Oh, the places we will go.

Dear Mr. Hodgkin's,

Where did I leave off? I must admit, you have a habit of flustering me, so forgive my forgetfulness. Ah, yes... to speed up our friends.  After that oh-so-dreadful news of your inhabitance, I went straight for home... my parent's home.  Isn't it true that when life throws you off-kilter, there's nothing sweeter and more stabilizing than returning home?  At least that was my instinct, so after I assured my mom I was okay to drive, that's the direction my car headed. 

Pause.  Does this mean I have a past of not being okay to drive? Let me take a minute to rewind back to high school to shed some light on this.  After receiving news that my grandpa had been air-lifted to a hospital, I jumped in my jeep and by a forceful push of the pedal, my speedometer climbed from 0 to 60 mph in a matter of 5 seconds (jeep's have some serious giddy-up, people).  Of course, just my luck, a cop was sitting on the side of the road (lights off, mind you). It only took another 5 seconds to pull me over.  There's a further story that unfolds from there, but let's just say I ran to their cop car, crying deliriously, had to stand 5 feet away with 3 lights shining in my face, explained my situation all the while their hands close to their weapons; however, after all the confusion was dispelled (clearly they needed perspective), I ended up getting an escort home from the kind gentlemen officers.  No ticket; therefore, no folly. In conclusion, when my emotions are high, my driving may somewhat be affected... somewhat... slight degree... don't judge me. Nevertheless, back to where I left off: I reassured my mom I was good to go and confirmed that as soon as I peeled out of the parking lot.

On the drive home, I prayed for an earlier appointment, begged for an appointment even that same week.  A strong sense of urgency flared up with the thought of you growing in my body uninhibited and unrestrained. Ew. Within hours, a care coordinator called me saying the time scheduled for the next week wouldn't work and asked if that appointment could be pushed back.  My heart sank... with a shaky voice, I asked, "Is there any way I can get an earlier appointment?" Because the girl had pity on me and the Lord answers prayers, my biopsy was switched to that Friday. 2 days to wait... doable.

Friday came and I trekked down to United Hospital to do a few biospies on you. Nothing too notable, except that 3 medium-sized needles pricked me and after a conclusion of poor samplings, they came back with 2 larger needles to poke at the same lymph node.  Definite bruises, for sure.  It was vague when I would hear results: my specialist said that day, my pathologist said Monday, and my primary doctor said Tuesday or Wednesday. Again, with just my luck, I did not get a call until Wednesday afternoon. 

How can I explain the waiting process to you? I can only ascribe it as pure helplessness. With a bug, you can take action: swallow some medicine, get rest and drink tea. Not in this case; not with you, sir.  There's nothing I can do to heal from you on my own. I have zero control. Do you know how scary that is? ...But then, just like a flip of a coin, I experienced this overwhelming sense of complete freedom. Because do you know then who does have control over you, Mr. Hodgkin's? This all-powerful man, this known Healer, named Jesus. In fact, I am told in Matthew that by simply stretching out His hand and saying, "I will heal you; be clean," Jesus healed those as sick as the lepers and as feeble as the paralytics. Those who were beyond hope with no cure in sight were healed and made new by the power and gentle touch of my God, Jesus. Even more so, just a few lines later, it is written Jesus already took my illness and already bore my disease. He took care of this long ago on the cross and is faithful to the end, sir. I don't mean to cause any disrespect, but you must know, you have some serious opposition.

The Wednesday phone call was made by the EMT specialist to deliver news that I do not have Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma, but that the pathologist needed a larger sample to confirm you were the culprit. So what needed to be done? A bone marrow biopsy on both hips and surgery on my neck to remove a lymph node. Sigh. Okay, whatever it takes.

Finally, Tuesday, January 31st rolls around and I'm in a hospital bed at United waiting for the surgeons.  After 2 hours of pre-op, plenty of repeated questions on my health, IV's digging into my skin, I then came face-to-face with a substantial hurdle and my biggest concern of the day: feeling pretty exposed in my hospital gown. If you know me, I'm about as conservative and bashful as they get when it comes to matters of dress; so when I naively thought I could be clothed appropriately throughout the surgery and then found out otherwise, my heart started pounding and I started sweating. Endearing? I hope so. "Just put my under now," I dramatically begged.

Fast-forward 3 hours when I finally came out of the cloud of anesthesia.  Since I take no medicine or drugs as it is, my body did not respond too well with all the pain meds they gave me.  They held me captive for 6 hours in recovery when I finally resolved to fake it. "I'm feeling much better, miss. Can I go home now?" The nurse scurried around to give me my final meds and remove my IV's as I made a side-ways look at my mom and mouthed, "I'm about to throw up." Before my nurse glanced back, I turned back to her with as big of a smile as I could manage. You may not want the details, but I did toss my cookies on the drive home; however, I calmed my stomach by a McDonald's cheeseburger. Better than medicine, peeps.

Okay, Mr. Hodgkin's, I had every intention of bringing everyone up to speed, but you have taken up enough of my evening.  My oncologist appointment was today, and the general information he gave about you was somewhat frightening. I can see how the future seems scary with your looming presence, but I will not lose hope. My God calls me to a much worthier response: "He will have no fear of bad news; His heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord" Psalm 112:7. I'm now instructed and I must heed to my Teacher. Peace out, man.

Yours truly,
Heid