Hitting bottom

Melanie prepped me for two days for another colonoscopy. Bad news: that wasn’t enough time (and never mind if you don’t understand). Good news: there was good news a year after the cancer surgery last year’s colonoscopy called for. Some folks I had believed thought this would be the last colonoscopy I would need to bother with. Bad news: the doc wants one more look next year.

I prepared for my eight hours sitting in the bathroom yesterday by loading up my laptop with lectures and sermons I found online. (And thanks to the friends who gave me that laptop when I was in the hospital with the stroke almost two years ago. It has been a brain saver at times like this.) I played one talk after another to help pass the time and other things.

One was a talk by John Wimber that was recorded in the mid 90’s. John was at the heart of a resurgence of healing prayer being practiced in churches around the world. On this recording, made close to the end of his life, he looks gaunt. He delivered his message while siting on a chair behind the desk stand holding his Bible. He frequently paused to use an inhaler to clear his lungs. He mentions that he’s had a stroke, heart attack and cancer and would be quite happy to visit with ministry friends who were already in Heaven but God was keeping him working on earth awhile longer.

I listened as my head wobbled and my body swayed, trying to keep my balance and not fall off the toilet. John saw literally thousands of healings and miracles in his three-plus decades of ministry. But those final years were clearly not easy. I wondered why this, of all tapes, was one I was watching in my condition.

When it was over I moved on to a lecture by Peter Kreeft. Peter was calmly analyzing the problem of evil and suffering in a world created by a good and loving Heavenly Father. In answer to an audience question toward the end, he mention a comment by one of the saints (Teresa of Avila, I think). It was along the lines that, from the glories of Heaven in Eternity, our sufferings on earth would seem like only one night spent in a seedy hotel.

I looked at a tiny spider crawling rapidly across the floor, moving too quickly for me to step on with my erratic foot.

I thought it was safe to go to bed finally at a quarter to ten.

It wasn’t. Melanie and I left the lights on in the bathroom and tried to go to sleep again around 11:00. The alarm woke us at 5:00, so we could get to the hospital at 6:30.

The team getting me set on the bed they would roll into the operation room, asked me if I had any allergies.

“Hospitals,” I croaked. They laughed.

The anesthesiologist promised they would keep me comfortable. I told him I didn’t want him to lie. They laughed again.

It’s good medicine, so I hear.

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About Deacon Rick

I am a retired Deacon in Lakeland Florida.
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