Room 506

I was lost. First of all, the hospital was quite large with signs everywhere pointing in different directions for all the color coded elevators and wings. And second, well, it was more on a whim than a planned decision that led to my walk through the twisted corridors. I made it to the fifth floor of the pediatric wing, but one set of double doors was all it took to make me question where I was. I slipped into a family waiting room and dialed the operator, "Room 506, please." After a few rings, L*'s voice filled the phone, "Hello?" "Hey, L*! It's Amy. What if I told you I was on the floor of your hospital, popping in to visit, and I'm lost?" And so began a fifteen minute dialogue while her younger sister paced the halls in hopes of discovering where I was.

L*, only a senior in high school, has been diagnosed with Leukemia.  She has begun the chemo treatments and knows that the next six months will be the most difficult as her body responds to the drugs and she remains isolated at home or at the hospital.  It had been a long time since I had seen L*, but a mutual friend had kept me updated, and moving back to Springfield left no reason to not pop by the hospital and see if she was there.

Silly me, I was holed up in the waiting room right next to her room, and so only after a little confusion I was sitting with them, catching up and learning about the complexity and yet hopefulness of a leukemia patient's journey.  L* is a beautifully open and honest young lady and early in the conversation turned things serious. "People ask me if this has affected my faith, and I don't know the answer to that question.  I mean, I don't want to just pray because I'm weak and need God's help, but it's then I need to pray the most...you know?" L* was specifically referring to the days where her body's reaction to chemo are devastating and violent, days where her body lashes out and nothing stays down.  A hard day like that is what brought her back to the hospital before I came to see her.

We talked about L*'s father, who died of cancer eleven some years ago, how her mother and sister basically live at the hospital when she is admitted, and the strain of being sick she knows will inevitably affect her other relationships. But what I love about L*, is her heart for God, for those around her, and for the future.  We talked about our faiths, how God is bigger than the hard things of life, and about dreams beyond this season....college, marriage, and jobs.

I don't know how much else I'll be able to do for L* while I am here this fall, but I've been praying for her ever since.  For her healing, her health, her spirits. For her honest conversations with God. He's bigger than pain, doubts, questions.  He's bigger than leukemia and chemo. I see that in L*'s eyes and I hear it in her words. God is bigger.