On March 11, 2008, Wes and I drove to the University of Utah Medical Center in Salt Lake City. I remember sitting in the waiting room for what seemed like a long time. Finally, I heard someone call my name, and we were led in to the doctor's office, where we sat down to wait for the doctor. We waited a long time.
When the doctor came in he greeted us kindly and began asking me questions as he studied my MRI images. After a few minutes, he told us that he needed to consult with some of his colleagues in the building. He left, and he was gone for a long time.
When at last the doctor returned to his office, he told us that the medical specialists he had spoken to about my case had been unified in their decision: the thing that was growing in my head was not a benign acoustic neuroma, but a small cancerous tumor. I would need to have surgery to remove it.
We talked about scheduling and insurance, and we left, hand in hand, thoughts swirling around in our minds.
We were in the parking lot, heading for our car, when I realized how exhausted I was. “Wes,” I said, “I don't think I can make it through the drive home. I'm so tired.”
Wes was sympathetic but unsure how to help me. “But what can we do?”
I thought for a minute before I asked Wes, “Doesn't your grandmother live near here? Do you think she would let me lie down somewhere for a little while?”
Wes was quite sure his grandmother would welcome us and make me comfortable in any way she could.
We drove to her small home, and she greeted us warmly. After a few minutes of pleasant conversation, I gave Wes a meaningful look, and he told his grandmother that I was very tired and needed to rest. She led me to a tidy guest room, and I moved toward the bed to lie down. She covered me with a soft blanket, and I fell asleep almost immediately.
". . .they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow." (Alma 40:12)
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