Potential Discharge

That's what the little flag beside my door says.  "Potential Discharge".  Although I'll truly believe it when I'm getting out of the wheelchair and into my own car, I think it's really going to happen.  Of course, it's bound to happen sometime - I've casually mentioned my redecorating plans to the nursing staff this evening.  The desire to sleep in my own bed is a physical urging I can't seem to shake off and makes it almost impossible to stay in my hospital bed another hour.  I finally escaped to the Family Room with Katie's computer to post what had BETTER BE my last observation from the hospital.

Observation #13 (think of it as #14 if you're superstitious)- It's not all about me.

I wanted it to be all about me.  I thought I deserved it.  I was so angry that I had no "risk factors" for lung cancer and yet, here I was.  I wanted to walk up to every person sucking on a cigarette, rip it out of their mouth and scream "Do you know what this is going to do to your family??"  David has been the most incredible nurse and rock of strength for me.  He hasn't been home since we checked in last week and has never grumbled about getting out of his "bed" in order to get me out of mine.  He has told me over and over , "This is about you, Rhonda.  This is about getting you well and strong enough to fight what we have to fight."  But the longer I laid awake and looked out my window at the thousands, probably hundreds of thousands, of hospital windows that make up The Texas Medical Center I began to question that statement.  

There are so many of you out there praying for me, maybe even reading this blog, who have never met me and never will.  To be a member of the body of Christ is an humbling experience.  To feel the love and concern of people you don't know is almost frightening.  My name is on prayer lists that stretch from coast to coast, north to south, and even to Germany and points beyond.  My name has been lifted up in prayer in congregations and Bible studies that encompass Baptists, Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians and all the other denominations and non-denominations in between.  The fact that you read my name, said a prayer for me, makes you a part of my experience and makes it impossible for it to be all about me.

It's really all about family, love and the willingness of others to make changes in their lives for one another.  I've walked away from my job and my students with very little notice, leaving others to take up the slack and tidy up the details for me.  My family has focused it's undivided attention on me and getting me what I need when I need it.  My children have had to juggle busy college demands with their concern for their mom and with the extra trips they have made to see me.  Friends are lining up to bring me meals, drive me to dr. appts. and to do anything else they can do to make my life easier.  This one cancer diagnosis has touched the lives of hundreds of people.  Whether you wanted it to or not!  I'm usually the one on the other side of these situations, asking what I can do because we feel helpless when all we can do is watch.  

I'm sorry if my illness has caused you extra work, but I also know that you don't really mind because you love me and care about me.  I'm also sorry if my illness has scared you.  It has certainly scared me and has made me want to urge everyone to run out and get a simple chest xray.  The insurance industry would love that, wouldn't they?!?  I'm incredibly sorry that I won't be able to thank each and every one of you personally for what you've done for me.

When you take my experience and multiply it by all those hospital windows in all those buildings outside it boggles the mind to realize how many of us are in the same place tonight.  So many of those people don't have the support group I do, they don't have the medical insurance I do, and they don't have the peace of God in their hearts that I do.  When you try to imagine the numbers of people awake tonight fighting battles with disease -some winning and some losing - it's almost crushing to the spirit.  But then I think about my nurse Dorcas, coming into my room in the night, holding my hand and pouring out her heart to God on my behalf.  Thank God for all the Dorcas' of the world, but the real question is "How do we each become one?"

Thanks for listening to my ramblings tonight.  They're not very funny but they are heartfelt.  For some reason it's always easier for me to put my thoughts into writing than it is to speak them out loud.  Please know that I appreciate each and every card, phone call,  thought and prayer that I've received.  I want to take the opportunity to thank you here because I probably won't remember to do so the next time I see you.  Blame it on the drugs - I will!

Love to all,

Rhonda