Just a small update. As some of you know, we’ve been in a holding pattern here at Chez Wonder. Waiting. Waiting for doctor’s appointments, “procedures”, and ultimately a diagnosis. IZ has spent most of the past 5 weeks on bed rest. I’ve spent most of the past 5 weeks on Google getting a medical degree. You know, Google is your friend. Until it’s not.

It’s difficult to not jump to conclusions–especially when the medical professionals in your world are grim at best. They start dropping “C” words and you start panicking. Ok, maybe you don’t. But I do, and I began praying for a diagnosis of hemorrhoids.

I won’t keep you hanging. It wasn’t any of the “C” words and it’s a far better conclusion than hemorrhoids. IZ had two polyps removed, one severely ulcerated. The cellular structure of this beast wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t cancer yet either. We are deeply relieved to not only have a diagnosis, but to have a solution already in place.  He has a beautiful colon, and I’ll be sneaking benefiber into brownies from now on. 

When I wasn’t on Google becoming a medical expert, I was on Facebook having Country Western Lyric wars with friends or on Youtube convincing myself that every song the Kings of Leon ever wrote was really a secret message to me. “Sex on Fire,” yeah, that’s a song about hemorrhoids. 

For the distractions and the friends who gently inquired about our welfare, I am deeply grateful. Some of you say you are praying–and I believe you. And it’s a rare gift to support without demanding an explanation, a rare charge to be present and not make it about you. Some of you are gifted pastors of the soul—I’m so glad my soul knows yours!

As for Youtube, it’s funny how in certain moments our lives are scored. We compile soundtracks. Or I do. Music is temporal, set in time, associated with certain movements in our journey. And once associated, it’s hard to shake the immediate recall upon hearing it. I stood in a discount store when a Coldplay song came on over the store loudspeakers—I bit back tears and had to leave. For the rest of the day, I couldn’t shake the anxiety hearing that song produced. Because it took me back to when I was most happy and I couldn’t make that work with the fear I was experiencing now.

It’s always about us, right? What’s the point if all those lyrics don’t have meaning? So, we score our lives and fall deeply into this belief that the pounding rhythms blaring through our earphones will keep our hearts beating even as it destroys our hearing. It’s an escape. Which is why, though it is not true, I’m convinced Kate Bush’s Running Up that Hill really is appropriate. “If I only could make a deal with God, get him to swap our places.” How is that not about my fear and love? 

And it’s always about us, right? This is the danger. Because when a loved one falls ill, it is about us just as much as it isn’t. I can’t make a deal with God, though it doesn’t stop me from trying. And no matter how afraid I am of the outcome it’s still not me going through it. Not really. There is a divide, a space between us that is holy and I cannot cross. I cannot be in his body to feel it, to know his fear.  I can only place my hands on his sleeping body and say, “God, could it just be hemorrhoids?”

I would be remiss in this post, despite its length, to not mention how grateful we are for Providence Hospital and its ever competent staff. I am hesitant to dwell too long on the topic, though it deserves so much more of my time, for the possible ramifications. But I will say this, I am struck by the irony of the situation. A year ago, I thought the worst had happened to me on this blog. My words and readers of them had crossed into my real life with disastrous consequences. It felt unfair and cruel and unwarranted. Those of you who know me well, know just how shook by the experience I was, I still am. And yet.

The Universe has a way of redeeming the most hopeless of situations. What was meant for harm, God meant for good. Although at the time it didn’t feel that way.  In the dark moments, when fear threatened to be the prevailing wind—we have been able to rest in the knowledge that IZ has been in the best of hands. Every doctor, every nurse, every administrator has treated him with compassion. There’s never been a moment where we’ve felt like a number or a dollar sign. Instead, we’ve felt protected and cared for and most importantly, listened to. Last year’s trauma is a small price to pay for such amazing treatment. 

I haven’t known how to start writing about this. And now, I’m not sure how to end, except to say Thank you. For everything. Oh, and for the record, I won that Country Western Lyrics War with a Billy Ray Cyrus video. Hannah Monatana strikes again.