Let go

Fun night.

For the past week, I’ve been feeling like crap. Feverish, congested, achy, the works. This just on the heels of my Norwegian dental escapades. So I went to the AOET clinic and Betty listened to my lungs, which sounded clear, and she suggested I get on some antibiotics (which my wife had suggested earlier. That of course is another entire blog post about why my wife is right 104% of the time. The other 4% is to account for the times she’s right about a topic she knows absolutely nothing about, which I count as bonus points).

So I got on antibiotics. Three days later, I feel worse. But by yesterday, I couldn’t even lay on my side or stomach without feeling like an elephant was sitting on my chest. Some Internet research reveals that shortness of breath with the flu is a definite sign of Swine Flu. (Of course Internet medical research always convinces me I have extremely rare forms of cancer. I jammed my finger once, and I’m still reeling from the forum post that suggested it might be Mesenchymal chondrosarcoma).

I sauntered down to the International Clinic in Jinja to grab some Tamiflu. The clinic always makes me laugh. It’s like three rooms, and it’s sorta grimy. The staff is friendly enough, but randomly dressed (which takes away from the medicallyness of the place) and just about every sign in the place has a spelling or grammatical error.

The nurse asked about my symptoms. I laid it all out. Stomach problems (IBS for years, really sucks) the flu, and now, shortness of breath. She took my blood pressure, and found it normal. She listened to my heart. Then she asked about family history of heart problems. Uh oh. I told her my dad has some stuff he’s dealing with, and other than chest pain I get pretty frequently, the battery of tests I’ve had indicate the ticker’s in good shape. She asks me to lie down, then asks how I feel.

“Kinda crappy,” I tell her. “I’m short of breath.”

She sits me up a bit. “How do you feel now?”

“A little better,” I said.

She sits me up, and escorts me over to her desk, then delivers the verdict.

“You have heart failure.”

I blink.

“You need to go home and do nothing. Don’t walk around. Just sleep.”

Now, the public Johnny would have made a joke about that. It’s like a get out of jail free card for any kind of work. I would have said something witty like, “My wife is gonna love you for this one.”

But the real Johnny just about had a heart attack on the spot. All the years of worrying and wondering about those chest pains, and all the speculation that the clean health reports were really bunk, all that insecurity caught up with me (again) and I just about croaked. For real.

I stared blankly at the doctor as she handed me a prescription strength cough suppressant. (I suppose that was to keep me from coughing, which would of course count as “doing something” which was now officially detrimental to my health.)

I called Jen. “I’ve got to get to Kampala, to the International Hospital.”

“What? Why? What did she say?”

“She said I have heart failure.”

There was a pause. I knew (just KNEW) Jen was snickering because it’s absurd. I knew it was absurd, but I was in another dimension. The doctor had pushed the “ignite worst fears button” and the “what if” totally outweighed the absurdity of such a casual prognosis. I guess I should have known that a prognosis tossed around like that without any equipment or medical history, or real tests was probably crap, but… HEART FAILURE.

While I was going on about how I was going to get all the way to Kampala, Jen tells me to hold on, then, “I gotta go. Declan threw up.”

That’s when I had the second heart attack. The H1N1 demon came back to haunt me. What if I gave Declan the swine flu? Our youngest, at only seven years old… that would be.. unthinkable.

“Ok, we need to take him to the hospital, too.” Then I hung up.

By the time I got home, Declan was fine. He was eating pizza and had no other swine-like symptoms. I kissed my family goodbye (for how long?), and hopped in the passenger seat. Our friend (and sometimes emergency driver) Godfrey was at the wheel.

My mind raced with all the possibilities. I prayed to myself a lot, and made small talk with Godfrey. Ten minutes outside of town, we got a “punch” (short for puncture, a hole in the tire). We pulled into a gas station to get the tire repaired. (Most gas stations do minor repairs.) It cost $3.

As we continued on our journey, the price of that repair lingered. What do people here do when they get sick, and they don’t even have enough money to eat?

My mind spun. H1N1, heart failure.

I looked out the window. The truck next to me had the words “No condition is permanent” painted on the bumper.

A message from God? Bah.

I thought more about swines and flues.

A taxi sped by. It had the words “hakuna matata” painted above the windshield. It means “No Worries”.

Another message? WHAT THE?!?!? Why doesn’t God just get that I want to be left alone to stress out?

I decided to get my mind completely off of messages from God by humming to myself….

(sung brightly to self as if trying to distract oneself from a looming truth) It means no worries for the rest of your days… it’s a problem-free philosophy… hakuna matata…

The trip went on like that with me trying everything possible to worry, with every attempt foiled more amusingly than the time before.

We arrived at the hospital, and there was a Christian song playing. I ignored it and tried to find a receptionist because, well, I’m a walking pandemic at this point.

The hospital was sprawling, and spotless, and filled with doctors and nurses with ID badges and matching outfits. All the signs were spelled right. This was good.

The doctor was articulate, bright, friendly, and he listened to my whole tale, beginning with the family history of heart problems and the IBS and culminating with my swine flu and my heart failure which was happening RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

“Wait, what?”

It was a question I had to think about. “Heart failure?” I offered.

“How was that diagnosed?”

“With a bit of laying down.” It was the best I had. But I felt compelled to sweeten the deal.

“She knew about my family history,” I said.

So the doctor ran me through the gamut. First up was a blood test for H1N1, a full blood count and some other things. Then came a sonogram to figure out my stomach problems. As I sat waiting for the sonogram, I heard music floating above the ambience of the hospital. (See the audio clip. I won’t spoil it).

“Untitled.mp3”

God was pestering me again while I was preparing for death.

The sonogram came back clean, other than a slightly enlarged liver (which isn’t a big deal and is almost certainly from that time in Vegas, or that other time in Vegas, or that time in Vegas). The blood test showed nothing other than a mild viral infection, but the H1N1 would have to wait. They were out of the preservative medium.

Then the doc ran an ECG. My heart was fine.

“Wait, no heart failure?” I asked.

This is the point where I’m supposed to feel relieved, but I feel vaguely ripped off. Yet another indicator that I’m an idiot.

“Hardly. Based on what I can see, your IBS is acting up and causing the stomach and chest pains, and you’ve got the flu.”

“Swine flu?” (I was still going for the consolation prize.)

“We’ll treat it like it is. It would explain the shortness of breath.”

We scheduled a dye contrast for Tuesday to check out my gut, and he made me swear to come back and get the H1N1 test. And that was that.

He handed me my prize.

Just after 11pm, I wandered back to the truck and found Godfrey. I explained everything, thanked him for the billionth time and we started our long journey home. We stopped for chicken, chapatti (buttery flat bread), rolex (chapatti and eggs) and Cokes.

I thought a lot as Godfrey drove. Ten minutes from home, we saw the telltale signs of a big accident: large leafy branches across the road and HUNDREDS of vehicles and people choking the passage home. We slowed, passed the branches, and our headlights caught what looked to be a pile of intestines, then the dark smear that was at least 50 yards long. No stranger to roadkill, I blew it off. Dogs, cows, goats, chickens and the occasional monkey. I’ve seen my share of roadkill.

Godfrey exhaled. “Person,” he said. Then he pointed. “Shoe.”

I couldn’t speak. Up ahead of us, a police pickup truck was pulling into the road. We let it out. In the back were six men, standing around the edge of the bed. There was a moped leaning against the bed wall, and there was something else… in the middle.

“The body,” Godfrey confirmed.

The pickup was way too shallow. I saw way too much. We had to cross the Nile bridge behind the pickup. At two km/h, the Nile bridge is really long. Every streetlight beckoned my gaze to the truck bed and nudged my thoughts…

The whole thing really started to freak me out. This whole evening living in and around the specter of death was taking it’s toll.

I wondered what it was about me that made me terrified of illness and death.

Last night, I realized that I’ve got to drink my own Kool-Aid. There’s either a glorious afterlife to be had in Christ or there’s not. If there’s not, I better get out of Uganda, and find somewhere to really live it up, because there’s gotta be someplace more fun than this.

But the fact is, I’ve seen things in my life that suggest there’s more than “down here”. Every time I’ve made an active step to serve Christ with everything I have, he’s done crazy, impossible, logic-defying things with my life. The more radical the step, the more incredible the result.

Giving up a dream job and a perfect career, packing up my family and following the call to Uganda was a pretty radical step. It was completely illogical and just the kind of environment God loves to work in.

But lately I feel like I’ve been choking the life out of this opportunity with fear, doubt and small thinking.

It’s time to let go and see what’s next.

Philippians 4:6-9

Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life.

Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. […] Do that, and the God of peace will be with you.