CAREGIVER DIARIES: FACING REALITY

I drove home from the hospital. Donnie McClurkin's "Just a Little Talk With Jesus" was on repeat. From Clinton to Fort Washington, I was singing along. "Jesus will make it alright...I know that he can...I know that he will." By the time he was singing/preaching "Satan is a liar; he's under my feet" I had to make sure my speed wasn't increasing. 

I needed agreement. 

Everyone at the hospital agreed with each other, and their words, though soberly, respectfully and kindly spoken, were unfavorable. 

I refused to allow myself to be infected. I still have hope.
I'd spoken to the case manager, the doctor, nurse, and hospice representative. I heard what they all said--clearly. It registered, but then, it didn't. The things they were saying concerning my Dad's discharge weren't connecting or agreeing with my heart and spirit at all.

 

Dad looks and sounds so much better than he did when he was admitted two weeks ago. The improvement I've seen was encouraging to me. The words I heard, though, let me know that no one shared my enthusiasm. Messages from friends, though, made me smile. Not everyone is throwing in the towel. Some people still know that God has the final say, and he can do anything. My high school friend Marcia's message was particularly reassuring: 
"God is in control of this situation. Continue to know that and try your best to NOT get overwhelmed or stressed out by the actions (or lack thereof) and negative comments from others. Hopefully you will have  (should have) more on-site help since he is under hospice care. Remember that hospice care does NOT necessarily mean that death is knocking on the door. There have been people who have received hospice care for over a year; there have been people who no longer needed hospice care. You and your dad will be fine - I believe this."

I guess I kind of feel like a boxer whose corner is begging him to take a fall; whose fans are covering their eyes to keep from seeing him repeatedly hit, but he knows he has some fight and one more good punch left in him. If the ref would get out of the way; if the naysayers would just shut up and just allow him to throw that punch, he would win.

Hospice. 

I don't like that word. I hate it. I understand the principle. I understand that there is a level of compassion involved, but somehow, in some odd way, that word implies defeat, failure, giving up, and a loss of faith. I've never thought myself to be delusional or unrealistic, but I believe God. I've seen what he can do.
Whether He does what I want or not; whether the outcome is reminiscent of my dreams or not, whether the doctor's prediction materializes or not, I still believe God. 
I'll still praise him. 
Either way, Love always wins.