Herb’s Blog, Herbdate 23838 – 1277
Dear Sundry and Diverse Readers, Members of My Favorite Audience,
Here’s the haps:
In June of 2006, about 3 months before my mother passed away, my parents’ pastor paid for them to come visit. I chronicled their visit in the blog I had at the time, reposted them here to their original dates when I first moved to WordPress software, and am now reprinting it here. I’ve only done minor editing of the original stories.
Day 7 of my parents’ visit
(I won’t be doing a day 8 because really it was just the saying of goodbyes and expressions of love, and leaving them at the airport.)
The Procedure
But first, I have to tell you, my dad had some things to say about the styles where they hang their britches down so you can see their undershorts and have all these holes in their clothes.
“It’s shameful to go out looking like that. It used to be a shame for a person to have holes in their clothing. You were really poor. You were from the wrong side of the tracks if you went out with holes in your pants. Not only that, Herbert, I say, not only that, but you could even be sent home from school.”
“We would have to pick beans to get money for school clothes.” He continued, “My dad would plant 5 acres of beans, and whatever money was raised is what we had to work with. If he couldn’t afford the seed, the man would give him credit because he knew he would get beans. So we worked in the garden for money for clothes because we didn’t want to go to school with holes or even patches on our clothes if we could help it.”
On to the hospital for the procedure. It is unusual for this fluid to build up so quickly. This time, the doc drains another 1400 CCs. Margaret went to watch again. The reason we had to go to the hospital was that the doctor did not have the equipment in his office to do the procedure. They were supposed to have some ultrasound equipment ready at 8 O’clock, but they didn’t. The doc did not want to waste any of our time, so he told Margaret that he was confident that he could find the lung again and did the same procedure.
Dad and Margaret, and I sit in the waiting room as she is resting and stabilizing when the doctor comes in. I couldn’t place his accent, maybe a mix of Indian and French, but I really don’t know. Respectful and direct make for a good combination.
“We drained almost 1400 CC’s more from the left lung. The fluid is almost completely full of lymphocytes. She has Lymphoma. I do not have her whole history here and do not know all of her diagnoses, but it seems likely to be a connection. If the lymphocytes in the fluid are monoclonal, meaning they are all exactly the same, then it is likely the cancer has spread into this lung and probably other parts of her body as well. If the cells are not monoclonal, then there may be something else. We won’t get the results back before you leave, but I have instructed them to print out my report for you to take along to her doctor, with the x-rays.”
An 80 year old man, an elderly man, a man who used to be strong and fast and confident and still is strong, looked at me through his big glasses and said with the cracking voice and watery eyes, “Yes, Herbert, I think Pastor had a reason to send us out here. This could be the last time we ever get to come like this.”
Later on in the day, we finally got Troy over to the house. Lizzy and Douglas had been there before, but we had wanted to get a complete family picture with all four generations. We finally got to take it. I had to get some ink for the printer because the one thing mom is always nagging me about is that I never send her any pictures. That and she wanted some good Christian music CDs. So I burned some CDs and printed almost 20 pages of photos, 4 to a sheet, and a couple of 8x10s, and copied Abigail’s report card for her.
We had to hustle a little to get ready for church because Sister Johnson had personally invited mom to come to Youth service so Pastor Johnson and one of his assistants could lay hands on her and anoint her with oil and pray over her the way the apostles did and left instruction for us to do; the way that I have seen work in healings; miraculous, mind-boggling healings; before. I have seen and experienced miracles before, but my mother’s question from the other day haunts me. I don’t know why. I am not God.
Remember, the Good Book says, “Doth not he see my ways, and count all my steps?”
Here we all are, my parents are on the far right:
We were all standing in front of the family tree:
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