I’ve never felt the allure of adventure. Never even wanted to. My earliest memory of witnessing screaming
people hurtling themselves through space is when I was about 10 years old and a
“fair” came to town. Scattered
throughout a mall parking lot were striped tents, several different types of
amusement rides and a big old ferris wheel.
I recall standing in awe and looking way, way up at the precariously
swinging baskets while feeling slightly queasy from my first bewildering taste
of overly sweet, pink cotton candy.
Wiping sticky fingers on my pretty summer dress, I turned my back on the
looming monster with its shrieking occupants and opted instead to try out the more
docile merry-go-round.
In the decades that have passed since that fateful
encounter, I’ve done my best to avoid ferris wheels and roller coaster rides,
literally and figuratively. They’re too
darn stressful! But fate has a way of tossing
you smack dab in the highest basket without warning and, when it does, you have
no choice but to hang on for dear life. My
husband and I were recently reluctantly taken on one such horrifying ride with
his unexpected diagnosis of cancer.
Before we could even grasp the reality of it, we were on a plane flying
thousands of miles into the unknown to seek advanced medical assistance. Fear and dread came along as our travelling
companions.
The next few weeks were permeated with doctors’ visits,
painful procedures, and interminable waiting when each second seemed like a
million years and life itself was in a state of suspended animation. Then came the dire news that a hoped for
short cut procedure was unsuccessful and major surgery was the only other
option. More waiting, fretting,
worrying, struggling to maintain some degree of normalcy when our whole world
was turned topsy-turvy and the outcome was uncertain.
Amidst all of this turmoil, we clung to a little ray of
hope and a precious secret shared with our eldest son and his beautiful wife who
had just recently informed us that a new family member was on the way - our
first grandchild. Since there was so
little time between hearing this wonderful news and the flip side bad news,
there was no opportunity to do much shopping but I had managed to pick up a
sweet, tiny undergarment as a token reminder of good things to come. My husband carried that little onesie with
him throughout his entire ordeal, proudly informing everyone he met that he was
soon going to be a “Poppy”. Mere words could never convey the positive
impact which that miniscule piece of clothing had on both of us during those
anxiety- ridden days on life’s roller coaster.
We even named it Poppy’s good luck charm.
Following what was termed a successful surgery, we were soon
caught unawares by an unexpected setback in my husband’s recovery. Finally, his condition improved to the point
where he was released from hospital and we took a tentative little gasp of
fresh, clean, non-institutional air. But
our joy in this victory over adversity was short lived as just two days later,
my husband’s father passed away suddenly and, once again, the entire family was
sent reeling into a state of shock. How
much more could we take at that point?
It seemed as if a black hole had opened up and swallowed us completely
within its bleakness.
Yet, we were never alone in our struggles. Our faith in a loving, compassionate God and
the truly wonderful, prayerful support of friends and family were the crutches
on which we rested during those dark, energy-draining days. Without such assistance, I don’t know how we
could have survived the barrage.
My husband’s amazing recovery continues and we recently
received the incredible news that all signs of cancer were removed through the
surgery – no further treatments necessary.
What a blessing! Earlier this
month, he proudly participated in the survivors’ walk at our local Relay for
Life and you can probably guess what he carried in his hand during that victory
lap.
No comments:
Post a Comment