It’s been a rough summer for Darryl, with three hospitalizations since mid-June. He’s had pancreatitis as well as the usual lung problems, and because of the pancreatitis, he’s been temporarily removed from the transplant list until that resolves. He’s now a week into the third hospitalization, and things seem to be moving in the right direction. The fevers he was having a week ago are gone. So are the back pain and nausea. His lipase level is coming down, and that’s a good thing.
He’s still very tired, though, sleeping a lot of the day, still needing to use his oxygen most of the time. I worry about the fatigue, the monotone in his voice, the lack of “Darrylness”, for lack of a better way to describe it. So we wait and hope the improvement continues.
Waiting is a major theme for me these days. We wait for the pancreatitis to resolve so he can go back on the transplant list. We wait for the transplant. We wait for him to once again be able to breathe with ease.
Maybe that’s why I think about Advent a lot these days. Never mind that it’s in the 80’s and 90’s outside, my spirit is often plunged in the cold and the darkness of December. I light candles and wait for the daylight to return.
I think of Mary, waiting for the promised child, waiting for Joseph’s reaction to her pregnant condition, waiting for the response of family and community. I imagine her dread of the difficult journey to Bethlehem—nine months pregnant and riding on a donkey. I see her waiting and laboring through the birth. I think of the journey to Egypt to escape those who would murder her child, waiting for the word that they could safely return home.
Darryl, too, has a long and difficult journey ahead: more waiting; the transplant, when the time comes; the period of recovery from the transplant; the uncertainty about what and when and where and how. It’s a difficult time for those who love him, too.
There were comforts in Mary’s waiting, of course: the reassurance offered by the angel at the annunciation; Joseph’s acceptance of her condition, her visit to Elizabeth and their shared joy in the new life growing in their wombs; the faith that allowed her to consent to God’s will for her life.
There have been comforts for us as well: the love and prayers of friends; the hope of longer life and greatly improved quality of life; Darryl and Carrie’s amazing resilience in the face of so many difficulties; the ministry of so many loving “angels” in our lives; the faith that allows us all to keep moving forward, day after day.
Advent comes at the darkest time of the year, but it ends in a glorious blaze of light and praise and new life. I pray that it may be so for Darryl, however long this Advent season might last.
He’s still very tired, though, sleeping a lot of the day, still needing to use his oxygen most of the time. I worry about the fatigue, the monotone in his voice, the lack of “Darrylness”, for lack of a better way to describe it. So we wait and hope the improvement continues.
Waiting is a major theme for me these days. We wait for the pancreatitis to resolve so he can go back on the transplant list. We wait for the transplant. We wait for him to once again be able to breathe with ease.
Maybe that’s why I think about Advent a lot these days. Never mind that it’s in the 80’s and 90’s outside, my spirit is often plunged in the cold and the darkness of December. I light candles and wait for the daylight to return.
I think of Mary, waiting for the promised child, waiting for Joseph’s reaction to her pregnant condition, waiting for the response of family and community. I imagine her dread of the difficult journey to Bethlehem—nine months pregnant and riding on a donkey. I see her waiting and laboring through the birth. I think of the journey to Egypt to escape those who would murder her child, waiting for the word that they could safely return home.
Darryl, too, has a long and difficult journey ahead: more waiting; the transplant, when the time comes; the period of recovery from the transplant; the uncertainty about what and when and where and how. It’s a difficult time for those who love him, too.
There were comforts in Mary’s waiting, of course: the reassurance offered by the angel at the annunciation; Joseph’s acceptance of her condition, her visit to Elizabeth and their shared joy in the new life growing in their wombs; the faith that allowed her to consent to God’s will for her life.
There have been comforts for us as well: the love and prayers of friends; the hope of longer life and greatly improved quality of life; Darryl and Carrie’s amazing resilience in the face of so many difficulties; the ministry of so many loving “angels” in our lives; the faith that allows us all to keep moving forward, day after day.
Advent comes at the darkest time of the year, but it ends in a glorious blaze of light and praise and new life. I pray that it may be so for Darryl, however long this Advent season might last.
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