I've had a run of very bad days full of bad things, such that now would not be a good time to ask me how to use a rectal thermometer. I woke up several days ago with no feeling in my left leg. I thought it was just asleep and tried to stand up, only to fall over. I was paralyzed in that leg. I had to go to the bathroom, so John got my walker from several years ago, and I was able to get to the bathroom and back. John had called the doctor and by now, he was on his way. Of course, this leg paralysis was how Karen fell the night she died, so I was immediately convinced that I was going to have a stroke, too. This led to a massive panic attack, and Dr. Chris tried to calm me down. An injection and some massage and I was able to get some feeling back in my leg. The paralysis was only temporary but it felt darn permanent at the time. About five hours later, the doc had me on my treadmill and by two in the afternoon, I didn't need the walker any more but was still sick due to the panic attack. About five that evening, I had another attack of chills, fever, nausea, and headache. However, the doctor had left town with his nurses, so I just had to suffer through the entire night until about nine the next morning when a nurse came and was able to do an IV injection of massive antibiotics—so powerful that it took twenty minutes to inject just 10cc's. She got the vein on the first try which is unusual as my veins are hard to find and hold onto. She was very patient—and cute, John said. John took terrific care of me, going without sleep himself. I gradually began to feel better although still quite sick to my stomach. After two nights with no sleep and still not feeling well at all, I was ready for a quiet night—but that was not to be. One of our neighbors from just two houses away had a wedding and she was from a tribe that celebrates a marriage for 24 hours with loud music, singing, shouting, and fireworks. We closed all our windows but the pounding of the bass still shook the house. They also drove around the neighborhood with a car and PA system blaring their joy and driving the rest of us nuts. This finally slowed down this morning around nine and John and I both slept the rest of the day. I'm still not feeling wonderful but am no longer thinking I'm about to die or am still sick to my stomach.
On balance, not too bad—all things considered. For a time, I was wondering if God and Satan were fighting over me (reference to the Book of Job) or if Karen had remembered some of the times I was not the perfect husband and wanted to remind me. Whatever the cause, I still refuse to give up and will continue to fight to feed our orphans. I still have a $15,000 operation facing me next October (2019) to replace my implanted defibrillator in Nairobi or Dar Es Salaam and have no money to pay for that and I won’t have Karen by my side for the first time. We also have about a year to find a source of funding that can contribute $1,000 a month to keep our mission running. Don't know how that will turn out, but, so far, God has provided what was needed. Important to remember that we came here with only two suitcases, $8,000, and a whole lot of faith to what was just a potato field. Maybe seventy-five years is all I get (I'll be seventy-four in November) but that is so much more than I deserve or that many other people get, so I can't and won't complain. If the money is there, I'll keep going. If not, I am in God's hands as I have been since 1990. Not a particularly bad place to be.