Heart failure.
In: Family Snapshots
So, the other day a few weeks ago, I was sorta being normal.
You know, laundry piled up, but not too bad.
Dishes to do, but not unmanageable at all.
My girls were playing quietly in the school room which I should just name the art room because that’s just what it is. Really.
And my husband came home early. What a nice surprise!
Oh yeah, he had that followup appointment to the MRI he had a few weeks ago.
I hadn’t even really thought about it that day except once or twice when he mentioned it in a text…because the doctor had told us, “We have to do this to rule out a tumor. I promise it’s not that though – you have some inner ear damage from a flight landing too fast. Once the insurance’s required MRI is out of the way, we can treat it with a few steroid drop treatments and you’ll regain most of that hearing back.”
I stood up to say hello to the man I’m blessed enough to greet at home every night and quickly looked around the house to see how bad things looked – his coming home early usually doesn’t bode well for the perfect image I portray to him every night when he comes home right on time – with the dinner simmering on the stove, music playing, table set, kids making him cards….
Ahem. Uhhh…let me try again.
I *do* make valiant attempts most days, though, to give him the “cleanest slate” possible to spend his precious few hours at home with our girls and I – otherwise, he’ll just help me and clean the whole night.
So yeah, he comes in early, I remember why – that followup! – I put down the shirt or something I was folding and stand up and lean in for a hug and say so casually, “So how did things go?”
He just hugged me for a long time.
Too long. And too quiet.
And I pulled away to look at his eyes right there in the middle of the little mess that had suddenly disappeared and things started to fall out at rapid speed and I had questions and he had answers in the form of a page long MRI report that should have only been a few sentences.
“It’s called an acoustic neuroma.”
But because his is so large and displacing his brain stem, it’s in the brain tumor category.
He said, “The doc told me he’s been in practice for 10 years and this is his first one ever.”
Completely in spiritual heart failure, I replied, “Well of course. Because that’s my family. Of course whatever is strange and unheard of and rare and life threatening is going to happen to us.” Of course. of course. Of course. I start throwing folded clothes in the laundry basket completely angry, not caring where they fall.
“It’s not cancer…” My physical heart started beating again.
“…but it’s probably been there for 20 years.”
I glanced at our wedding photo on the wall. Our anniversary was coming up in a few days. He had that tumor then and none of us knew it.
We spent our last anniversary talking about our dying son. This time we’d spend it talking about my husband’s tumor. On his brain.
(And even now, in hindsight by a few weeks, I’m still in a sort of shock about it all.)
My brain was racked with questions. Why now? One year ago, almost to the day, we began our big trial? What now? We’re supposed to go to Disney World in 6 weeks. What if? it *is* cancer. I can’t do this again right now.
And thus began one of my lowest points of heart failure – spiritual heart failure – in my life.
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7 comments
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Lisa McCallister
September 2, 2013 at 5:55 pm
Kim, I am sorry….as I prepare to have a dinner with my husband and daughter , as we mark Jonathan, or son/brother’s 20th birthday …..the 5th since he has left for Heaven….my heart goes out to you….As much as I try to trust God….always in the back of my mind is the question….”who goes home next, what test of faith is coming round the corner…Prayers coming your way…there is nothing comforting in my on strength or wisdom….all I can say is “Jesus” and He is all you need.
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Lexie
September 3, 2013 at 2:31 am
Dear Kim,
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I’m sorry to hear your husband’s diagnosis. Keep in mind God doesn’t give us more than we can handle and He’s always there to lead our way.
You might want to try reaching House Ear Clinic, in Los Angeles, CA. They offer free phone consultations for people with acoustic neuromas (http://www.houseearclinic.com/consultation/acousticneuroma). I’m a patient there due to Meniere’s Disease and I have to say they have the most wonderful physicians and staff.
You and your family are in my prayers.
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Janis wiscarson
September 3, 2013 at 11:32 am
Prayers are with you. Iam so sorry that this is happening to you. May your faith remain strong and keep us posted. Love to you all always.
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Gwen Gaylor
September 3, 2013 at 7:30 pm
Kim, Your parents had share this with those of us at Gilead a few weeks ago. We have been praying for you, Chris and the girls. I’m praying for healing for Chris and both of you to be given faith stronger than you have ever known. May the Lord Jesus make himself known to you as never before.
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Fudging Ahead
September 4, 2013 at 5:42 pm
Oh no! I’m so sorry and completely understand your anger.
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Jan Evett
September 2, 2013 at 1:56 pm
Kim,
This is absolutely the last thing I expected to hear! I am sorry that you and your sweet husband are going through this … this what? Trial? Health issue? I guess there are not any words that are sufficient for this whatever it is?
The only thing I can think to say is that I will be praying for you ….. again. I have prayed for your family many times during your pregnancy and the death of your son. I have to admit there came a time when I felt you might not need prayer so much any more. But I’ve continued to read your posts and think about you often. And, so, it seems that all I can offer you is my love and prayers.
Please keep me and all your loyal readers and faithful prayer partners posted so that we know how to pray for your family. I want to know everything you’re going through, no matter how meticulous or how much it you think will not matter to your readers. Love and prayers, always.
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