The First of Many Answers

Time passes and we receive a letter from Dr. K.  He likes to write personal letters to his patients, detailing the outcomes and diagnoses.  We like that a lot.

All the blood work came back normal.  It's both reassuring and not.   We expected the tests to point out a glaring, obvious thing that the doctor could say, "Well, all you have to do to fix this is A, B, and C, and you're good to go!"

Oh well.

Forward we go.   Dr. K wants to do tests as my wife's cycle progresses, watching how her body works.   This translates to, first, more blood work, and second, some kind of "Ultra Ultrasound," which sounds kinda cool.

Turns out not so much on the cool.

Apparently, they inject dye into her fallopian tubes to see if there are any blockages preventing normal body works.   And it hurts.

I took off work to go with her to the test, but found out all I could do was wait around.  While we wait, I take in the first waiting room.   It's full of people, all waiting for some type of test.   A television with poor reception delivers a Cosby show episode from 1,000 years ago.   A man in a wheelchair, whose legs are nearly twice as small as the rest of his body, plays with his daughter while his wife remarks that this is their first in a series of stops in various departments.   An elderly couple enters, snacking on popcorn.  The husband is wearing a wristband labelled NUCLEAR.  A mother wheels in her baby, the child's head strapped into some type of brace.   People come and go.

I think about all these different lives, all intersecting at this one place, all for their various medical reasons.   What are they here to uncover?   What are they hoping for?  How is God working in their lives?

Once again, I'm struck by my girl's bravery.  She would deny it, but it's true.   I know she's nervous, yet here we are.  She has her wristband.  DIAGNOSTIC. We wait for our call.   We snuggle and laugh at the Cosby show.  Cockroach and Theo are going to shave their heads for a rap video.

"Jennifer?"

It's time.  Back we go, past people laying in hospital beds, to a new waiting area.  I have to stay here while she goes in alone to an unknown.   See what I mean?  Brave.

She changes and heads to the room.   I say a little prayer and disappear into Angry Birds again.   She returns soon enough, changes, and falls into my arms.  It was not a good experience.  But it's over now.   She did it and she's safe.

We collect a copy of the results and run them up to the doctor's office.

Time to wait for another letter.