of the room and walk the halls.

She was discharged on the 9th to the Physical Rehab Center, and in times past, had done very well there. But this time was different. The bed somehow didn’t work with her physiology, she wasn’t getting any rest, the people who cared for her weren’t the same as before, and although she was doing well with her Physical Training, she was depressed.

Then came last Friday night and an ‘incident’ about which I cannot go into detail here, save to say that it was a violation of her person. She elected to not press charges, as it appeared that it was a gross negligence in training. Keep in mind that they handle folks that are low-cognition, and… okay, enough. That was the last straw, and she wanted out ASAP Saturday, after spending only a week there.

We spoke to her GP about release, and went through all the hoops. Although it took a few hours, she came home. She promises to diligently pursue her PT here (still has the cue sheets and exercises from last time) and promises to come out better than before.

But tonight, God is in his heaven, and my wife is home. Finally. After 2-1/2 weeks.

And look! God lifted the clouds from the Ridge! This is a rare sight.

What lift for a weary heart. Thank you Lord.

A week of Doctor, Clinic, and Scan Visits … and the Scare of a Near Fall

She is so glad to be home – when she has been home, this week. As the title says, it’s been a week with something going on every day.

Meanwhile, at her GI doctor’s request, she had begun to follow the Low-FODMAP diet (difficult to explain here, I must ask you to look it up; essentially, it is a diet for people who are having IBS troubles), and she had been beginning to see success with it.  This after two years and more of, shall we say, ‘runny guts’. Her troubles are like the woman in the Bible with constant bleeding; except so many times I have prayed for Jesus to come walking by, so that she might touch the hem of his robe…
And I do NOT say that lightly, rather it is in all seriousness, coming from great anguish of spirit.

On Saturday, the day after she came home, she had been craving Chinese take-out. Months to think about it, to savour it, vicariously.

Annnnnd… that… was… a mistake. Immediately she was back to the old GI problems. Consider that her insides have been in rough shape and have currently a low tolerance for irritants.

Monday came and she was better. Thank God.

So this week her Monday appointment was with the Transition Team at the Clinic – they ‘transition’ you out of your hospital stay and to regular life. She saw the Osteo folks at Rebound on Tuesday, who made her stand for radiographs of her back; she came home really tired from that, and unknown to us, her knees did not recover sufficiently for Wednesday. That morning we were going to her appointment for a ride through the CAT, and she was having trouble with her stamina in her knees.  She paused to sit and rest in the hallway, and then said she was OK to go all the way down the ramp and out to the car.

But as we got close to the car, she began to call for help. I whipped the door open, and was in the act of helping her sit on the seat, but her knees buckled…
… but at least she ended up in the footwell instead of on the ground. And no injury. Oh, thank you Lord.

We called a neighbor, who helped her stand, then sit on the car seat. A long sigh of relief, a tiny pause for a thankful prayer, and we were off at speed to make it to the appointment.

She will see her GI doc, sometime after yesterday’s CAT scan. The trip through the CAT was to provide evidence for/against Crohn’s Disease. And it appears from the Radiologist’s evidence that she doesn’t have Crohn’s. Or nothing else serious. Again, thank you Lord.

I began composing this post Thursday afternoon; that day we got a new bed delivered (there is now hope for fewer backaches) and she was seen here at home by the Visiting Physical Therapist, and the Visiting Nurse.

She is frustrated, to say the least; at the Physical Rehab/Care Center, she had been walking 250 feet at a stretch, with minimal problems. But here at home…? 30 feet gets her winded.

Let’s have some good news. Yes, there is some.

The great news is that after all her Occupational Therapy, she feels confident in beginning to cook again! So Thursday we also had a Safeway delivery; just some basics to start with, as I was working from home. But stuff for her to begin cooking again.

Hope rises.

Thank you all for your prayers for her. May she continue to improve.

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A short postscript –

Dear Safeway:
I have bad news for you: your “updated” app for the iPad just … sucks. The page formatting is off (with text displaying on top of text), and what happened to the ability to shop aisle-by-aisle…? Please fix it. You’ve taken something that was only mildly frustrating and turned it into something genuinely frustrating.