MOVING DAZE

After I moved from Emergency to a room on the Respirology Floor on Friday June 10, my weekend in hospital passed uneventfully. My wife Terry made daily visits and I was preoccupied by making sure that I wasn’t being a bother to the nursing staff. After all, the fact that I continued to wear shorts and a t-shirt instead of drafty hospital garb affirmed that I was just passing through. I even managed to sneak out of jail on Sunday afternoon for an ice cream cone at nearby IKEA. My  82 year old roommate, Marsh, was a Parkinson’s patient who had broken a few ribs in a fall. His voice was thin and quaky so our conversations were a bit one-sided. His nights were restless and confused and I became his human call bell to the nursing station.

On Monday morning, I went to meet my problem solver, the CT scanner.

As I lay under the scanner waiting for a technician to take some pictures of my chest

and abdomen, I felt awkward and alone. How had I gone from the delight of babysitting in Hamilton to the ignominy of laying face down on a bed overseen by digital scanners in a cold and cavernous room ?

The Emergency doctor had said that my lung issue may have occurred as a result of trauma or possibly a tumor. I knew I hadn’t been in an accident but I tried to retrace my  activities for the preceding six weeks.

There was helping our neighbor Ruth move into her condo.

Moving our friend Sharon single-handedly into a retirement home. Her brother arrived belatedly with a pizza and an apology.

Working with my sister Yvonne to open up my Mom’s cottage on Georgian Bay.

Moving a  120 lb kitchen table in from the garage.

Getting the yard in shape for summer fun and of course, our annual bed and chesterfield shuffling.

Had Superman  pulled a chest muscle ?

That afternoon, much to my surprise, Marsh was returned to his nursing home. I was busy working on a crossword puzzle ( Monday’s crossword always makes me feel like a genius ), when a Dr.Gunther walked into my room unexpectedly. The look on his face did not suggest that I would be going to Disney World soon. He slumped in a chair and asked what I had been told about my condition and I dutifully repeated what the Emergency room doctor had said.

“You’ve got cancer, sir, lymphoma.” he whispered without making eye contact.

True to my math persona, I asked, “Give me a percent. What are my chances here?”

“Can’t do that” he said glumly. “We are doing a biopsy on Wednesday. But, yes, it is serious.
You have six tumours in your chest and abdomen."

I wanted to scream, “GOD, I WANT THAT SUNFIRE  BACK !”

 Still trying to process what Doctor Doom had said, my nurse Grace came in to get Marsh’s bed ready for a new patient. She must have seen my upset because she ventured,

“Bad news sir?”  I’m not a very good poker player.

“I’ve got cancer", I responded.

Without missing a beat, she said “Honey, when you’re given lemons, you’ve got to make lemonade”.

Almost immediately, I took out my mental juicer and started squeezing the reality out of the situation. I was sick, but the doctors have caught it and I’ll be OK.

Moments later, a second nurse arrived and sobbed out a story about her sick husband at home and the fact that she couldn’t retire because of his recent stroke.  I hadn’t even had a chance to put up my lemonade sign yet.

My good friend Mario telephoned to check up on his buddy  and I poured him a big glass.

“ I’m fine Mario. Should be out soon. They’re just running a few more tests.”

About an hour later, Terry arrived and my lemonade glasses went crashing to the ground. Terry is my angel, my rock and my comforter all at the same time. I cried and Terry offered so much more than the package of Kleenex she always carries around just in case.

After sharing my news, I told her that God had been holding me in the palm of His hand before she arrived and that He had spoken into my heart. Everything was going to be fine… I had Stage 3 lymphoma, it was going to be a long uphill battle with lots of frustrations. I had no idea what Stage 3 cancer meant but I had my celestial diagnosis a full sixty days before the definitive biopsy results came back from Sunnybrook. I also had two more messages from on High…one to give some money to charity….God knows I can’t serve two masters… and two…get in touch with Covenant House to do some tutoring for teens there. 

If indeed this was God’s gift to me….man, is He ever a lousy gift wrapper !!

I arrived home a day later and the telephone rang. I dreaded any contact from friends before we could tell our kids about my news. But it wasn’t anyone I had ever talked to on the phone before, it was Covenant House calling for a donation.

God was knocking on my door….and my seedling faith began to take root.