rolling rolling rolling

We were easily the youngest people in the outpatient surgery room by a decade or more.  We got there early, surprised beyond belief we got in so soon. We expected it to take at least a week so when the call came in we jumped. Let's get this on.

The nurses love J.  While I am certainly aware of his loveability, I was a bit bemused to see how they flocked to him, somehow the story of the jungle had made the rounds and three or four different nurses came in to ask about our journey, the whys and hows and wheres.  The waiting took forever, three hours of IVs and tests and draws and then they wheeled him away for the procedure, the one where the doctor shot the straightest of everyone we've met so far, telling him it could very well be cancer but age and health play in our favor. The straightforwardness is refreshing even if I don't like the words. Another nurse was not so direct, she actually asked if J had to peepee which made me laugh uncontrollably, kind of like when Anderson Cooper made that joke about teabagging on CNN. 

After the procedure he was sick, a reaction to the medication that took awhile to subside.  The nurses came back and mothered him, two of them brought up faith and God and one even asked to pray for him, something that has been a rather common theme over the last week.  

You don't realize the faith in others till you are dealing with something like this and then it's all around you, it swirls all over you and you almost can't breathe but then you remember how entirely generous it is to be thought of by others, of how goodness is simply that. It's good and people's hearts are wide.

After four hours they decide we can leave, he's stabilized and it's time for us to go.  They bring us a wheelchair and I start to laugh. I sit in it and they tell me it's not for me and swat me on the head and I laugh again and load J in and spin a little wheelie. I can't help acting like this, it's like I refuse to take this seriously because if I do then it's more real and if I keep cracking jokes then it's like a field trip and not really our lives. I'm waiting for him to sign a form when the Jesus Nurse comes back and asks if we are looking forward to going back to the jungle. Yes, I say but if he's sick I guess we'll have to stay here for awhile and kick cancer's ass first. She looks at me and smiles you two have just been added to my prayer list and I smile back because I am thankful for so much kindness but I also want to know where was God a couple weeks ago, because that's when He really should've been on his game. I want to ask her but am afraid I'll sound insulting when I honestly don't mean to. So we leave the recovery room, J sitting in the chair and me pushing him and I lose a little control on a downslope but instead of trying to slow down I stood on the back of the chair and for awhile we glided, both of us in tandem hoping not to tip over.