Two Years

I've always been a dates person. I remember dates like few other people I know. Dates I met people or did things, birthday and anniversaries, and random other dates that are pretty insignificant. But today is a date I make sure to remember. It comes every year. December, of course. Two years since my diagnosis. Hmmmm.

December

Decembers lately have had a patterns for me. And I’m not sure it’s one that I like.

In December 2007, my uncle got really sick. Shortly after the new year, we found out it was colon cancer, with a tumor roughly the size of a softball. Three feet of intestine later, he is cancer-free. But Christmas Eves will always come with memories of seeing him pass out from pain.

The following year, a man from our church was diagnosed with brain cancer. He’d had tumors two decades before, but they were back with a vengeance. The likelihood of him being around for the following Christmas was slim. He beat the odds, but in the spring of 2009, he went Home, leaving behind his wife and four sons and one granddaughter.

That same year, in 2008, I was diagnosed with lupus. I found out about this man’s cancer about a week before I found out what was going on in my body, and I am ever thankful to God for framing my illness with his. It was a great reminder that though my life will be forever changed, it won’t be shortened by any great amount. Still, that Christmas was surrounded by doctor’s appointments and blood draws.

This year, I was talking with my uncle, the one mentioned above, just a few days before Christmas. He told me that he had just received some news about another friend of ours. He and his wife have been on our teams forever. He and my uncle, with a handful of other guys, play disc golf almost every week. Apparently, for the last year or so, this guy has been experiencing weakness in his hands and stuff. Last week, it was named: ALS. Wow.

I don’t know why this is weighing on my so much. Whether is several Decembers of diagnoses or the thought that another dear member of my extended family is facing pain, illness, and impending death. Or maybe it’s the thought of this vibrant, energetic man laying in a bed, unable to move and fully aware of what’s going on, while his wife of who knows how many years sits beside him.

Two things give me hope in this. First, he is going on some experimental drug that should slow the progression of the disease. He’ll have more time with his kids and grandkids and wife. Second, and way more important, that he knows Christ. He’ll have a new body in heaven, where he will be reunited with all those he loves and love him.

But for now, I will keep praying.

Louisville

My dear friend lives in Louisville, Kentucky. But it’s not pronounced “Louisville.” It’s more like “loo-a-vul” or “loo-vul.” There are other Louisvilles, though. Colorado, Indiana, Georgia, Mississippi, Tennessee, New York, Nebraska, Illinois, Alabama, Kansas, Maryland, Quebec (Canada), and Belize (South America) all have their own Louisvilles. Some of them are pronounced as spelled, and others are more like “Louie-ville.” That’s where I live, I think.

Lately, the Louie part of my life has been much more noticeable.

The pain isn’t too bad. Some in my fingers and toes; small joints. Nothing I can’t deal with. But the fatigue is killing me!

A few nights ago, I collapsed into bed at 7, after doing my best to stay awake since 5. In the evening! Last night, I fell asleep at 5, slept through my alarm and woke up at 9 to a message on my phone. I did my best to be awake, and stayed that way for an entire hour, then slept for another 12. That’s 17 hours!

In the last few weeks, I’ve slept through my alarm more times than I can count. I can barely stay awake for anything. I’ve canceled big plans due to exhaustion.

Extreme fatigue is what took me into the doctor in the first place. Two plus years later, it hasn’t gotten any better. How is one supposed to do life? How is one supposed to live like this?