The week fear stood between our life and his healing.
by Jennifer Greene-Sullivan
The Friday Morning Collapse
Since Friday, March 6, my world has been forever changed. That morning I arrived at the shop office earlier than usual. I had just turned on the computer and logged into QuickBooks when Chris burst through the tiny house office door. He gripped the doorframe with both hands, struggling to remain upright. I watched in shock as his knees buckled beneath him.
I ran toward him, trying to catch him before he fell. My arms reached him just as his knees hit the floor. I took most of his weight and eased him down as gently as I could. In that moment, my mind raced with one question. What in the world is happening?
Tears ran down Chris’s face as he tried to explain that he could not stand because of the pain in his back. I pulled out Liam’s smart lounge chair, the one that reclines into a small bed. Chris made his way toward it mostly on all fours before finally settling onto the cushion. That is where he remained for the rest of the workday.
He spoke to welders and to customers from the floor of the office. Watching him try to stand when it was time to go home nearly broke me. Chris is a man who is always in motion. The only day he does not work is Sunday when he stops to worship.
Every evening he farms; Saturdays are spent delivering hay and preparing the land. Yet, that entire weekend, our bedroom became his only place of rest. Liam and I came and went, running errands and attending church. Chris remained in bed, fighting pain that refused to release him.
The Doctor’s Office
Monday morning he managed to stagger to the truck and drive to work. When I arrived at the office, he gave instructions to the guys and then turned toward me. His voice carried both frustration and exhaustion.
“Take me to the doctor,” he said. “I can’t walk. I can’t do anything. I hurt.”
We drove to McRae to see Valerie, a medical professional who has helped our family through many difficult moments over the years. Chris rarely gets sick. Aside from the year he had COVID, he has been the healthiest person in our household. But this time felt different.
Valerie took an X-ray of his back and stepped out to review the image. When she returned, she explained that she would likely prescribe oral steroids to reduce the inflammation. She had not yet explained what the X-ray revealed when something stirred deeply inside me. The Holy Spirit’s prompting came suddenly, and before I could filter my words, I spoke.
“You can’t prescribe him steroids,” I said. “They will kill him because he is diabetic.”
Valerie looked surprised and turned toward Chris. “Chris, are you diabetic?” she asked.
He shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. Probably,” he said. “Both my parents have Type 2 diabetes.”
I added quietly that his mother is insulin dependent. The room grew still as the weight of that possibility settled around us.
Running from the Truth
Because Chris has a severe phobia of needles, Valerie began with the simplest test possible. She asked him to provide a urine sample. When she returned, she explained that the test strip had maxed out. His urine contained as much sugar as the test could possibly measure.
She gently asked Chris to allow a finger prick so they could check his blood sugar and A1C. It was already two in the afternoon, and Chris had not eaten all day. The moment she mentioned the finger prick, my stubborn husband pushed himself up and walked out of the room.
He refused treatment.
A wave of anger rose quickly in my throat. This was terrible news, but my husband was running away from it. He was running away from treatment, from his health, and from the reality standing in front of us.
The anger gave way to sobs almost as quickly as it appeared. In that moment, I realized something that terrified me. His fear could be the thing that destroys our family.
The Parking Lot Prayer
Chris sat silently in the passenger seat of the truck. His thumb slowly rubbed across the fingertips of his right hand as he stared forward without speaking. Time felt like it was slipping away from us minute by minute. I drove on toward Eastman, begging him to say something. Say ANYTHING.
He asked me to turn around and drive back to Chauncey so he could buy a bottle of water. The request felt completely unreasonable in the moment, but I complied. I parked the truck outside the store and stepped out into the hot afternoon air.
That was where I lost my composure. I prayed aloud in that parking lot. I cried out to the Lord with no concern for who might see or hear me. I cried. I pleaded. “Jesus, help me. Help him.”
I knew in that moment that God would have to intervene. Only the Lord could move Chris past the fear that held him so tightly. When I returned to the truck and handed him the bottle of water, Chris spoke quietly. “Drive me back to McRae before I change my mind.”
I did not hesitate. I pressed the accelerator and turned the truck back toward the clinic.
The Battle of One Finger Prick
Valerie brought us back into the exam room. For nearly an hour Chris trembled, cried, and struggled against the fear that had taken hold of him. The nurse gently tapped his fingertip with the plastic applicator, without the needle, trying to prepare him for the prick.
Finally Chris turned toward me and said, “Lay on top of me.”
I removed my glasses and leaned my weight across his torso. His body trembled beneath me as tears streamed down his cheeks and into his beard. After a long moment, he whispered a single word.
“Go.”
The nurse moved quickly. The blood samples were taken to the lab while Chris continued shaking from the rush of adrenaline. I held him and told him how proud I was that he had faced the moment he feared most.
The Diagnosis
Valerie returned with the lab results. Chris’s A1C measured 11.5, and his fasting blood sugar was 244. My strong, stubborn husband has a pancreas that is struggling. The X-ray also revealed that his L4 and L5 vertebrae are compressed, along with evidence of an older bone spur between them. We left the clinic shortly after five o’clock with prescriptions for diabetes medication and a muscle relaxer.
Neither of us had eaten all day. When we finally sat down to eat around six that evening, Chris had three scrambled eggs and bacon. From that moment forward, we began adjusting our meals to follow a diabetic-friendly diet.
Where We Are Now
Chris remained home all week until today, Friday the 13th. I cannot imagine what it has felt like for him to face both physical pain and a life-altering diagnosis in a single afternoon. His world has shifted quickly, and mine has shifted with it. This entire week I longed to write. I wanted to communicate and reach out to the people who faithfully read this blog. Yet my husband and my family needed my attention first.
Even now Chris still refuses blood work and will not prick his finger at home. We cannot yet measure how the medication is affecting his blood sugar. His fear continues to place us at a disadvantage. Yet, I continue to meal prep for us both. I eat what he eats, and I try again when he blurts out things like, “that cauliflower is too crunchy!” Or “I hate oranges!” I continue to pray to my Savior whose anchor holds. It holds us both.
A Scripture Anchor
During this difficult week, one passage has continued to echo in my heart.
“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.”
— 2 Timothy 1:7
Fear has a way of distorting reality and convincing us that we cannot face what stands before us. Yet Scripture reminds us that fear is not the spirit God places within His children. The Lord offers power where we feel weak, love where anxiety overwhelms us, and clarity when our minds feel clouded.
I am holding tightly to that promise for Chris.
A Prayer for the Ones Who Are Afraid
Lord,
You see the battles that happen inside the hearts of the people we love. You see the fears they struggle to explain and the walls they cannot seem to climb. I ask You to drive fear out and replace it with courage. Bring healing to the body, peace to the mind, and strength to the spirit. Give us wisdom, patience, and endurance as we walk through this season together. Remind us that no diagnosis and no fear is greater than the authority of the One who holds our lives in His hands.
Amen.
Closing Reflection: An Anchor That Holds
Chris’ fear continues to place us at a disadvantage. Some days it feels as though we are learning how to walk through unfamiliar territory one uncertain step at a time. Yet, even in the middle of this new reality, life continues moving forward.
I continue to meal prep for us both. I eat what he eats, and I try again when he says, “We’ve been married for ten years, but you don’t know what I like to eat!” Small moments like those remind me that this journey will not be perfect, and it certainly will not be easy. Still, I keep moving forward. I keep cooking. I keep adjusting. Most importantly, I keep praying.
Scripture reminds us that God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. That promise has become the anchor I hold onto right now; I continue to pray to my Savior whose anchor holds. It holds me when I feel weary and uncertain, and by His grace, it holds Chris as well. Fear may still try to whisper falsehoods in our home, but the anchor of Christ holds stronger than fear.
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