Bob had had a heart...
Illustration
Bob had had a heart attack, and it was bad: He had lost a good deal of muscle tone, and his blood pressure failed easily. Fluid kept building up in his lungs, and he had been in and out of the hospital to have it drained. His skin was gray, his face lined. He had aged at least ten years in the space of a week. The doctors tried a variety of drugs, and after many trials, settled on a new, experimental drug. They also prescribed oxygen to be used whenever Bob laid down or whenever he was up and walking around for more than five minutes. Bob hated the regimen. He hated the cannula in his nostrils; he hated the various restrictions he had to live with; he hated the oxygen cannister that had to travel everywhere with him. He hated the trips to the hospital, the tests, the medication, the IVs. But most of all, he hated the fact that he could no longer pursue his formerly active lifestyle. His anger began to wear on his wife Alice (who was tired of his complaining); the nurses (who found him difficult to deal with); and his adult kids, who had finally "read him the riot act." Bob had to face the fact that death was drawing near. The spectre of the unknown loomed over him, leaving him devastated. Then a friend had asked him a few questions: "Bob," she asked, "what is your hope at this moment? Do you believe God has any more plans for you, or is God done with you? What do you have to look forward to?" Alice was as astounded at the questions as was Bob, but she believed so firmly that there was more to life than these few years on earth, that it had never occurred to her that he might be resentful or afraid to die; he, however, had lost all hope when he finally understood that his body was failing him. Now he was forced to reevaluate his faith and his understanding of the impermanence of life. -- Herrmann
