Category Archives: God’s plans for us

A day of losses

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Nelson and Hans accompanied us today, a pleasant variation for Nate and me. The wet, stormy highways made me thankful I could ride rather than drive. After two hospital appointments, our plan was to drive the mile to Nate’s office to visit his many friends there.

My sister had arranged for a wheelchair, but once at the curb in front of his office, Nate gathered his strength and wanted to walk his once-daily routine. We slowly entered the lobby, passers-by unaware of the significant event unfolding.

Emotionally-charged hugging began before we even got to the elevators as the security guard rushed from her place behind the counter to throw her arms around Nate. She patted him as if they were the closest of pals, telling us how much she loved him. Nate seemed to love her right back.

Stepping off the elevator on the 13th floor, we walked through the thick glass doors with Nate’s name included on the list of lawyers there. What were his thoughts? Three weeks ago, when he left the office to meet me at the doctor’s appointment that fateful day, he never dreamed he wouldn’t work again.

One by one people emerged from their offices to shake Nate’s hand, most putting their arms around him at the same time. It was “old home week,” and I watched him take it all in. Several were holding back tears. One labeled it bittersweet. Everyone knew the painful truth.

The conference room barely held us all, every eye on Nate, but we quickly fell into an easy banter. If anyone was shocked at his having become a shadow of his former self, no one let it show. I looked around the room and thought of the great differences in the many personalities there, politically, religiously, culturally and in age. Somehow this group had managed to work side by side for 19 years in a happy crowd of humanity that appreciated each other for what they had in common.

In a tender gesture, many of them wore Christmas neckties and necklaces. Nate’s legendary collection of holiday ties had allowed him to wear a different one each day in December. He appreciated the joke and mustered a smile.

Later, standing behind his desk surveying the monumental work Rob and Tom had done in his badly cluttered office, he was quiet. Again I wished I could have read his mind. When we left, I believe he knew he’d never be back. He didn’t say anything negative, but surely he was struggling with the many losses… his office, his files, his clients, his co-workers, his career, his identity, his routine and even the security guard. Although he’s had losses of some sort every day, this day was overloaded with them.

Later, back at home, Nate ended his day with the comfort of a hot bath. But one more loss was added to the day’s total when he had a fall getting out of the tub. It took three people to get him up, but we were thankful a badly bruised knee was the only damage. All of us, Nate included, are wondering what tomorrow will bring… or what it will take away. I marvel at his stoicism and refusal to complain.

When Nate was finally settled into his hospital bed for the night, his face flush with the effort to get there, we read today’s comments on the blog, as well as many encouraging emails. Quite a few of the messages mentioned Nate being a testimony of God’s faithfulness. As we prayed together he said, “Oh Lord, I’m not worthy to be a testimony of you. Please make me worthy.” When I peeked at him, a single tear was running down his cheek.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you, for I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” (Isaiah 43:1a-3a)

Happy anniversary… or maybe not.

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Last night I was tidying up Nate’s night stand. Next to the half-glass of Gatorade was a rainbow assortment of Post-it notes, his long-term method of staying organized. Most were ready for the trash and none had any interest to me, but I peeled them up for him anyway. Stuck to the table-top at the bottom there was one that interested me. It said: 11/29/09, 40, carok.

Nate was noting our upcoming anniversary, our fortieth, reminding himself to be prepared. But what about the word on the bottom of his Post-it? I figured it was probably something in Russian. Nate has always studied languages and enjoyed a college minor in Russian. He speaks it fluently and loves practicing his vocabulary words. All of us know a smattering of Russian as a result of his consistent practicing on us.

This morning, on the way to radiation #11, I tucked his anniversary Post-it into my purse. As we waited for treatment, I handed it to him.

“Our anniversary,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, but what’s that last word?”

“It’s ‘forty’ in Russian.”

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Lately, we’re holding hands a great deal. Today I studied his hand as I held it in the radiation waiting room. His wedding band has never been off since I slid it on during our ceremony at Moody Church, in 1969. Since that day, he’s always been fully committed to me, protecting, providing, participating.

Forty years ago, each of us made vows to the other that were meant to be honored “til death do us part,” and it looks like death is about to part us. The official rending began last night when a hospital bed arrived at our house around 8:00 p.m. The flight of stairs to our bedroom had become a mountain Nate could no longer safely climb. A near fall and frequent stumbles, even though others have been “under-arming him” both directions on the steps, had motivated us to request the bed.

But last night as I put my head on the pillow in a room twenty feet from Nate’s new main floor “bedroom”, our physical separation settled hard on me. He was needy but was too far away for me to hold his hand… or hear his breathing or feel his chest move up and down. My bed was lonely, a sad foretaste of the future. Will we be together to commemorate our fortieth? Or will he be far away in another realm entirely, out of sight and out of touch?

As I tucked Nate in tonight after a busy day that wore him out, I asked how he liked his new bed. Too tired to speak, he just nodded approval. After I bent down to kiss him, I said, “I love you.” Too tired to reciprocate, he winked at me instead. In forty years, I can’t ever remember him winking at me. It was youthful, cute and loaded with meaning, and it made me kiss him again. He’ll never miss me like I’m going to miss him.

“Love bears all things. Love endures all things. Love never fails.” (Parts of 1 Corinthians 13:4, 7,8)

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Today was an 8.

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If a good day is 0 and a bad day is 10, today was an 8. En route to the hospital in Chicago, Nate called the doctor, wanting to set up a meeting after today’s radiation treatment (#10). In the last two days, new negative symptoms have popped up: dry heaving, dizziness and feelings of panic as breathing tightens.

Two doctors and a nurse kindly accommodated and gave us a full hour, despite our not being scheduled. When they asked Nate to rate his pain from 1 to 10, 10 being the most severe, he thought and frowned but couldn’t pick a number. The description beneath face #8 said it well: “Hurts a whole lot.” The medical team designed a new treatment plan to ease his symptoms and suggested we meet with the hospital counselor specializing in cancer cases.

The doctor described what he saw as the cause of Nate’s panic attacks, the conflict of being forced to choose between two bad choices. With the end of our radiation treatments in sight, chemotherapy was coming into view. “Chemo might help you, but it also will drain your energy,” the doctor was saying. Basically the question in front of us was, “Would you like to undergo chemo treatments that may not help you, or would you like to forego chemo and risk losing the help it may have given you?”

We’d already decided against the research study to see how using a new combination of chemo drugs in pancreatic cancer patients might help. But traditional chemo was still on the table for us. What would our choice be?

During the discussion, Nate was battling extreme emotional pain, maybe even a 10. It was written in the agony on his face. His dry mouth was causing his lips to stick to his teeth, and he was complaining of a severe stomach ache. Dr. Abrams prescribed something to relax him, agreeing that he needed relief and calming. He wisely suggested we opt out of our scheduled radiation treatment today after observing Nate’s overall stress and exhaustion, so we skipped it.

After our appointment, my brother Tom met us in the radiation waiting room to talk about their legal clients as he and Nate had done before. But today Nate couldn’t concentrate and was agitated in both body and mind. Tom called a halt to the meeting, having a sensitive barometer for his brother-in-law’s well being, and we headed home by way of two pharmacies. Arguments over insurance permission, pill prices and inadequate supplies left us both longing to end the day.

Finally, armed with a small supply of a new drug to ease Nate’s anxiety, we looked forward to a calm, symptom-free evening. But the pill overdid its task and knocked him out completely. He went to sleep in his clothes, a sleep so solid I wondered if he’d wake up in the morning. Tears, tears and more tears came as I watched him sleep next to me, his mouth open and his eyes only half closed.

When Jesus walked the earth, one of his statements summed up the way we would have to have to look at life from here on: “Do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

People often say, “Tomorrow will be a better day.” I have a hunch that won’t be true for us. Although we never lose hope, probabilities are powerful influencers.