Stories about hope

My brother-in-law was in a terrible car accident last night. Thankfully he was wearing his seatbelt and although his car is totaled, and his body is broken requiring surgery. I am so thankful he is going to be ok. It will take a while to heal. And there has been and will be some pain in the process. But he will heal. 

I miss the days of full waiting rooms at hospitals.

I miss that you can’t just be there with your family when they need you without Covid tests and vaccinations. I want so desperately to sit with my sister-in-law as she sat with me many years ago as her brother, my husband was going through major surgery. 

I also had major back surgery in 2020 and the recovery was very difficult. I’m a pretty private person when it comes to my pain. So, in a way I was glad no one was allowed to visit when I was in the first few days of recovery.

I didn’t want anyone to see me with all the drains, wires and post surgery expressions. It was hard to stand without head spinning pain & overwhelming nausea & dizziness. So maybe that’s a bright side. 

The waiting room was full.

His dad, his mom, his sister, sister by adoption, our pastors, Various lifelong friends, and me. Some other friends were watching our three boys.  

I brought a couple things with me. A latch hook rug that I was working on, a good book, my Bible.

No matter how hard I tried it was impossible to concentrate on anything. 

It was a long surgery. 

It was a long wait. 

This wait had started two years earlier. 

July 9, 2001. 

My husband had a dentist appointment – seemed like no biggie. However, it required some attention before he went. 

When He was Born, He had 3 small holes in his heart. 

Going to the cardiologist, getting heart catheterization ‘s and taking medication before going to the dentist was a normal activity for him. 

Two of the holes healed on their own. 

The third one which was close to his right ventricle did not heal and he lived his life with what was called a ventricular septum defect.

Life was relatively unchanged by this tiny pinhole in his heart. He had a heart murmur. 

Heart murmurs in adults are becoming rare. 

When a child is born with a hole in their heart they are corrected as soon as they are able. Whenever my husband would go for a checkup, Dr’s and nurses would bring students into his room to listen and see what a heart murmur sounds like. He still saw his childhood Dr. It was interesting that a grown man would go into a pediatrician’s office for a checkup. I think his Dr liked using him as a learning opportunity for other new doctors. 

The ONLY time the heart murmur impacted his life was when he had to go to the dentist. Whenever he made his dentist appointment, he was first given a prescription for a high dose of penicillin. 

He had to take the penicillin before going to the dentist. And then for a couple days after his appointment. If any bacteria broke loose and went to his bloodstream the antibiotics would fight it off. 

Back to July 9, 2001, this time the antibiotics do not work.

By the end of July, Darrell was running a low-grade fever and would get tired easily. 

I was also not feeling well. My symptoms were all too familiar. 

I was pregnant. 

I thought we were done having kids.  This was not what we had planned. Darrell was going back to school to finish his degree and I was planning to work full time. 

I remember telling my husband this surprising news. My husband was of course thrilled. He wasn’t worried about a thing. 

            “The mind of man plans his way, But the LORD directs his steps” Proverbs 16:9

I’m always amazed at how much of a planner I am. Are you that way? I love a good plan. I want to know what’s coming and when it is going to happen. I want to control outcomes like nobody’s business. It’s funny, I could not control anything that happened to me as a child. How in the world do I think I can start controlling things now? 

This surprise pregnancy set me a little off kilter. As I was battling morning sickness (or in my case all day sickness) however my husband was also not feeling great. 

I asked Darrell when the first of his nightlong fevers hit

 “Do you think this has something to do with your heart issue and the dentist appointment?” 

He was certain it did not and assured me he would be feeling better soon. 

He of course did not start feeling better. I would wake up in the middle of the night to him shivering and shaking while he slept. I would lay my hand on his shoulder and pray. 

“God, I don’t know what’s wrong with Darrell, but you do.” 

My husband was a roofing contractor. He worked with his dad in the roofing business for as long as I had known him. He wasn’t sick enough to stop working, he would just tire out easier and looked pale most of the time. 

Finally, a heart-to-heart conversation on a Friday with his dad brought some clarity to his mind. 

“Darrell, your wife is pregnant. You have 2 boys at home that need you. You are sick. You need to go to a doctor.”

Finally! It only took 9 weeks to decide. 

We went to the Dr that afternoon. Our regular Dr. was not available, we met with the Physician’s assistant. She did a thorough check-up. She was confused by his fever. She knew he had a murmur; she knew about the Dentist, she was persistent. 

She kept saying “You don’t seem sick enough to have Bacterial Endocarditis, but you aren’t well enough either.”

“I want to run more tests.”

She called the Dr in, and he agreed with her. 

Blood was drawn, we were sent to get chest x-rays. We were sent home with some more anti-biotics. 

Saturday, still sick

Sunday, feeling well enough to go to church. 

Sunday afternoon. 

A message from a doctor on our machine when we got home. 

“Darrell, please call me back at this number. “

I’ll never forget that call. My husband on the phone with the Dr receiving the diagnosis. 

“So, I just need stronger antibiotics?”

“What?”

“Oh wow, alright. Ok then. I will. Thank you”

He hung up and looked at me with the strangest expression. 

I have Bacterial Endocarditis; I need to be admitted to the hospital”

“What?”

We tried to wrap our minds around this news. We called his parents. We packed a bag. 

We dropped the boys off with his mom and Dad and headed to the hospital. 

Darrell had not said much but as we were driving away from his parents, he was finally able to share what he was feeling. He was scared. I was scared. The tears were flowing.  

“What is going on? Why is this happening NOW?”

We got him settled in, I stayed as long as my 12-week pregnant self could tolerate, I kissed him and went to collect our boys. They had school in the morning. I had to get them ready for the week. I had to hold it together. 

Be cheerful instead of fearful and tell them everything was going to be alright. 

September 10, 2001

Got the kids to school, cancelled my plans for work and headed to the hospital. 

I stayed until I had to pick up the boys so we could get dinner and bring them to the hospital to visit Dad. 

They weren’t having fun; Darrell wasn’t having fun. I wasn’t having fun.  

September 11, 2001

Evan & Brandon were in the living room eating fruit loops. I was getting dressed listening to the radio playing Christian music. An emergency broadcast came on. The Twin Towers have been hit. One tower has collapsed. 

I dropped my makeup brush and went into the living room. I turned the channel from cartoons to the news. 

I stood there watching in horror. I didn’t notice the adorable third grader who came and stood next to me. He was dressed in his school uniform. The shirt was a deep blue. He looked so good in blue. 

We stood together in silence. Side by side. His third-grade voice breaking the silence. 

“Mom? Is this real?”

Tears stung my eyes. My voice caught. 

His little brother blissfully unaware while the two of us made eye contact.

“Yes, Evan. It’s real” 

“Innocence lost’, I thought. 

I turned off the T.V. and squared my shoulders. 

I didn’t know what to do. Do I take them to school? Do I not go to the hospital to keep my husband who hates hospitals company? 

We will keep moving forward. 

My feet and my heart felt heavy. 

My world, our world, it was rocking. 

Jesus, we need you.

I dropped Evan off first. We were greeted by his teacher who opened the van door. Her eyes were red. 

“Good morning, Evan! We are starting with Chapel today.”

“That sounds like a good idea” I said returning her concerned look with equally red eyes.  

I explained that Darrell was sick and in the hospital and said, “I am going to the hospital after I drop off Brandon. Please call me if I need to come get him early. “

I proceeded to drop Brandon off at Pre School. He still blissfully unaware.  His teacher greeted us as well, however she was not nearly as calm. Her eyes were filled with fear. She was convinced another plane was headed to the West Coast. I assured her that all planes were grounded and there was no reason to fear. My stomach was in knots while saying this. I was numb. Completely numb. 

I told her the same, “I’m going to the Hospital, please call me if I need to come back for early pickup.”

As I kissed my little son, I felt so conflicted. 

“Am I a bad mom?” 

“Should we have stayed home?” 

“Do I still go to the hospital?”

“What do I do now?”

The only thing I knew to do was to keep moving forward. 

I entered Darrell’s hospital room and found him sitting in a chair, bible open and smiling. 

“Hi, don’t you know what’s going on?”

“Yes, I’m waiting for my next procedure.” 

I stared at him. He clearly did not know. 

I picked up the TV remote and turned it to the news. His eyes got big. 

“What in the world?” 

“Dear God” 

“Jesus, oh Jesus”

I felt bad that I had interrupted his peaceful morning, but I needed him to understand that his wife was not doing well with processing things today. 

He was the youngest person on the cardiac floor.  He was popular with nurses and had been moved to a single room near their station.

One by one the filed in to watch the news. We sat there with our eyes glued to the horrific images of the survivors, as we realized the magnitude of the lives lost. The planes that had crashed. We were silent. I looked at my husband’s room that was now full of Dr’s and nurses. 

Shared Sorrow. 

His parents came by, I left to go get my boys. We headed back to the Hospital. My pregnant body exhausted. We needed to have dinner together. As weird as our world was now. We needed to have dinner together. I couldn’t find many restaurants open. I settled on McDonald’s. Not the best choice for a man on the cardiac floor, the boys were however delighted. 

September 12, 2001

Our new routine was more normal. Although the sorrow of the 11^th was hanging over our hearts like a dark grey mist. We kept moving forward. 

The boys for their part were enjoying eating out every night. They were enjoying getting to see the visitors at the hospital who helped them with homework – or lack thereof. They needed laughter. 

My husband had an uncle. His name was Harlen. Harlen was a Rockstar in their eyes. Spending time with him and their Grampa made them feel joy. They were loved. They were seen. They were safe. They also got new “Game Boys”, they got away with things that I was too tired to notice.

Day after day, procedure after procedure, shadow after shadow, until my husband was released. We kept moving forward. 

The LORD was most certainly my shepherd through those days. Walking through the shadow of death. There was still some fear. What is our world coming to? What is my world coming to? What are my boys going through? I didn’t know how to dig deep and see what they were thinking. I just kept moving and being available to talk about life. 

My husband came home and now there were nurses who came to the house to make sure my husband’s PIC line was delivering the medications and that he was improving. My Mother-in-Law came by daily. Helping me with whatever I needed. Sitting with her son so I could get back to working. Loving on my sons like only Gramma Sha-Sha could. We ate Swedish hotcakes and soaked in her goodness to us. 

Things began to look normal again. During the next month’s my husband also went back to school. His coloring wasn’t great, he had lost weight and now he had a little bag that he had to wear over his shoulder that was delivering medication straight to his heart. 

When he finally got the PIC line removed, we were filled with such relief. A final visit to the Doctor (or so we thought). 

“You will need to be very careful over the next months.”

“The chance of this happening again is 2%.”

Or at least that’s what we heard. 

He suggested my husband have open heart surgery. 

That seems a little overboard for something that had a 98% chance of never happening again. 

That’s not what I said. I said the chances of this happening again doubles yearly. 

We in our blissful ignorance did math… 

“2% this year, 4% next year, 6% the third.” 

We thought we could wait at least 10 years for more procedures. Wait until our boys were older, wait until I safely delivered our son. We thought we could wait. 

Turns out we were not at all hearing him.

“No, that isn’t what I said” the Doctor replied. 

“It DOUBLES EVERY year.” 

2%, 4%, 8%, 16%, 32%, etc. we could not wait 10 years. 

You should have surgery to close the hole as soon as possible. 

March of 2002

I delivered our third son. Oh my gosh. What a cutie pie. His brothers were in love, I was in love, Darrell was in love. We named him Hunter. Which to us meant “Heart for God”. In the first few days being home I would hold him close to my heart and sing songs of worship. I was so thankful for this little surprise. I had to tell God about it. 

Thank you, God, for having better plans. 

“Every good thing given, and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow.” James 1:17

It was easy to thank God for a healthy son. It was not easy to thank God for a sick husband. 

I’m not sure if we will ever know God’s plan for us. At least not while we are here on earth. I am sure when those of us that are followers of Jesus will understand one day. 

But until we all get to heaven and see Jesus, I’m still not sure what or why things happen. 

February 13, 2003. 

Open heart surgery day. Where this part of the story circles back to. 

Closing most holes in the heart is relatively easy and can be done without open heart surgery. My husband didn’t have it easy. His hole was too close to a heart valve. Open heart surgery was the only option. 

So, we sat. I sat, looking around the waiting room. Our friend Tammie quietly reading, looking up at me and smiling as only Tammie can. She brought me such peace. 

Many  hours later, the Doctor finally came out. He was carrying a little wooden box. I don’t know what made me laugh but I started laughing. He looked at me with some confusion. 

            “Is his heart in that box?” I said?

            “Uhh, No? These are my glasses, see?” 

He sat down next to me and opened the little wooden box. He took out his glasses and began explaining what all the lenses were and how they helped him see all the tiny veins and vessels. 

I felt like I was in an episode of “Mr. Rogers neighborhood” and my husband’s surgeon was Mr. Rogers. 

“What a kind man” I thought to myself. 

“Surgery went really well; we took a patch from his pericardium and closed the hole without incident. The nurse will take you to his room.” 

I don’t know if I thanked him, I hope I did. But I stood up and followed the nurse. His sister and mom following me. 

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I saw him, but his appearance was overwhelming. 

He was pale, intubated, wires and hoses everywhere. Machines beeping, breathing for him. 

His sister needed to leave. 

I stood by his bedside staring. 

His mom whispering compassionate prayers over her son. 

I leaned over and placed my ear on the bandages and listened to his heart.  The swooshing sound of his heart murmur was replaced by a steady

“Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump”

Suddenly the world started to get dark. My body grew very warm, and my knees grew very weak, I felt ill, 

I hurried out of the room. 

His sister had been waiting outside and both she and his mom followed me to the ladies room. I went into a stall and locked it. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just got a little warm, I’ll meet you in the lobby”

I stood in the stall for a while, waiting for the nausea to pass. Only to be met with a sudden rush of emotion. Sobbing, out of control sobbing. My body was shaking, hot tears pouring down my cheeks. Several minutes went by and I couldn’t stop. I exited the stall and tried washing my hands and face. Tried to dry my tears, tried to stop. 

I eventually decided I needed to leave the safety of the restroom and rejoin the others. 

I walked and sobbed, in the elevator, all the way across the lobby to our friends. Plopped down on a chair, buried my head in my sweater and kept sobbing. 

Family and friends surrounding me, my sister-in-law patting my back. Defending my sobs. “Two years of holding her breath, she is finally through it” or something like that. But she was so right. I had been holding my breath. I had been in constant state of worry, anxiety, doubt.

Aside from crying during worship every Sunday, I hadn’t let my emotions out for 2 years. I couldn’t. I had to hold it together or I would lose it entirely. My husband needed me; my kids needed me. I needed me to be strong. 

Recovery was rough. His mom spent the week with us. Making all our favorite meals. Cards, flowers, visitors, phone calls. The days of healing became weeks of healing, months of healing. Darrell’s color finally returned, and he finally started feeling better. 

Before surgery I had bought tickets for all of us to see the Harlem Globetrotters as a “Dad is finally better celebration”

The 5 of us went off to “The Pond” 4 short weeks after surgery. We all needed a good laugh. Only problem is that laughter, hard laughter is painful after open heart surgery. 

The boys & I laughed, and he kept saying “I can’t laugh, oh no, ouch” 

I look back at those two years as some of the hardest and best years of my adult life. They certainly weren’t the end of the difficulties I have faced but they were the times where I truly felt God was the very air that I breathed. My oxygen. 

Sickness and sorrow are part of living in a broken world. Darrell still can’t say that he knows the why God allowed him to get sick. I certainly cannot tell you why either. Just that God proved Himself faithful. Day in and Day out. He was never far from me. 

Today these memories came flooding back to me. I hurt for my sister-in-law & their family. Their kids are all grown up, but I know they hurt for their Dad too. I’m so thankful that God promised to be with us. 

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” 

            Psalms 34:18