Every
day I look at my husband, not only do I see love, I see hope. So many
people have commented that we have been through a lot, and yes, we have,
but there are others that have been through so much more, lost so much
more. We don't live in a country where my daughters might be the
victims of an honor killing or stoning for shaming the family. We don't
live in dry, cracked land in Africa where
I have to watch my child starve to death and take her last breaths in
my arms. We are humbly grateful for all the GOOD we have in our lives,
and there is much good to be had.
I see hope when I look at
Mike because I am reminded that not only is God using him to hopefully
show Himself to those that don't know Him, how he depends fully on God
to get through each day, but I see eternity. I see the day where we
will have the bodies that are perfect, healthy, strong, everlasting. No
pain, no hurt, no disappointment, disease, abortion, murder, divorce,
anguish, death.
I see that one day I won't have to fill a
syringe at 9:30 each evening with 90 units of Lantus, a slow release
overnight insulin to keep blood sugar from spiking in the morning, and
give him that shot in his arm because his abdomen is covered in large
purple bruises, bruises caused by a needle going through a blood vessel.
I won't have to watch him cringe in agony when I've hit a nerve in his
arm (nearly every stinking night). I see that one day I won't have to
be in touch with my nurse angel at the doctor's office who helps
complete the paperwork for the Kwik Pens and Lantus that keep him alive
as a Type 1 diabetic. There won't be the need for testing his glucose
levels. Diabetes is an insidious disease. Literally thousands of
dollars spent on a little piece of plastic absorbs a drop of blood to
find out where his glucose levels are. I won't have to wonder when I
fell asleep at night if I will be awakened by "that voice", "Lori, I'm
at 33." That's all that needs to be said and I go from dead sleep to
running to the kitchen where I've learned to make peanut butter
sandwiches and a glass of milk in the dark in 30 seconds and get them to
him. The lowest his blood sugar has been was in 2007, at 2:00 a.m. it
was 23. Normal is about 100. Twenty-three, he's sweating a river, he's
incoherent, barely able to keep awake. His body is shutting down and
all the glucose that remains goes to his heart and his brain. The after
affects of this drop are excruciating. His body aches for hours
because a nutrient was pulled out of his tissues and muscles to keep his
brain and heart going. We keep a vigilant watch over his feet so he
won't end up sitting in a waiting room with a missing limb because he
had a blister that became infected and gangrene eventually took a foot
and part of the leg.
One day I see that HE will see, with
both eyes. They won't hurt, and there won't be any hushed voices
telling him, "Unless I can see the blood vessel, there's nothing I can
do at this point. It's six months to a year at best." Doctors see
limitations. We see possibilities. We know that even if the eyes no
longer see here, one day they will both see perfectly, sitting inside
that perfect body that we will have once we are no longer tied to this
world. When he asks me, at his most upset or desperate, "Have I done
something wrong, or let God down? Is that why?" I can only tell him,
"Someone else needs to see God in you. That person won't see Him on
their own. You are God's representative. Show that person eternity in
YOU." With all my heart I believe that.
Job lost EVERYTHING.
Children. Home. Livestock. All his worldly possessions. He sat on
the ground, surrounded by his friends, and a wife that begged him to
curse God. Job refused. That book is so amazing to me because even
after all the pain and loss, Job would not curse God. He KNEW there was
a reason for this. Just as I know there is a reason for this. In the
end, Job was rewarded. In the end, Mike will be rewarded, and it will
be a reward of peace, of strolling through Heaven on perfected legs,
gazing in through perfected eyes as he looks upon Jesus. He will look
at the wrists of Jesus and be reminded that they bore stakes through
them so one day Mike wouldn't be hindered by this shell that fails him
by the day. No more pain, no more worrying about the leg, no more
cocking his head from side-to-side to see through the blur in his
remaining eye. THIS is what we live for.
Monday night, we came
back from Woodburn and he was hungry. We went to a favorite little
Mexican restaurant in Salem. We are developing a little shorthand, he
and I. I position myself to his left and he puts his hand on my right
shoulder and he follows me. Right now, everything looks like he's
looking through ivory cheesecloth. Sometimes there is more definition
but right now that's about it. The restaurant was dark, he was confused
as to locations, it was a stressful dinner. As we came out the door to
the parking lot, he panicked and started patting the air around him
looking for my shoulder.
For reasons I'm only now seeing, my
ADD has actually been a benefit more than a hindrance. I can multi-task
like a boss, but I also think about five steps ahead of myself. That
serves a purpose now. I have to think five steps ahead for Mike. As we
left the restaurant and entered the light of a setting sun, I project
our direction.
"Seven feet ahead and then we will turn left and
head to the truck." We did OK until we came to the slope in the
sidewalk where wheelchairs roll up and down. I stopped him and said,
"Slope to the right." He lurched a bit and then grabbed my shoulder.
"I am so afraid! Nothing feels familiar, I want to go home."
It's all a learning process and I am going to need Job's patience as
Mike will need Job's faith. I must have patience, he must have
patience. I need to not flip out when he calls for me for the tenth
time that particular day. He needs to remember I'm keeping a lot of
plates spinning right now. Ali gets to go to the zoo tomorrow with her
church group. She goes to church camp next week. She gets to be a kid
and I'm thrilled for her because this kiddo has been to a LOT of doctors
appointments. Just go and have fun and I don't go along on these
events. She needs to be away from me and dad for a day and just have
fun. She really is a great little girl. So much more patient and
understanding than a child her age should be but then again, we could
live in a country where she's buried up to her neck and stoned for not
wanting to be married to an old man at the age of nine, so I guess it's
all about perspective.
Heaven is going to be so incredible, and
the very fact that there won't be glucose monitors, needles, insulin,
twice-a-week wrap changes, eyes failing, that keeps us going. Even with
everything going to crap in this world, especially BECAUSE of all
that's going to crap, it's easy for us to keep pushing forward because
of what awaits us one day very soon.
Tonight as we pulled in
the driveway, he had a clear vision moment and noticed that a headlight
bulb was burned out. These were expensive bulbs and after he called
O'Reilly and I went and picked up the replacement bulb (thank God for
warranties), I promised I'd change it in the morning. Not good enough.
He went out to the garage, got one of his brightest lights out, and
felt his way through replacing the bulb. Afterward he sat on his stool
in the garage and was so happy with himself for still being able to do
something.
"I guess I still have some value, huh? I changed
this by myself." You have NO idea how much value you are right now,
sweetheart.
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