For the past 6 six weeks or so, it has rained nearly every day here. Then the clouds broke, the sun’s rays came spewing through and people hit the sidewalks, roads and lakes to enjoy the weather.
My daughter’s surgery was a lot like that. A lot of tension and worry followed by overflowing joy. The doctor removed three lymphnodes and a cyst and indicated none of them were anything to worry about. He sent them off for tests, but believes the swollen lymphnodes are the result of an infection of some sort.
My wife and I are overjoyed. We have had such a blast with our daughter this week that I haven’t had a chance to write in this space. My wife and daughter are wonderful.
Thank each of you who prayed for her.
This is the fourth time I’ve tried to write this post. I’ve made a committment to myself to post whatever I write tonight. I don’t expect this post to come out eloquent or smooth.
Last week, my wife and I took our daughter to a specialist so he could examine her. A few months ago she developed a lump about the size of a marble on her neck. We were told it was a swollen lymphnode and it would go away. So we kept watching it. One swollen lymphnode turned into two. Now there’s a third lump in her chest and the specialist is going to operate on my daughter to remove the lumps and test them.
The doctor says he’s 99 percent sure the lumps are swollen lymphnodes that are trying to fight off an infection. But that still leaves a one percent chance the lumps could be something else, something else real bad. And that one percent scares me tremendously.
What’s worse, there’s nothing I can do to fight that one percent. I can’t change what’s going on with my daughter. I can’t take the lumps on myself. If I could, I would.
So I do what I can. I hold her a little longer. Cherish every smile she flashes a little more. Spend a little more time with my daughter. I find myself drifting off a bit more as I think of her during the day.
I find it difficult to talk about my daughter’s situation with anyone for fear of breaking down. When I think no one’s looking, tears sometimes fall.
And I pray a bit more. I pray with all my heart, with all my being. And I trust God as much as I can. I know He can take away my daughter if He wants. I just pray He doesn’t.
My daughter has surgery July 10. If you read this, I’d appreciate if you’d pray for her as well. Members of our Sunday School class have committed to pray for her. Our pastor called today and did the same. But I’d appreciate every prayer that goes up for my daughter.
