New tests, difficult decisions, unexpected challenges and the faith that carried us forward
Just when we thought life was settling into a new rhythm, another unexpected challenge appeared.
The Tests
On the 25th May, we arrived at Radiology for a scheduled CT scan, followed by a visit to the Lab for a PSA blood follow up.
By then we had travelled a long road : emergency admissions, catheters, hospital stays, unexplained infections, biopsies and a cancer diagnosis, changing the direction of our lives.
What we did not expect was yet another twist in the story.
A small moment stood out for me that morning – a gift not anticipated. A young lady who was assisting Jean. She was warm, professional and quietly faithful; she paused and prayed over Jean for a positive outcome to the scan.
In that moment, it reminded me of something I have come to believe in deeply throughout this journey : people are placed in our path for a reason. Sometimes they arrive only briefly, yet leave a lasting impression.
It sounds simple, but it wasn’t
The Results
The results came in later that day.
And they stopped us cold
The CT scan revealed what appeared to be a blockage of the spleen, both in the artery and through a splenic vein clot.
The first reaction was concern.
As we have learned on this journey, fear rarely produces results. Information does Understanding does – we research, breathe, pray.
On reading, I discovered that one can live without a functioning spleen. The liver steps in and takes over. Nature, it turns out, has contingencies built in. We are Fearfully and wonderfully made’Psalm 139:14
I went online, following functional medecine, looking for supportive nutritional approaches and ways to encourage healthy circulation, over and above the obvious blood thinning strategies of medecine. Once again, we focused on what we could control, rather than becoming consumed with what we could not.
Beetroot found its way into our kitchen, added to Jean’s daily nutritional needs.
Simple, wholesome and powerful in its own quiet way
The Doctor's Call
A few days later, the doctor called.
His tone was calm and reassuring. The splenic blockage, he explained, was not something that had occurred overnight. It had likely been building for years ..quietly, without announcement, the way so many things in the body do.
There was comfort in that. Not because the news was good, but because it reframed what we were facing. This was not a sudden crisis. It was something long present, finally seen.
We were due to see the urologist on the 5th of June. But now, he suggested Jean be hospitalised so that the spleen blockage could be properly investigated.
What moved us deeply was this: he was acutely aware of our financial constraints. Rather than leaving us to navigate specialists and separate accounts and mounting costs alone, he quietly arranged for the team to come to Jean – in hospital, where our medical insurance could cover the investigations. It was a gesture of extraordinary kindness. A detail that could so easily have been overlooked, but wasn’t.
In a season already heavy with uncertainty, that practical act of grace removed what could have been a point of enormous stress. We did not take it lightly. We still don’t.
4th June - Into Hospital
Jean was booked in at 8.00 am
Lisa had driven down from Joburg, arriving Wednesday and planning to go back Saturday. She had three clear intentions :
- To speak to the urologist herself and get the clarity we all needed ( something she had voiced to the doctor’s receptionist)
- She wanted to be present for her dad
- Support for me through the challenges of those difficult days.
The last part mattered perhaps more than she knew. When you are the primary caregiver, the one holding everything together, making decisions, managing logistics and keeping the faith visible, you need someone in your corner too. Lisa was that for me.
The day dawned cold and grey. Rain swept in mid morning. And almost immediately, so did frustration.
We met with the young ladies in the urologist’s rooms – good to put a face to a voice. But from there, the day stalled. There was no plan, no timeline. No clarity on what was happening or when. And the weather was worsening.
Lisa had work waiting at home. I had left the dogs outside, including Benji, our 18 year old blind and deaf Jack Russell. I could find no one available to pop to the cottage to put him inside. He would be cold and bewildered, I knew
I sat in a hospital corridor, worried about a little old dog and a husband who still hadn’t seen a doctor, drinking one too many cups of bad coffee.
There is only so much waiting you can do before the body starts to protest on behalf of the soul.
We left. We went home.
And still, it was only after 4pm that the first doctor appeared.
Four doctors were listed on Jean’s file: the urologist, a haematologist, a cardiologist and a surgeon. Time, that day, felt wasted in a way that was hard to forgive.
Both Lisa and I ended that day frustrated and a little emotional. Not at Jean. Not even entirely at the system. Just spent.
The Days That Followed
The trend continued, slowly – then with more momentum. Investigations began. The wheels of the medical system turned, if not swiftly, then at least eventually.
And then Jean was hit with gout. Severe, sudden, savage gout – on a Friday evening. So painful he could barely walk. The wheelchair in the photograph wasn’t because Jean had suddenly become frail; for those few days, the pain simply made walking almost impossible.
The hospital could only supply Puricos, a long-term treatment. Meanwhile, we knew from experience that our local pharmacy mixes a remedy that resolves the problem quickly.
There are moments when being in hospital feels like the least healing place you can be.
I was still working to understand and refine Jean’s nutrition around all of this. I urged him to stop eating the spicy food the hospital kept offering. Cut the gluten. Support the body properly.
Which brings me to something that troubled me throughout those days – hospital food.
Here was a man trying to heal. Trying to reduce inflammation, support his immune system and rebuild from the inside out. And yet the nutritional needs of patients did not appear to be a priority.
So we brought our own food, healthy, clean and aligned with the eating plan we had built together from the beginning of this journey.
Because healing doesn’t pause when you’re in a ward.
Through it all, the prayers doubled. Messages of love and encouragement arrived in steady streams.
We were not alone. Not for a single day.
Good News in the Middle of Hard Days
The haematologist came and explained things clearly and kindly. Jean would need blood thinners, for now administered into his tummy while in hospital. Thereafter as tablets that could be stopped safely prior to any surgery. Not our ideal solution as Jean had stopped his blood thinners previously because he would bleed so easily with the slightest cut.
And then we discovered the good news!
Sonar scans showed the prostate had shrunk a little more.
Blood pressure: normal.
Blood sugar: normal.
Those weeks of dietary changes, mindset resets and intentional natural living were paying dividends. Quietly, steadily, the body was responding.
The three attending doctors were aligned in their recommendation: the prostate should be removed as soon as possible, so that Jean could return to a full and normal life.
As a family we agreed with the recommendation, but we were yet to speak to the urologist.
Sunday Morning
On Sunday morning, I went to church. The bakkie wouldn’t start so I asked Lisa to drop me off. I would catch a lift home.
I needed church. Not out of obligation, out of genuine hunger. My soul needed a top-up. A place to exhale. A reminder that we were held by something larger than hospital corridors and unanswered questions. The message was meaningful. Jean called to say he couldn’t come home
Lisa, meanwhile, was growing increasingly frustrated that she had not been able to reach the urologist directly. She needed clarity. As a daughter watching her father navigate this, she deserved it.
Emotions, by that point, had been stretched thin in all of us.
There was a tense farewell. Words said in exhaustion and love and fear, the way they sometimes are when people care deeply and have nothing left to give in that moment. Lisa drove back to Johannesburg.
I stood in the quiet afterwards and breathed.
To Be Continued
There is more to this chapter :
Jean’s discharge on the 8th of June, a pivotal conversation with the urologist, and something unexpected that brought us enormous comfort from a place we did not anticipate.
And then, on the 17th of June, we finally sat face to face with the doctor for the first time since this journey began.
That conversation deserves its own telling.
We’ll share it soon.
If this story has resonated with you….whether you’re walking a similar road, supporting someone you love, or simply seeking reassurance that faith and natural living have a place in modern healthcare, we’d love to hear from you.