Step Six: Face your giants.

On May 23, 2024, my husband, Jim Gallagher, entered the E.R. he worked in for 15 years, this time as a patient.  Within days he was fighting for his life as an infection that began in his foot raged throughout his body, and on June 4th, his leg was amputated below the knee in order to save his life.  This is an ongoing log of our journey.

One step forward.

He stood!

Weeks of therapy to rebuild strength in Jim’s upper body and left leg after infection and inactivity weakened his body are paying off!  On Day 43 of this pilgrimage through weakness and pain, Jim pulled himself up from a chair to the bars and stood on his good leg. 

In a world where you can order bed sheets in the morning and have them appear on your porch by evening, it might be hard to envision the determination it took to get to this small/giant step.  And if you zoom back far enough and squint toward the future, it’s daunting to think of all the other small steps required for mobility to become a reality.  But I don’t want to lose sight of the importance of this milestone just because there are many more miles ahead.  This is the reward of weeks of determination and painful work, and it is worth a medal!

“One small step for Jim, one giant leap for Jimkind.”

Two steps back.

Even while we celebrate Jim’s first unaided step, we find we have new battles to fight.  One giant is slain, and we turn to address the next two, charging quickly in our direction.

Pain, as you know, is preventing progress.  We still have questions as to the physiological triggers of Jim’s back pain, and are uncertain which of these time and healing will resolve.  One provider, after viewing Jim’s scans this week, suggested that the damage to Jim’s back may not be repairable, and that pain may be a permanent reality for him.

Wins are paired with losses.

 We are pretty powerless to impact this one.  The only choices we can make are to continue to work on building strength in the hope that muscular support will mitigate the pain to some degree, and readjust our expectation to include the possibility of scenarios and limitations we really don’t wish for. 

Already this week we came to the realization that when Jim comes home, it will require a hospital bed, not the cozy guest bed we thought would work for him.  But he will come home, and not to an assisted living facility!  Wins are paired with losses.

I don’t know how winsome you are when you are in pain.  I know that I’m powerless to be positive and amiable when I am suffering.  So the idea of potentially dealing with ongoing severe pain is a daunting giant.

The second giant is also huge, and I have a hard time even looking this one in the face.

On Day 44, Jim fell asleep watching TV.  When he awoke on Day 45, he could no longer see the characters on the TV, just blurs of movement.

There’s a backstory here. 

In 2020 as Jim began to prepare for hunting season, he realized he was unable to see through his scope with his right eye.  So, being adaptive, Jim taught himself to shoot with his left eye.  The show must go on!

A year later when his screen at work became hard to read, he sought help, and found that he had diabetic retinopathy in both eyes.  He found a fabulous retinologist, and with an ongoing regimen of bi-monthly shots in his eyes, the vision in his left eye was restored so that he could read the second to last line on the eye chart!  His right eye, however, was too damaged to recover.  It offers only peripheral vision, enough to help with depth perception, but little else.

Jim was in the hospital fighting for his life when his retinology appointment came up in May.  The retinologist is unable to treat patients outside of the office, so we needed to cancel.  For future appointments, the ability to tolerate transport and sit up for a few hours is needed in order to seek treatment. 

I would expect incremental declines the longer Jim goes without treatment.  But a huge, overnight shift like what happened on Friday night? That makes me wonder what else is going on.  Please support Jim in prayer as we wait out the weekend and seek to get a quick, emergency appointment and arrange medical transport. 

To put it bluntly, if this is not reversable, Jim is legally blind. 

Rotten giants.  I hate them.

Standing by.

Life is such a strange mixture of pleasure and pain.

The pleasure this last week has been a troupe of friends armed with paint rollers and food and willing hearts and love.  The pain was shared by all when we awoke the next morning with stiff necks and aching joints!

If you don't have friends, GET YOU SOME.

 Some came on Wednesday armed with screw drivers and putty and blue tape and sandpaper and washrags to help prep for painting this big 20-year-old house.  Some gave up their 4th of July holiday to eat red, white and blue waffles, spread drop-cloths, climb ladders, prime or cut in with brushes or roll paint with rollers up to the peak of our great room, and go home exhausted to watch fireworks.  And still more descended on Saturday to wrap things up, finish the hall and entry and laundry room, and prep the trim for future paint.

Friends, if you don’t have friends, GET YOU SOME!

Because you know what?  They didn’t just bring food and muscle and rescue.  They brought joy and love and stories and hugs and support and tears and a Whole Lot Of Laughter.  And life—even life that flirts with scary stuff and ugly Giants—is sweet and good when you have support around you. 

Our friends—you know who you are!—are the crutches that prop us back up and help us move forward.  They don’t care if I ugly cry or forget what they said 10 minutes ago or if I’m streaming with sweat.  They do things like help me think or strategize what task is most important today, or what to do with the enormous yellow jacket nest. (The exterminator was the right choice; the nest had 400-500 yellowjackets in it!) They send freshly-picked berries, and let me think out loud, and remind me of who I am at the core of me, and also the stupid things we did when we were teenagers.

They do the heavy lifting with me.  And then also pop in to visit Jim from near or far, bring him smoked salmon or ribs, listen to his stories—even the gross ones—and have deep conversations that end in holy moments of prayer.  They help his lame wife with a million chores around the house, and run the dogs when I’m at work, find us the missing information we need, volunteer to haul off the junk, do a Stuff Sale, or fix and sell Jim’s old truck.

I’m pondering the good guidance of the Lord, the assurance of his presence, the promise of his provision.  I’m also pondering the generosity of those whose lives have been filled with God’s blessing—through both pain and pleasure—and how their hearts have become generous. 

I’m overflowing with gratefulness.  I’m also tired.  I’m hopeful!  And I’m also fearful. Pain and pleasure, hard and holy, beauty and barrenness, guts and glory—all are weirdly intertwined in this giant soup pot of life.

Psalm 37:23-26 says it this way:

The steps of a man are ordered by the Lord

who takes delight in his journey.

Though he falls, he will not be overwhelmed,

for the Lord is holding his hand. 

I once was young and now am old,

yet never have I seen the righteous abandoned

or their children begging for bread.

They are ever generous and quick to lend,

and their children are a blessing.

Like Jim, I’m working hard at growing stronger.

One step at a time.