I volunteered to walk the dog on my own this morning in spite of the rain. I trudged through the fields screaming inwardly, back to my “Oh God, Oh God” interior monologue.
I remembered the verse that says that when we can’t pray the Holy Spirit prays for us. I spent a few days mostly screaming and groaning inside, grateful that God doesn’t need clever prayers or long prayers, just honest communication. I was honest with God. And myself. Brutally so. I am not a shiny ‘super Christian’, more a battered broken one God has had to fix many times. The wind and rain were oddly soothing, giving me something physical to battle against and covering my mutterings with their own roar.
Exercise and fresh air helped to calm me down and I looked for a more positive way to channel my thoughts: research. I used to be an academic and so it’s natural for me to hit the books. Problem was I didn’t quite know what to look for and I couldn’t read the doctor’s handwriting :-). I rang the cancer nurse asking if she could tell me which type of NHL Husband has so that we can find out more about it. We’d been told extra nodal but I then learned there were 3 sub types.
“Are you sure you want to do that at this stage?”
“Yes. Good grief, yes”, I mutter inwardly.
“It could be very upsetting”.
“I’m already way past very upset” I managed, with a laugh at myself, “but we’ll feel better when we know what we’re dealing with”.
It can’t be much worse than me melodramatically and tearfully contemplating the likelihood that our dog might outlive his human. Anyway, it is what it is, it’s happening whether we like it or not so we might as well get to know as much as we can. Pause. “I’ll get back to you,” promises the nurse.
And she did. I apologised that I’d been unable to read the doctor’s handwriting and she laughed, saying that he’s a lovely man but that his handwriting is legendarily bad. Dr Inscrutable with the equally inscrutable handwriting said he would see us the following day.