Strength
All my life I’ve been strong. As a child I was bigger than everyone my age. As a young man I was tall, broad, imposing. Even now as a man of advancing age, many people find me intimidating. A large part of my self-image revolves around being “the strong one.” I could out-muscle any opponent, outwork any hardship, endure any pain. I’ve never really considered myself handsome or charming or socially adept, but I’ve always known I was strong.
Whatever else I may be for better or worse- I am strong.
Weakness
On March 25th I asked my wife to take me to the emergency room at Northside Hospital to seek treatment for dehydration. I’d had a stomach virus for a week and hadn’t been able to keep down food or water. I knew I was not going to get past it on my own and was sure that a few bags of fluid in the ER would get me over the hump and let me regain my strength.
The staff at the hospital agreed that I was dehydrated, but that wasn’t all there was to it. An endoscopy, a CT, an Ultrasound, an MRI and many blood tests later, it was confirmed that I had a staph infection in my blood stemming from an abscess in my right ankle- a small bit of swelling I hadn’t considered worth even mentioning when I went to the hospital.
I spent the next 16 days confined to a hospital bed with a constant stream of some of the strongest antibiotics available being pumped directly into my veins, and I had three surgeries on my foot to remove infection. In the words of the Infectious Disease specialist assigned to my case, “You’re very sick. … A lot of people don’t live through this kind of infection.”
I was unable to sit up or even roll over in bed on my own. Hospital workers came to my room every two hours to turn me in an attempt to avoid bed sores. I had to be rolled onto a bedpan to relieve myself, and then had to be wiped like a baby when I was done.
I’ve never been more weak.
Love
In my helplessness, my wife stayed by my side- living out the “in sickness and health” part of our wedding vows. I admonished her to go home; to take care of our children, our household, and most of all herself. She reluctantly went home each night to make sure our girls had what they needed, our dogs were fed, our house was in order. Then she would be back at my side the next morning, often only to watch me sleep all day.
Life-long friends went to my house when I wasn’t there to prepare for my eventual homecoming- building ramps, and modifying furniture.
My church family came together and gave generously of their time and money to make sure that my family had food to eat, rides to and from school, and whatever else was needed.
I’ve never seen Love more clearly demonstrated.
Humility
I was released from the hospital on April 9th and came home that afternoon; barely able to walk with the help of a walker. I’m still largely confined to the living room sofa, and while I’m getting stronger every day, it’s been a struggle to do the simplest things. Not only does my wife have to administer IV medications daily, but I also need her help to dress myself, brush my teeth, clean my wounds. She has demonstrated immense humility by putting my needs above her own and serving me tirelessly.
While her humility is to be celebrated and appreciated, I have experienced the other side of that coin.
I am humbled- brought low.
While I am confident I will recover, I’m not sure I can ever again think of myself as “the strong one.”
I am weak, helpless… useless.
I’ve never been more humiliated.
Hope
Please don’t read this and worry. Writing has always been how I organize my thoughts, and this post is as much a part of my healing process as are stitches and antibiotics and physical therapy. I am certain that my current situation is temporary. In a few weeks, this will be nothing more than another story to tell. I will once again be the helper, rather than the helped; the one charging into difficult situations, relying on my strength and endurance to get me through.
I have hope that my present is not my future.