Worst Day Ever. *frown*

I suppose that even though this is Saturday, this will count as the regular Sunday post. But if he's lots better on Sunday, I'll post again, just so no one has to worry.

I guess I'd say, to our praying friends: Bill needs prayer. To our non-praying friends, Bill needs your good thoughts. (This doesn't make me a relativist. This makes me someone who loves every friend just the same, because every life is equally precious.)

Bill has never been this sick, except when he was in Intensive Care after his roter-rooter surgery at Duke.

There's no way to give you enough facts to present even an impressionistic rendering of the way he is sick. But here's the best I can do. His nausea is nearly unendurable. He feels like he has the full blown flu, aches, exhaustion, depression, misery. "I'm ready to die," he says.

Kicker: He can't even READ. He can't look at computer or TV. He's so sick that it makes him ill to even take in thought. He doesn't want me near him. He just lies in his bed in the dark with his eyes closed and says, "Beth, I'm just so sick," during my brief visits with food, water or medicines.

He could only eat scrambled eggs today. He loves how I cook them. He had one for breakfast, one for dinner. And some chocolate protein drink to try to stop his stomach pain.

I feel sure this is just ("just?") the red devil doing its dirty, cumulative work, and we all hope that his tumor has met its match. I'll tell you the MINUTE we know when that MRI will be. It can't be soon enough for me.

His next appointment is Friday, but I have a feeling he may need some hospital time before then, if he doesn't turn around. He needs anti-nausea IVs--the pills and suppositories aren't working. He needs food and fluids. He probably needs morphine drip. I wouldn't want this to happen to a dog, much less my beautiful, brilliant, loving, holy, Christian, hard-working, courageous husband. In just unabating misery.

I know there are some of you that may not believe I should say all this. Some people--it's a personal choice--believe in showing a strong face, no matter what. They might call this whining or complaining or self-pitying.

But I do it for one reason. Now you know how to pray for him. (Thanks for that realization, Richard H., one of Bill's beloved church friends.)

I will write again the minute he starts feeling better, as I know this kind of post stresses and upsets a lot of people. It's hard to know what I should do, but as my friend Craig says, "When you're in a situation like this, remember that whatever you do is right." Thank you Craig (he lost his wife to cancer. He is my standby comfort at all times, and my advisor. He volunteers for Hospice in NY.).

Then there is Clifford whose hair is now 1/16th of an inch long, in solidarity with Bill's humiliating hair loss.

Then there is YOU who have read this far, this long, this often, and with this much love. I love you for loving Bill as if you are the only person in the whole wide world. Thank you, with all my sad heart. No jokes from me today.

Bethie