Big Jesus (April 17, 2023)

While we were on our knees

Praying that disease

Would leave the ones we love

And never come again

 - "On the Radio" by Regina Spektor

It's been 11 months. I'm continuing to make progress in my grief journey, but the upcoming one year anniversary and also memories from this time of year have been hitting hard lately.

 

Around this time 2 years ago, Scott had his first orthopedic surgery to stabilize his femur due to bone metastases. We were afraid of the toll the surgery would take on him, but Scott's recovery was surprisingly smooth (it helped that he had a world class orthopedic surgeon), he was hobbling on his walker within a few days of the surgery, and he resumed teaching remotely the day after he came home from the hospital. I thought he should take it easy, but he was determined to get back to his students as soon as he could. Soon he was scooting about the house and using his walker more as a comedic prop than a support.

 

A few weeks after that, he began radiation therapy to kill the cancer in his bones, or at least keep it at bay. The treatments worked, but it also went a lot harder than we expected. Scott was scheduled for 4 weeks of radiation treatments, going in each morning. Because it was during the pandemic, I couldn't accompany him into the building for his treatments. Most of the time I sat waiting in the car in the parking garage. Sometimes I caught up on work email, sometimes I read, and sometimes I laid down and rested my eyes. All of that time, I was processing the shock over all that had happened in the past month. One day early on in the treatments, I decided to go for a walk and maybe visit Big Jesus.

 

Big Jesus (officially known as "Christus Consolator" or "The Divine Healer") is a 10.5 ft statue under the dome of The Johns Hopkins Hospital. Even though he is very tall, he gazes downward with outstretched arms, and his right hand is dirty from all the people who have reached up and touched his hand or given him a high five as they walk by. I first saw him when I went with my Mom and my sister to the family orientation program for incoming medical students. I visited him again when we attended my sister's medical school graduation. Both times, I looked at the guestbooks that were set out next to Big Jesus. I was touched by the messages of faith left by patients and family members. The thought that one day I might return as one of them never crossed my mind.

 

Big Jesus

I wasn't sure if I'd be allowed to see Big Jesus because access to the hospital facilities was still locked down due to the pandemic. But I knew it wasn't far and I had time, so I figured I would give it a try. I walked down the street, past the spring flowers in bloom, and through the front entrance of the Billings Administration Building where the dome was located. I was able to enter the front doors but was immediately stopped by the security guard standing there. He told me that this was a staff entrance and that I would have to enter through a patient entrance. Big Jesus was facing me right there behind him, just a few steps away. 

 

I asked if I could stop for a few minutes to see Big Jesus without entering the hospital and was told again that I was at a staff entrance and that if I wanted to see Big Jesus, I would have to enter through a patient entrance. So I went back to the building where Scott was being treated and told the front desk there that I was the wife of a patient. They couldn't find Scott's name in the list of patients and offered to call Radiation Oncology, but I didn't want to distract from his treatments. I thought about the metaphorical meaning of not being able to visit Big Jesus because I had entered through the wrong door or wasn't on the right list and decided that even though I didn't make it, Big Jesus knew that I had tried.

 

The next few weeks of treatments brought awful side effects. I will never forget the first time Scott threw up from radiation-induced nausea, and that the first thing he did when he came out of the bathroom was to check if *I* was OK. We quickly learned and tried out various anti-nausea treatments and eventually found a regime that seemed to work, although those brought their own side effects. Scott could no longer go on teaching; his last class was in mid-May. My sisters came down to visit during our anniversary weekend. We had planned to go out for dinner, even though Scott was already starting to lose his appetite, but one day he woke up with debilitating neck pain and we had to take him to the ER. The ambulance took him to the nearest community hospital which turned out to be awful. We tried for five days to get him transferred to Hopkins Hospital, only to be told at the end that these transfers are very rare due to the limited availability of beds. 

 

Scott's neck pain subsided, and he was able to sit up and eat and drink. On our 18th wedding anniversary, he was able to stand for the first time since being admitted to the hospital, and we stood and hugged each other for a long time. It wasn't how we had planned to spend our anniversary, and it would be the last one we would spend together, but I remember that in that moment when I was in Scott's arms, I felt happy and safe.

 

Scott came home and completed his last remaining days of radiation treatment without incident. On the last day of treatment, I was allowed to go into the radiation oncology department. I was just about to get on the elevators to go down to the basement when I realized, "I'm in." I was 20 minutes early, and I could go and find Big Jesus. I had to find him via an indoor route and wasn't sure how to navigate the maze of corridors, but I remembered that I had installed the Hopkins Hospital app which would help me navigate the campus. I entered the Billings Administration Building (the app didn't allow me to search for Big Jesus) and followed the yellow path that it laid out for me. Less than 5 minutes later, I was standing in front of Big Jesus.

 

I stood in silence for a few minutes, looking up at him. I was happy that I had finally reached him, but in that moment I also felt pain, anger, and bewilderment. These still exist inside me, along with hope, love, and gratitude. I turned to a new page in the guestbook, wrote my message, and then went back to see Scott.

 

 

Not long after he came home from the hospital, Scott told me that he wanted to attend the graduation ceremony for his seniors. It would take place outside over a few hours, and I was afraid that it might be too much for him. We argued over it and he insisted, so we worked out a plan with the school administration on how to make it work (the main thing was to bring a chair that could support his neck). I picked him up at the end of the ceremony, and even though it wiped out all of his energy for the rest of the day, he was happy that he could be there for his seniors.

 

One morning not long after he came home from the hospital, I found a note that Scott had written to me. I don't know why he wrote it instead of telling me, but sometimes when I feel sad over all that happened or am missing him, I pull up his note (I have a picture of it on my phone) and read it again. And even though reading it always makes me cry, it helps me remember the incredible gift of our love, and that he knew that he was loved.