The Burden In Certainty

The wind was pushing against the wilting leaves that were fighting to stay attached to their branches. Mhlengi was sitting on the bench beneath a wide avocado tree, tossing his car keys between his hands and tapping his shoes against the concrete paving under them.

At around 9am, Mhlengi was at work and preparing for a trip to Cape Town, South Africa and as he was drafting an email to the finance department concerning his travelling expenses, he felt a sudden, sharp pain shooting along his spine. It kept him locked in his sitting position for over a minute, during which he heard the words “you’re going to get through this, but don't tell anyone what you’ve heard until it passes”.

The pain subsided but the prompt he’d heard left him puzzled. Well into the afternoon hours, the sharp pain had come and gone a handful of times and Mhlengi decided that a hospital visit wouldn’t hurt. He called his wife and told her he’d be home late, then he called his mother to whom he’d almost disclosed his encounter in his office. Instead, he simply asked the matriarch to pray over him so he’d have peace before seeing the doctor.

Mhlengi’s mother was a diligent believer and preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and he grew up seeing the value and result of fervent prayers which mostly were uttered by his mother. So, at the sight or threat of trouble, Mhlengi knew who to call to intercede. This matter was no different, except that he wasn’t sure what the trouble actually was.

Following multiple scans during his hospital visit, Mhlengi was convinced something was amiss. He stayed with his head bowed in the doctor’s office, praying to God that it would be nothing bad enough to deter his plans to travel for work. He really wanted to excel in this work excursion and earn the promotion that would secure his and his family’s futures considerably. All Mhlengi was thinking was that this was not the time for delays and sickness.

The doctor walked in with a worrying frown and before he uttered a word, Mhlengi’s suspicions were confirmed. Mhlengi’s gaze followed the doctor until he took his seat, then the doctor spoke.

“How bad is it, Doc? Am I sick or tired?”

The doctor adjusted his seat unnecessarily and drew a long breath, his eyes glued to the sheets of paper in his hand.

“Mr. Mhlengi. I’m afraid I have bad news.”

The two men looked at each other then, and Mhlengi nodded so the professional continued.

“Your scans and the symptom you described to me when you arrived confirm amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS).”

Mhlengi shot Dr. Mangwe a mean stare, and brought his palms to his face.

Dr. Mangwe dropped the report sheets on his clear desk, stood up and walked slowly toward his new patient. He rested his hand lightly on Mhlengi’s shoulder and waited. Mhlengi suppressed his sobs out of embarrassment, but appreciated the doctor’s attempt at comfort.

“My father had ALS. He died at 58. My wife…I don’t want her to be a widow. I don’t want her to have to nurse me to my death. It’s one of the worst ways to lose a loved one. I felt like I was starting to hate my father months before he died. Between helping him with everything, and taking instructions and suggestions from everyone who wasn’t present throughout his illness, I really didn’t want to be available to do it all anymore. I tried to convince myself that he didn’t need me as much since we had two nurses on house-duty and my mother. It was the toughest lesson on love. When dad died, I didn’t want to talk about him for an entire year. I avoided all conversations concerning him until mom had to call me out about it. I felt guilty because there was some relief that came after his passing. I was grateful that I didn’t stop showing up but even more grateful that I didn’t have to anymore. That guilt won’t ever leave me completely, and I just can’t imagine my wife handling this any better than I did. I…”

Mhlengi paused and looked up at the doctor. It wasn’t because he’d said anything to Mhlengi; the doctor was still listening attentively. Mhlengi went silent because he recalled the words he’d heard in his office. It hit him afresh in the doctor’s office and all he could do was weep, re-committing himself to the instruction that those words were not to be disclosed to anyone. “YOU’RE GOING TO GET THROUGH THIS”. Mhlengi allowed those words to echo in his mind as Dr. Mangwe walked back to his seat. As his focus shifted, Mhlengi decided not to dwell on the inevitable hardship from this news, but instead sat back up on the blue chair and began to ask the doctor a series of questions.

“What now?”

“When do I start treatment?”

“How much pain will I be in on a scale of 1-10?”

“How long before I’m immobile?”

“Is there a way to delay the paralysis?”

“Man-to-man, when do you think I should tell my wife? Today or when I wake up and can’t feel my legs?”

Both men managed a chuckle at that final question, and then Dr. Mangwe answered firmly that it would be best and a compassionate thing to do, that his wife be told well-before the illness affected his mobility. He mentioned that it would give her more time to prepare her mind for the changes that this was bringing.

“Tell her tonight. More than her own preparation, you need all the support you can get from now. Even emotionally’, Dr. Mangwe contended.

“Are you a believer?” the doctor asked nervously.

Mhlengi smiled and nodded.

“Good. Then as a fellow man of faith in Christ Jesus, I suggest and implore you to start probing your Master. I have my own questions about your case; one of which is why would he allow this at your age. It just doesn’t make sense. Usually, this comes up in bloodlines around the same age-range. You’re a decade too early for this diagnosis”, Dr. Mangwe argued passionately.

Mhlengi reminded himself what he wasn’t allowed to share with a single soul and stood up to leave the office.

“Thank you, doctor. I think I might need to tell my boss before my wife though. I was preparing to fly out of the country. I’ll need Finance to either authorize payments to my replacement’s account or simply cancel all processes.”

Dr. Mangwe felt his eyes welling with tears at that, and sympathized with Mhlengi. It was hard to imagine how terrifying this is all would be for the next few days. Just anticipating deterioration of his nervous system, helplessly. But surely, God could change this and make it work out for Mhlengi’s good. If he was a man of faith, then hope would keep him alert and actively pleading for God’s hand to prevail in this. Dr. Mangwe also tried to picture Mhlengi’s mother’s reaction to this news once she got it. Would she breakdown right after hearing Mhlengi’s confession or would she gradually lose hope? These were the questions. These were the trials that came with loving on this earth.

Mhlengi interrupted the doctor’s thoughts by extending his hand.

“Sir, let me go and face my dealt card. I’ll be back on Tuesday as you said…God-willing”, Mhlengi shook the doctor’s hand and swiftly marched out of the office.

When he settled on the bench outside, Mhlengi sobbed. He wasn’t sitting there waiting on a bus ride home. His car was in the visitor’s parking bay, outside the hospital building. He was under the avocado tree, fighting to get into agreement with the words he’d heard in his office. He didn’t know whether to defy the instruction of silence or pretend he hadn’t even heard it. It was an internal battle that kept him on the long bench for nearly two hours, and the sunset was his last signal to head home and have the dreaded conversation with his significant other.

“Okay. I won’t tell anyone what You said…and only because I believe it was an instruction from You, God. But please do what you did with Zechariah and keep my mouth shut if I forget to shut it. I can’t fight this and the repercussions of disobedience all at once. I saw what the treatment did to dad. Let’s go tell my wife then”, Mhlengi spoke with his gaze to the sky and his hand raised above his head.

He sighed as he rose from the bench and walked to his car. When he’d settled in the vehicle, Mhlengi picked his phone from the passenger’s seat to find a handful of missed calls from his mother. He unlocked the phone to call her back.

“Hi Ma.”

“Oh, my boy. Is it the ALS?” his mother prompted.

Mhlengi swallowed a sob as tears ran down his cheeks.

“Yes, it is Ma. I have to be back next Tuesday to start treatment. The doctor said the pain will be easier to manage because we caught it early. We have time to…”

“Don’t. Not another word Mhlengi. We will not bury you. You shall live and not die! You hear me?!” the matriarch screamed into Mhlengi’s ear.

He smiled as though she could see him and yearned to tell her that he knew that. He knew he wouldn’t die. But the time had not yet come. Mhlengi listened to his mother praying softly on the phone as he gathered himself to answer her and end the call. He still had his wife to break the news to. He was grateful, for the first time since the couple started trying for a baby two years ago, that they didn’t yet have any children. If they did, Mhlengi wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist disclosing to his offspring that he would be alright in the end.

“It’s okay Ma, we trust God for everything. Let me get home and tell Lisa. We’ll call you about arrangements before next Tuesday. I know you’ll want to be close”, Mhlengi conveyed.

His mother responded between sobs.

“Okay my boy. I love you. God will show us He is God. Don’t forget that”, she contended.

‘Alright Ma, I love you. Bye.”

Mhlengi threw his phone to the backseat and dropped his head on his forearms which were on the stirring wheel.

“Oh Lord! Give me strength to endure this for your glory. Walk me through it, Good Shepherd. Amen”

Mhlengi started his car, and drove home to his wife.