I get to talk to my son on Tuesdays. His computer microphone wasn’t working this morning so we had to text. I asked him what the best part of his week was and he mentioned the hospital. I hoped he just meant he went to minister to people in the hospital but then I realized he was the one who was sick. I then wondered how the hospital could have been the been the best part of his week. Here is his journal entry that he allowed me to transcribe and share.

September 13, 2019

CTM – Dia 16 (Mission Training Center – Day 16)

Around 3pm yesterday, my instructor sent me to the help desk because I was shivering, with a sweater on, while everyone else complained about the heat.  So I go to the help desk, they take my temp and it comes out at 37.2 C, which apparently isn’t very high because they all laughed at me, didn’t believe me that I was sick, and I went back to class. My chills had stopped. They were kinda on/off.  But then it just kept getting worse and by 8pm I was in a sweater and suit coat, badly shivering, my face was totally white, my lips and hands were blue, and my instructor took my temp again. 

It had gone up to 37.8 so ye says, “Okay, you’re going to the hospital.”

They asked me if I knew any Brazilians who spoke good English to go with me, and I did; an absolutely amazing Elder. So they sent my companion to bed, and me out the door to a taxi with Elder Queiroz.  We got there by about 9:00 pm, and it moved pretty fast. They took my temp again and it was up to 39 C (about 102.5 F). I waited for a bit, got an exam, got a prescription for some antibiotics, steroids and fever reducers. 

THEN they said, “Okay go back into this room to get your medicine,” but Elder Queiroz wasn’t allowed with me. So I went in alone, and very, VERY quickly realized my Portuguese vocabulary is pretty much completely limited to bringing others to Jesus Christ.

Eventually I figured it out and they sat me down in a little stall with a chair that had funny swivelly arm rests. Then, the nurse comes up and the only words I can make out are, “remedio” and “intraveia” and she gives her arm a li’l tap. 

Then it dawned on me that I was here for an IV. Ever since I was young I’ve had an awful phobia of needles. But, right before this happened, I had glanced up at the TV and noticed a very inappropriate show was playing. For some reason, the temptation to keep watching hit me like a bus, But instead, I resisted, bowed my head an began to offer up a prayer. Shortly after this the nurse appeared. After she left again to get my needle and medicine, I, having confidence in my small act of obedience, prayed once again. A short but sincere prayer for courage, and a steady arm. 

My thoughts instantly turned me to my dad, all of those days, sitting in a chair like this for chemotherapy. I could feel him there with me and I felt no fear. The nurse returned and I watched her put the needle in my arm. I didn’t have an ounce of anxiety. For the next 20 minutes, I offered the most sincere gratitude to the Lord, aloud, softly in Portuguese. Then 20 minutes after that, the nurse returned once more to unplug me. 

We got back to our rooms at the CMT about 11:30 pm and I just passed out. I woke up feeling much better, went across the street to fill my prescriptions, took my medicine and felt mostly fine the rest of the day. 

After this experience I decided to try to follow the Word of Wisdom with more exactness, eating grains, vegetables, fruits, and only having meat sparingly. I stopped drinking so much soda and started utilizing my water bottle. 

I have been truly grateful for this trial. I have grown in every possible way, and I thank my Father in Heaven for this opportunity.