Grump, grump, grump

They tell you on the instruction sheet for the PET scan that you should keep as warm as possible. Let someone else start your car and warm it up for you. Wrap up in woolens and sweaters. Yeah, right.

First of all, the furnace still isn't working right and I awoke to a chilly 63 degrees inside. So much for staying warm! And who, praytell, shall I send out to start the car? Certainly not Drew though Lord knows he would be willing enough.

Bad enough the temperature is in the teens, but the car is covered with several inches of snow. Which will require a good twenty minutes of brushing and scraping to clear, so much for warm. (Can you tell I am feeling sorry for myself?)

I grumble through the car clearing process, sit shivering while the back window defrosts, then back out of the parking space, slightly irked that Drew has no school and is soundly sleeping. I lift my cellphone and leave a message at the office about the furnace.

No breakfast, but you have to drink 2 glasses of water, and well before I reach the clinic I need a bathroom. So it begins. I sign in, then hit the restroom before sitting down in the waiting area, hoping they don't take too much time before they call me back.

I look around the waiting room and am instantly ashamed of myself. There were several women waiting to be call, one of whom looked green with nausea, the other continuing to pat the scarf carefully tied over her obviously bald head. On the other side of the coffee table sat a man in a wheel chair, his wife gently holding his shaking hand as a tear trickles down his cheek. A thin gentleman paced near the coat racks, the pain etched in his ashen cheeks.

Two nurses come out and speak with one woman slouching in a blue corner chair. She is slated not only for a PET scan, but an EKG and various other tests for which they had transported special equipment.

Too well I remember being the one slouched over in the easy chair, barely hanging on, waiting for help. Sort of like the man at the pool of Siloam. Always ill, never able to quite get well. I take a deep breath and begin to thank God that I am feeling well, that I have the strength to handle this test, that I am not undergoing treatment.

They call me back, and I spend my hour waiting for the radiation to permeate my body praying for those with cancer that I know about, praying for grace to provide support through Jairus House well. It goes so quickly I hardly realize I am finished. It seems only a minute ago they put the IV in, and now they are taking it out.

For a brief moment, I remember the last test and how exhausted I was for a week afterwards. But there is no reason to think I will have the same reaction this time. I will trust the Lord, who gives strength sufficient for the day.

I step out the door back to the reality of the normal world, sobered by the reminder glimpse that not everyone's world is all peaches and cream.