It’s Thursday morning on September 5th, and it’s almost time for my long awaited adventure to begin. Tomorrow at 11:15 AM I’m supposed to board a plane and head to Atlanta for Launch. I’ve been counting down the days, the hours, until my departure. The anticipation and excitement are overwhelming, and I feel ready.
But instead of the last minute packing, tearful goodbyes and last dose of Mexican food that I intended for my day, I find myself in the back of an ambulance on my way to the hospital with my hand throbbing in pain.
Before I go any further, let me explain how I got here. When I say I was attacked by a lion, that’s a bit of an exaggeration…but it seems like a more fitting explanation considering the circus that this situation has turned into.
When I decided to go on the World Race, my parents were kind enough to volunteer to watch my dog and 2 cats while I was away. But because of my uncontrollable habit of taking in stray animals, they already have 2 cats and 2 dogs of their own that I rescued previously. So basically for the next year, their house is a zoo.
To make a long story short, on Labor Day my cat and their dog got into a little argument, I stuck my hand in the middle to break it up and got bit, presumably by the cat (aka lion). It really didn’t seem like a big deal, it was a tiny cut that hardly bled. But 12 hours later my entire hand was extremely swollen, red and excruciatingly painful. Tuesday morning I went to an Emergency Clinic who gave me IV antibiotics and sent me on my way with a prescription. But by Thursday when I returned for my check-up appointment, the doctor wasn’t pleased that the condition of my hand hadn’t improved.
Taking me by ambulance and admitting me to the hospital seemed a bit dramatic. I mean, let’s be honest, I was bit by a fluffy 10 lb. house cat, how bad could it be? Sure it was painful, but I was convinced that would subside. But the doctor insisted so I agreed to go with the assumption that I would get another dose of IV antibiotics and be able to leave the hospital in enough time to make my flight the next morning. I was determined and nothing, not even a balloon-shaped hand, would stop me from getting on that plane.
But now it’s Thursday evening and I’m lying in a hospital bed surrounded by people who are poking, prodding and injecting me with all sorts of things. Tears run down my face and my heart breaks as I realize my plans will have to change. From what the doctors are saying my situation is more serious than I was allowing myself to believe. Making it to Launch on time, if at all, is becoming less and less realistic. The entire trip seems to be in jeopardy. I will need surgery and several rounds of intensive antibiotics if I want to be able to use my hand again.
I understand that I need treatment, but what I don’t understand is why?
I’ve read every blog, I’ve packed and repacked a dozen times. I’ve been fundraising and praying over this trip for months. I’ve never been so certain about anything in my life. I know the Lord is calling me to go to the nations, He’s made that so clear. I’m supposed to go on this trip, I have peace about it and I’m confident. So why is this happening now? Why are my plans slipping from fingers?
But maybe that was the problem. My grasp was just too tight. These were my plans. My plans, not His.
Stay tuned for Part 2!!!
The Ferocious Perpetrator…
I’ve been so blessed by the overwhelming amount of support I have received. I am now over 60% funded, but still have several thousand dollars (with insurance included) left to raise. I ask that you will please prayerfully consider supporting me financially so I don’t have to come home from this amazing journey prematurely.
