And Another Thing

I often ponder the friends of Job. In my vocation, I attempted to emulate them with every patient and family I encountered; when it comes to my friends, I strive even more to do the same. Those who know me automatically think of the bad example they laid forth and, perhaps, thought “Why yes, Matt does struggle to keep his trap shut.” I wish I could disagree, but this happens naturally for me, so there is little effort required for me to emulate Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar. No, the piece I attempt to echo is to sit in the ashes and not say a word. But what got Job’s friends to him to begin with? When Job’s life digressed to misery, and each friend heard about “the next thing” that happened, what could possibly go through their mind?

“Job lost one third of his wealth!”
That sucks! I’m sure he can rebuild.
“Job lost another third of his wealth!”
We should form a business partnership that will help him.
“Job lost the last third of his wealth!”
We will start a meal train and find Job a job.
“Job’s children all died!”
Holy $#*+! That guy cannot get a break!
And so his friends went to sit with him because his life was horrible.

    
Sometimes, I feel like Job. Often, I feel like Job. I feel like Job.
    

Kate has been sick for eleven years. Eleven years of blood draws, EKGs, PFTs, blood thinners, medicine, not that medicine, this medicine, chemo drugs, etc. And that is just to treat her. She has cold digits, sores on her toes, stomach aches, heartburn, and moodiness. That last one might be associated with her age. She has endured more than most people I know, but most people cannot tell. Like her mama, Kate is strong and keeps things to herself, sets her jaw and shows us (and the rest of this world) that she will get through what scleroderma throws at her. She has her next Children’s appointment on the 21st. With each appointment, the underlying fear tends to rise from the depths of “ignore it and it goes away-dom.” This time around, she will undergo a swallow study to see if this damn disease has reached her esophagus or if it is stress and anxiety taking its toll. Please pray for her, pray for us, and pray for her care team.

Becky has been sick for nine years. She readily endures blood draws, this infusion, that infusion, insurance denials, CT scans, injections, MRIs, and daily medications. Again, this is only to treat her ankylosing spondylitis. Daily, she has cold digits, left foot swelling, torn hip labrums, sore hips and lower back not from the torn hip labrums, brain fog, fatigue, and a ridiculously verbose husband. Her canonization should be complete next year. This is where Kate gets it, because Becky does not show how she is actually doing. Most recently, she has sought help for her hips and lower back and her appointment last week was not hopeful. She might not have any medical options, she might just hurt the rest of her life. Becky is discouraged, afraid this is in her head and she is weak, and grieving the loss of the life we dreamt of as dumb 21 year old newlyweds.
 

Even these last two paragraphs only tell some of the story. I just feel like it is too much to relay the physical and emotional strife we are going through with Kate and Becky’s health. It is too much and what was looking up has degraded. Am I whining? I feel like I’m whining. I hate that, I fought hard to not be a whiner, though I know I still whine.
 

We finally found a school Micah loves, where he thrives and connects. He cut off the world’s worst mullet last week. It is wonderful. But Micah is not doing well. His anxiety prevents him from family and friend relationships. It keeps us from relationships, Church, and even family. It is not good and I do not know what words describe its impact. Finding help in Spokane is near impossible, too. He needs a psychologist, hard to find. He needs a psychiatrist, even more difficult to find. And then he had a seizure. That was scary as hell. His EEG came back normal, he was anxious and has a family history of seizures, maybe just the one? Did you know you have to have a 504 plan to go back to school after a seizure? He had another last night. This time I didn’t catch him, as the goose egg, bruise, and scrape can attest: I couldn’t catch him. It was scary as hell, again. And his life is changed by it. He can’t get his license until 2.5 years after his last seizure. He is afraid of what else this is going to impact in his lifespan. We are afraid to leave him alone. We jump every time we hear a thump. We are treading in trepidation.

You see? Just one more thing, and then another, and another. So much is so difficult right now. It is scary. It is overwhelming. It is lonely. We would give so much for a chance to just be whelmed. I feel like a burden, not put together, and weak from the second paragraph to now.What do I even say next? This proud family does not have much left on which to stand. We have jobs, praise the Lord. We have an amazing house, praise the Lord and thank you Ron Pyle. We can see the many many things we have to be grateful for. And there are many. But, right now, in this moment, the hard and the heavy feel like a little too much. We are longing to breathe deeply, but right now, we do not have enough breath in our lungs.