The Doctor's Call

The phone rang at 8:00 this morning. I had a bad feeling when Steve told me it was the doctor, not the nurse, calling. They weren't even supposed to have the results until noon, which scared me even more. Dr. B said everything was normal except for his liver enzymes, which were elevated to about twice the normal level. My heart sank and my eyes filled with tears as he talked since six years ago, when Micah was newborn, I was diagnosed with autoimmune hepatitis, a rare and often deadly liver disease. He said he was going to send out for more tests specifically for the liver, and that it could be the end of next week before we hear anything else. He doesn't think the liver is causing the pain, so the tentative plan, if these results come back normal, is to have an abdominal ultrasound done.

I thanked him and hung up the phone. Steve had gathered enough from my end of the conversation to know there was a potential problem with Micah's liver. We hugged, cried and prayed, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.

Steve had planned to take the kids to Kansas today, since they're out of school, to visit his family, since we didn't see any of them over the holidays. Our beloved neighbor is gravely ill, plus I need to work, so I am staying here. The doctor said it would be fine, probably even beneficial, for Micah to travel. "He needs to be a regular boy," he said. (Those words echo like a strange foreshadowing of what might come.) I kissed them all goodbye and waved as they drove away. Fifteen minutes later, our neighbor's grandson called to say she had passed away. What a sad day...

I don't know how I feel, but I know we need prayer, so I shot an email to our friends and family asking them to pray for normal test results next week, Micah's healing, and peace for our family. I am so thankful for a circle of loved ones who will lift up our needs to the all-knowing God, the Healer and Comforter.

I walked around in a daze most of the day, trudging through the house sweeping floors and folding laundry, blinded by tears. In between household chores, I emailed and prayed. I know it's too soon to grieve, and God tells us repeatedly not to fear. But how, I wonder? I'm trying not to over-react or borrow trouble; it just feels like an all-too-familiar nightmare. Plus, I'm the world's worst at waiting, but, once again, that's all I can do: wait and pray.