A trip down Interstate 25 takes me into mixed memories
Our days in Truth or Consequences brought new hemophilia challenges
Last week I traveled to Las Cruces, New Mexico, to spend a few days with my wife, Cazandra. She works as a hospice chaplain there and usually travels back to Belen, our current home, on weekends. We’ll end this busy commute schedule next month, when we both move full time to Las Cruces.
I look forward to us living under the same roof again. Life seems a little lonely in Belen without her regular presence.
As I drove those 200-plus miles, I was captivated by the breathtaking beauty of the land. The mountains stood tall, offering a majestic view, and the gorges that the road descended into and out of were like nature’s own artwork. The blue sky, with the sun’s warm rays, seemed to enhance the beauty of everything as far as the eye could see. In that moment, I felt like the captivating view was just for me to enjoy, a serene and peaceful experience.
When I passed mile marker 79 on Interstate 25, I saw a sign that read, “Welcome to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico.” While taking in anew the city’s quirky name, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed as I viewed it from the highway. My family lived in this small town, often called T or C, for three years during my first pastorate. We felt loved at the church I served, and I experienced the joys of small-town living.
Brand-new difficulties
As I continued thinking back to our days in good ole T or C, I was swept up in early memories of my son, Caeleb. Now 19, he was only 3 years old when we moved to this city with a strange-sounding name. I remembered the early times when he struggled with hemophilia and the screams of pain as he felt the overwhelming sensation of a thousand needles piercing his skin. The constant fear of a sudden bleed, the numerous hospital visits, and the financial strain of managing a chronic illness were all part of our daily life.
Despite the joy of pastoring a remarkable church in T or C, Cazandra and I faced a daunting challenge. As our son’s difficulties with hemophilia worsened, living in a rural town approximately 175 miles from our hemophilia treatment center (HTC) became increasingly complex.
Our older son, Julian, also had hemophilia, but he’d never experienced spontaneous joint bleeds, a rarity for those with a severe diagnosis of hemophilia A, or factor VIII deficiency. Caeleb, on the other hand, seemed to be in a constant battle with his bleeding episodes. It was a time that tested our family’s strength and resilience.
Our last year in T or C proved extremely difficult. Caeleb’s issues required many trips back to Albuquerque to be examined by the HTC hematologist. Most times, his doctor placed him in the hospital, often for extended stays. Cazandra and I struggled to develop a schedule to support Caeleb and offer each other relief. Since she worked remotely at the time, it made sense for her to stay in the hospital with Caeleb more often than I did.
Luckily, we were eventually able to move to Rio Rancho, a city near Albuquerque.
As I drove past T or C, memories of our experiences managing life with a bleeding disorder flooded my mind. As I considered the many challenges that often brought us to our knees, I couldn’t help but feel deeply grateful for my wife. Her compassion and resourcefulness made the tough times a little less strenuous. In that small town, we discovered the true strength of our partnership, a bond that has only grown stronger over the years.
Julian, now 28, and Caeleb are finding their places in the world. Julian still has never experienced a joint bleed. Caeleb’s continuous episodes of them are in the past. He still experiences residual effects from so many bleeds, but manages to live a good life as he finishes his first year of college.
Life looks good for both of my sons, my mighty men. Despite the challenges we faced, we emerged stronger and more resilient. We learned to appreciate the good times and face the future with hope and optimism.
As my car made its way up the drive in Las Cruces, Cazandra greeted me with a kiss and a fabulous home-cooked meal. As we shared a glass of wine after dinner, I told her about my experience as I passed T or C. I offered a toast and said, “Thank God, we have each other.”
We then sat in chairs in the backyard and looked up at the endless sky that seemed to perform just for us. We acknowledged its brilliance and knew that together, we could face anything.
Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.
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