Something Different

Today I am going to dispense with my usual snarkiness... (Already it is hard because I have several snarky things to say. I have written them down for tomorrow.)

Instead, I am asking for prayers for R's husband who will have surgery tomorrow. In the 5 short weeks that I've worked at BCFG, R has been unfailingly kind to me and is a good work friend. As I've mentioned before, her husband has cancer of the esophagus and tomorrow he is having major surgery that will hopefully save his life. The doctors will try and remove the tumorous portion of the esophagus and then pull up a portion of his stomach to make him a new esophagus.

All cancer sucks, but I think that esophageal cancer sucks especially bad. I lost my grandfather to it when I was six years old. At the time I saw a lot more of cancer, and other treatments, than a six year old should probably see. My grandfather was treated at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN, which wasn't too far from our Iowa home, so my mom took me with her a lot to visit him. Looking back, I assume that she didn't want to be alone and it was easy to pull me out of first grade, where my dad and older sisters couldn't really miss work or school. I have very vivid memories of my grandfather in the hospital, and then later at home. In fact, most of my memories of him are when he was sick. Some memories are really fun, like the time that they smuggled in Tom, my grandfather's favorite farm cat, into the hospital in a duffel bag. My most vivid memory comes from late in his treatment. He was in the hospital (for the last time, I think) and the tumor had grown so large that he was unable to swallow, so he had a feeding tube. However, he felt well enough that he still enjoyed the sensation of tasting and chewing food. So, they let him eat and at a point in his esophagus before the tumor the food came out of his body through a clear tube and collected in a jar. It was really gross. My six year old self couldn't look away, it was so gross. I remember that the tube used to get stuck, so my grandmother would sit next to him and kind of work the tube between her fingers to move the food along. I've always thought that this was a profound thought for six, but I looked at that and knew that was what love looked like. Not at all glamorous, but real.

So, tonight as I pray for R's husband, I think of my own grandfather and I miss him. I think of how much Sweet Pea would have liked him, especially all the things that she would have gotten to do with him at the farm. I'm asking all of you to take a moment and say a prayer for R's husband as well.

Also, while you are praying, offer up one of thanksgiving for my friend who just heard her baby's heartbeat for the first time.

I will be praying for both.