It’s a word that strikes fear into the hearts of everyone.
The dreaded diagnosis. The worst case scenario.
It makes you question. It makes you worry. It makes you want to cry out in anguish at a God whom you know loves, and yet allows such devastation to occur.
It keeps me from sleeping and makes me over-eat.
It brings me to my knees in prayer over and over.
It causes me to feel extreme amounts of helplessness.
My Mother-in-Law, truly my second Mom, went to the hospital on Saturday. No one knew what was wrong with her. Yesterday the diagnosis was confirmed—multiple myeloma–a type of blood cancer. Her chemo starts tomorrow.
The doctor is optimistic. I’m scared out of my wits.
I want my babies to know their Grandmother.
My husband needs his Mother.
I need her guidance and friendship.
I’ve been to the hospital everyday since Saturday. I wish there was more I could do than sit by her bed and chat about stupid things like teething babies, and toddler tantrums (not that babies or toddlers are stupid). I wish there was more that I could do than paint her toenails and bring her crossword puzzles. If I could remove those vile cells with my own two hands I would. If only I could bring the color back to her cheeks and clear the tiredness from her eyes.
Yet I am reduced to a spectator.
And as a spectator I wait and watch and pray for the happy ending.