Dr. Mitra came in this morning to look at the wound. Getting the bandage off just about did me in. Then he pulled up the skin at the edge of the wound (the surgeon left a sort of skin flap around the edges by undercutting the good skin) and began to rub some kind of antiseptic around on the raw wound. WHOA! I did not scream, but I did moan. I am glad it is done, but not looking forward to tomorrow's repeat performance. The Doc says it looks good, but Scott says it look horrible, still blue skin which the doc says is just dead skin. He is worried, however, about the skin bridge that goes from one side of the wound to the other that the surgeon left hoping that it would prevent the need for grafting. He will check on me again tomorrow.
Scott left me with Sister Limburg--he had asked her to babysit me--long enough to teach Elder Well's Temple Prep class in Sunday school. Sister Limburg is a talker which really helped my spirits today. I enjoyed having her around, however, she was grateful to see Scott and get back to her own meetings.
Today was a day of mental and spiritual strife. Why does Satan do this? I was not tired any longer and so I could not sleep. My eyes were still wiggling and intolerant to light, so I could not read. Every time the nurse changed the IV, I asked to be disconnected and made Scott go for a walk with me. Sometimes I even paced the room. The only thing that seemed to help are the CDs of the hymns that Scott brought from home. It is absolutely amazing how calming the hymns were to my soul. I think we played them almost the entire day.
About an hour after Scott got back to the hospital, Manase Kafoa and Wame came with the sacrament. Oh how I thrilled to see it. I needed its healing power today. Scott said the opening prayer, Manase blessed, Wame (really Nawame) passed. I gave a short testimony and Wame said the closing prayer. Afterwards I felt the most comfort I have felt since the surgery. I hope I can maintain it. I am so grateful for righteous priesthood holders.
After they left I thought about Dad's last days. The ones where he was too sick to attend church. He would wait anxiously every Sunday for the High Priests to bring the sacrament. I am grateful to have had such a faithful father, one who was such an example of a disciple of Christ. It has been 38 years since he passed away and yet I am still feeling his influence in my life.
Sister Suliana came again today and brought one of her counsellors. I am sorry I don't remember her name. As they were leaving, she asked if she could pray; it was the most fervent prayer. I wish I could remember the words. These Fijians are so devout, so spiritual, so close to God.
Shortly after Betty, our landlord and her niece came bringing dinner. In the public hospital here in Suva--Colonial War Memorial Hospital--family has to bring food for those staying in the hospital.
Speaking of talking directly with Heavenly Father. Bishop Farpa'pau came to visit late this afternoon. He sat and chatted for a while and then just before he left he asked if he could pray with/for me. We want all the heavenly help we can get, so we readily agreed. He then pushed his chair back, and knelt down on the hard, not so clean hospital floor. When Scott followed suite, Bishop told Scott he did not need to kneel, but Scott did anyway. When the Bishop prayed, the Holy Spirit entered the room. His prayer was so humble. He was talking directly to God. He told Him what had happened to me and exactly what the Bishop wanted Him to do for me nonetheless 'thy will be done.' I cried. What is it that makes these Fijians such wonderful prayers? Humble prayers? Faith filled prayers? In his prayer Bishop said, "Heavenly Father we know that with you nothing is impossible. Please heal Sister Tennis. Intervene in her and Elder Tennis behalf so they can finish their mission. Bless her to walk and run and not be weary." There was more, but this is what I remember. No wonder I cried.
We were grateful that the Bishop, after much prodding, agreed to take the two dinners Betty brought home. It would have been awful to waste all that good food and I am sure that by the time the Bishop left us there was no long a warm meal ready for him at home.
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