Courage, Hope and Healing

Days passed, and then a week, and then nearly two. I still remained unconscious. During this period I became a most disturbing sight. Every piece of medical equipment. was attached to nearly every limb and orifice. A ventilator tube was placed down my throat and help into place with tape. I was wearing oxygen. I had eeg electrodes placed all over my scalp to measure my brain waves. This was held in place by some odd looking contraption. I had an intravenous line in the vein in my neck. I had compression stockings on my legs, puffing away to keep my blood circulating. Heavy “boots” were strapped to my shins and feet. I had a urinary catheter in and also a hose up my rectum. I don’t mean to be gross, but it was there, and it wasn’t pleasant. A hose came out of the right side of my abdomen with bloody liquid draining. My stomach was quite distended, and my incision was restapled. I developed horrible acne and an ugly sore on my nose from a tube that when up my nose into my intestine. My nose has a permanent indentation from that hose. In addition, I was given so much fluid; I blew up over 50 pounds. I looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy on steroids, plus I developed a yeast infection and started my menstrual cycle. I had a raging fever and was covered in sweat. Only my eyes were visible since there was so much stuff attached to me. When some of my friends came to visit me, they were convinced they were in the wrong room. I was unrecognizable; a shocking sight. My mother became so distraught at the sight of me, the hospital staff convinced her to stay home. They told Steve it was their job to keep me alive, and his job to love and support me. Meanwhile, my church continued to fervently pray for me. One evening while Steve and my sister Lori were in my room, a doctor came in to evaluate me. It was quiet except for the whispers of Steve and my sister. The doctor leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His voice cut through the quiet in the room, breaking up the rhythm of the respirator. “I wish I could paint a rosey picture of your wife’s future,” he said. He alluded that if I should survive this, there was no telling what permanent damage would be done to me. Would I be brain damaged? These were hardly the words anyone would want to hear. The truth was, only God knew my future and His plans for me. “For I knew the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope." (Jeremiah 29:11). I can be a pretty tenacious person, and if I would have heard Dr. Whitshisname, I probably would have knocked him one. Another doctor was called in to evaluate my condition. She was a neuro-psychiatrist. She told Steve it was hard to tell what was going on through my head as I lay motionless. “She could be experiencing her worst nightmare,” she told him. Steve told her I hated spiders. I don’t like spiders. As the days passed Steve my family and friends continued to pray for a miracle. Steve kept a constant vigil by my side; watching and waiting for any change in my condition. Where did the real me go? Was I really somewhere in that lifeless body attached to so much machinery? If I did wake up, would ever be a wife and mother again? The stress and tension became insurmountable. Steve was in a wrestling match with God; wanting me to live, and yet knowing that I did not belong to him, but to the Lord.