Monday, March 17, 2008


Those of you that follow along with our blog know that our friend Massi is in the hospital. He is diagnosed with myelofibrosis and has been in the hospital for a month. He is waiting for his white blood cell count to increase so that he can receive a bone marrow transplant. Brian has been doing a great job of keeping the team and church updated on his condition and has gone to visit him several times. The first time I accompanied him we weren't able to see him but instead stayed in the waiting area with his fiance' Rosa. Yesterday I went back out with him and we were able to see him. After we scrubbed and put our masks on, Massi met us at the door rolling his 'IV tree' along with him. We made our way to a small waiting room and sat down in the dark to talk.

As Massi and Brian started talking, I found myself in a dream-like state. I had my mask on upside-down which caused my breathing to fog up my glasses so I took them off which made everything extremely blurry. I joined the conversation distantly, listening and offering encouragement as I could. My eyes kept getting drawn back to the IV tube and the dripping of the blood.

Man, it makes me think. The whys. The meaning of it all. Posters on the wall of the darkened room tried to put detailed medical information into terms we can all understand. But my eyes couldn't focus. I went back to watch the dripping. At times there were lulls in the conversation, as if we were all thinking the obvious, as if the big question was there, looming over us. You could hear our muffled breathing behind our masks and the dripping continued; donated blood of a stranger slowly entering Massi's body, bringing new cells and maybe hope?

We left after about an hour. We prayed with him. We hugged him, trying to avoid the IV tubes carrying the bright, iridescent blood into his body. And we left. The doctor says there isn't much hope for Massi if his levels don't rise. Looking at him, head shaved, wearing a robe, tubes coming out of his body, there doesn't seem to be much room for hope and somehow.

And yet we hope.

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