Today, Elsa came in for radiation. It didn’t register to me quick enough as I passed the 9-year-old girl, complete in a beautiful and official Disney store Elsa costume, or I would have commented, reached out to her, dear sister-survivor.
That’s the way to do radiation, I thought. Ice ’em out, dear sister-survivor.
I’ve officially decided that I must be the radiation therapist’s craft project.
My body is their sheet of paper. They draw on the sides of my hips, straight lines of blue and green. Then stick stickers, adhesives to maintain their artwork.
I must respect their lines, their arrows. Don’t rub off. Don’t wash off. Their craft project is significant to them, denoting where the lasers line up against my body, targeting cells under my skin.
Radiation again was quick, quick. Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Hop off, we’re done here.
From the James to Nationwide Children’s Hospital today. 2 hospitals in one day (this wouldn’t be the first time) but today it was voluntary, to visit sister-survivor Jasmine.
It’s funny; I tried to visit you sister-survivor yesterday, but I could feel my brain’s white drywall being constructed, the thoughts being blocked the instant I tried to think them. Instead of traveling, my thoughts were surrendering themselves to the wall, willing hung as empty picture frames. I keep staring, trying to remember what thought-image that was to go in the frame; I keep forgetting.
Clearly though God wanted me to visit you today.
I receive a text from Paula, one of the nurse clinicians: “Can you come visit Jasmine today?”
Smile. Reply: “I was already planning on it today!”
Plans intersecting, thoughts connecting: we were both clearly listening to the Holy Spirit today about you as He whispered your name in our ears.
What a joy to be around your sweet scent today, dear Jasmine! And we talk and laugh and share music and scroll through images on Instagram and eat Chipotle and watch the muted tv screen and its like we aren’t even in this hospital room but we are outside in the world, hanging out, enjoying life. We are friends enjoying life.
And yet, here we are, in this hospital room, confined by blood pressure cuffs and pills and stethoscopes and hospital beds and our bodies. Our own cells rebel to keep us here in this hospital fort.
Our own cells rebel to relate. We are now relating, conversing, asking, laughing because of them.
How mysterious He works in ways to bring good through all things to those who love him! (Romans 8:28)
You are incorporated in the good He promises me. Funny how when we assess the good he brings us back to relationship, always, be it our relationship with Him or others.
Thank you, thank you.