After surgery, visiting a lovely Japanese park with my sister-- following doctor's orders for a daily walk
The coughing started sometime last September. Not that it was any big deal. When I talked with the doctor about it as a precautionary measure in October, I could only estimate when it began. “It’s probably allergies,” he responded easily after listening to my lungs, looking in my throat and ears, and noting that Indiana was in the vice-like grip of an especially horrible season for allergy sufferers. Since Bernie and I were headed out to visit churches in Colorado and Oregon, he added, “It’ll probably clear up when you get out of Indiana.”
Only it didn’t. As we looked at returning to Japan in November, following our three-month home assignment, I visited the doctor again. Although the doctor still was not concerned about the coughing, he agreed that treating me more aggressively could eliminate the increasingly aggravating cough and at least ease my mind. He prescribed a heavy-duty cough syrup that brought on a spasm of uncontrolled coughing when I saw the price, gave me an inhaler to sample in case this was asthma related, and ordered an x-ray of my lungs. I was satisfied and happy when the x-ray was clear, and I returned to Japan confident that everything was fine, even though both the syrup and the inhaler did nothing to alleviate my coughing.
In fact, the bouts of coughing were becoming more frequent. In December, they were joined by heaviness in my chest—at times, pain—when I exerted myself to walk up a hill. Gradually, my energy began to flag as well until the January day I began crying as I spoke with my father on the telephone. “Dad, I’m just so tired,” I admitted to him. “I can’t seem to do anything without resting, and I don’t have time for these daily naps and this lack of energy. I’ve got two book deadlines on me, and I’ve just got to keep going.”
What would a girl do without her father—even a girl as old as I am? I’ve been married 33 years to a wonderful, loving, and caring husband, have been blessed with two children of my own, and love to “talk” with my 15-month-old grandson nearly daily via Skype. But at that moment, it was my dad who picked me up, brushed away my tears, prayed for me, and comforted me as all loving daddies do when their little girls trip and fall down. Never mind that he was half a world away in the United States.
But still the coughing didn’t stop. Finally, when the books were off to the publisher, I began a month of weekly visits to a respiratory doctor. Gradually, using x-rays, strong antibiotics, and bronchial patches, he eliminated all the usual: pneumonia, bronchitis, whopping cough (making a resurgence here), and asthma. Yet the coughing continued. In fact, it was getting worse even as my energy was dangerously low. Blood work showed anemia and a highly elevated CRP (C reactive protein, whatever that is). Something was definitely wrong, but all we could see were telltale signs. Two weeks before a sonogram of my left kidney finally brought the diagnosis, Dr. Yamamoto told me carefully, “I think we are dealing with something very difficult.” In Japan, where the word cancer can hardly be whispered for the impact it carries, I realized immediately what he was suggesting: there was a strong possibility that we were dealing with the dreaded disease.
Today, two weeks after my hospitalization, I am at home resting, less one kidney, and awaiting the pathology report in three days. Amazingly, my coughing ceased the day after the surgery (and maybe even sooner, but I don’t remember much about my recovery time in ICU); I no longer pant when walking up the slight inclines Tokyoites call hills (there’s a reason this area is referred to as the Kanto Plains); and my energy level is returning (hence the fact that I’m at the computer to begin to unravel some of the jumbled and even incoherent thoughts that crowd my head).
Although the untangling of my mind and heart is going to take a while, I’ve already exceeded my self-imposed one-page blog limit. So for today, I’ll let it go at this: I am overflowing with gratitude for telltale signs that led me to a good doctor and a good hospital and for the amazing care that I received there. But most of all, I have been buoyed on the wings of the love of friends and family—and especially the family of God—from all over the world. I am speechless with wonder for I know I have done nothing to deserve this outpouring of love. In fact, as the emotions well up in my heart, I realize I have seen the invisible God. His name is Love (1 John 4:8).
Only it didn’t. As we looked at returning to Japan in November, following our three-month home assignment, I visited the doctor again. Although the doctor still was not concerned about the coughing, he agreed that treating me more aggressively could eliminate the increasingly aggravating cough and at least ease my mind. He prescribed a heavy-duty cough syrup that brought on a spasm of uncontrolled coughing when I saw the price, gave me an inhaler to sample in case this was asthma related, and ordered an x-ray of my lungs. I was satisfied and happy when the x-ray was clear, and I returned to Japan confident that everything was fine, even though both the syrup and the inhaler did nothing to alleviate my coughing.
In fact, the bouts of coughing were becoming more frequent. In December, they were joined by heaviness in my chest—at times, pain—when I exerted myself to walk up a hill. Gradually, my energy began to flag as well until the January day I began crying as I spoke with my father on the telephone. “Dad, I’m just so tired,” I admitted to him. “I can’t seem to do anything without resting, and I don’t have time for these daily naps and this lack of energy. I’ve got two book deadlines on me, and I’ve just got to keep going.”
What would a girl do without her father—even a girl as old as I am? I’ve been married 33 years to a wonderful, loving, and caring husband, have been blessed with two children of my own, and love to “talk” with my 15-month-old grandson nearly daily via Skype. But at that moment, it was my dad who picked me up, brushed away my tears, prayed for me, and comforted me as all loving daddies do when their little girls trip and fall down. Never mind that he was half a world away in the United States.
But still the coughing didn’t stop. Finally, when the books were off to the publisher, I began a month of weekly visits to a respiratory doctor. Gradually, using x-rays, strong antibiotics, and bronchial patches, he eliminated all the usual: pneumonia, bronchitis, whopping cough (making a resurgence here), and asthma. Yet the coughing continued. In fact, it was getting worse even as my energy was dangerously low. Blood work showed anemia and a highly elevated CRP (C reactive protein, whatever that is). Something was definitely wrong, but all we could see were telltale signs. Two weeks before a sonogram of my left kidney finally brought the diagnosis, Dr. Yamamoto told me carefully, “I think we are dealing with something very difficult.” In Japan, where the word cancer can hardly be whispered for the impact it carries, I realized immediately what he was suggesting: there was a strong possibility that we were dealing with the dreaded disease.
Today, two weeks after my hospitalization, I am at home resting, less one kidney, and awaiting the pathology report in three days. Amazingly, my coughing ceased the day after the surgery (and maybe even sooner, but I don’t remember much about my recovery time in ICU); I no longer pant when walking up the slight inclines Tokyoites call hills (there’s a reason this area is referred to as the Kanto Plains); and my energy level is returning (hence the fact that I’m at the computer to begin to unravel some of the jumbled and even incoherent thoughts that crowd my head).
Although the untangling of my mind and heart is going to take a while, I’ve already exceeded my self-imposed one-page blog limit. So for today, I’ll let it go at this: I am overflowing with gratitude for telltale signs that led me to a good doctor and a good hospital and for the amazing care that I received there. But most of all, I have been buoyed on the wings of the love of friends and family—and especially the family of God—from all over the world. I am speechless with wonder for I know I have done nothing to deserve this outpouring of love. In fact, as the emotions well up in my heart, I realize I have seen the invisible God. His name is Love (1 John 4:8).
