Hubby told me today that he is “very discouraged.” It sounds like he’s not exactly enthusiastic about having two ten-inch internal wounds. He’s disheartened, overwhelmed and concerned, even fearful. He needs lots of support, and he’s having a hard time seeing the good that we are promised will come of this.
I confess: I’m a worker: rain or shine, pleasure or pain, sick or trick. And most people don’t seem to have the pain threshold that I’ve been blessed with. So when someone says they’re discouraged, feeling down, don’t feel good, or tired, empathy is not usually my initial reaction. Instead, my horrid head usually comes up with a juicy jewel like, “Seriously; buck up, Dude.” (But I’ve learned not to let on.) Thankfully, after that evil instant, I remember: internal sickness is somewhat metaphysical: just because we can’t see it, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Especially with Hubby; his is a very real trouble.
To help you understand his suffering, try this experiment: Take a piece of coarse steel wool, being sure some of the wires are sticking out. Rub it all over the tender side of your upper arms—both of them—until they bleed. Keep doing that for two weeks, until the wounds are very sore. Now take a piece of rope, wrap both arms, pull tightly, and scrape upward clear to the armpit. Repeat. You know you’ve done it right when you writhe in agony, and when you look down and see blood has pooled next to each of your feet. Repeat this process a few times every day (whenever you are hungry), until you cannot stand to do it the next time—you’d rather starve. Have a doctor look at it, and see how discouraged you are when you hear, “these wounds are difficult to reach; we’ll just have to let it run its course.”
I want to add here—through this flare-up, Hubby’s countenance has been a lot better than it was last time (eight years ago). He’s doing well in that regard. ‘Just a little …discouraged. Hubby, this is for you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6wRkzCW5qI