Its a curious thing waiting for a diagnosis.
There’s the waiting. The hanging around knowing you are expectant for something.
The hoping, that what you suspect is wrong isn’t or that some miraculous healing will have occurred since the last hospital visit.
And the Crying, the emotionsl realisation, if not of what is wrong, at least of the pressures of living with the other two symptoms of waiting.
Littlewax#2 is surprisingly stoic given the pain he is in, but even so he is clearly aware of the uncertainty too. Even at 8 he has picked up the unusual urgency with which the NHS is accelerating his appointments. And at night when he tries to sleep his mind races with the possible outcomes of tomorrows consultency.
Maybe there is one more response that deserves a mention: praying.
I won’t say we’re not praying. But with something this big intercession suddenly becomes woven into the fabric of our daily being. Its not so much a matter of prayer but a sense of God’s ever present help. No matter what happens his loving care for us is constant and in an odd way both close and distant right now.