Lonely, but Not Alone

My heart beat faster and faster as we walked down the hallway toward Charles' room. I was excited, but a real sense of unease filled my mind. Yet, I had to see for myself that he was okay. As we rounded the corner and started into the room, Charles was talking through his oxygen mask and raising his hands toward the ceiling. Pam asked him, "Who are you waving to, Dad?" His reply was, "I am talking to my Lord Jesus. I feel great; I don't have a pain anywhere!
We laughed and talked. He told of his nurse apologizing that she probably had "coffee breath" as she had bent over him earlier. He had said to her, "Oh, please don't mention coffee! I would kill for a cup of coffee right now!" He said his own breath was probably horrible also. I laughed and said, "Well, at least you are the only one having to smell it with that oxygen mask over your face!" Then he proceeded to yank it off and demand a kiss! We talked on. I gently questioned him about how much he remembered of what the doctor had told us the night before. He understood he had had a heart attack and that there were two blocked arteries. That was where his memory and ours changed paths. He thought angioplasty was going to be performed later.
Then, he began trying to use the remote control for the television. In so doing, he kept raising up his head. I could see he was getting really agitated, and he was not even supposed to be moving. I told him to lie down, and I would fix it for him. He continued raising his head, this time to get ice. Suddenly, he lay his head back and asked if there was a washcloth in the room. I found one, wet it, and put it on his forehead. His color had turned ashen. I told Pam to call the nurse. In the meantime, Charles asked me to get the pillow from under his head. He was nauseous again. The nurse appeared at that time and took his blood pressure. It had dropped considerably, and she asked us to leave the room.
We slipped out. Pam left the unit completely, but I stayed right outside the room in the hallway. I listened and watched as he was very sick again. In fact, I don't believe I have ever seen anyone as sick as he was at that time. Two nurses came running down the hall and into the room. Then something strange happened. Charles began to just pop up into a sitting position, as though he were doing sit-ups. The nurses would push him down, and he would come up again. This occurred several times. Later, I was told he was having spasms.
A huge lump began forming in my throat as I stood there and watched all that was taking place. Cold fear washed over me in waves, along with a sense of such utter helplessness. I knew his condition was very bad. The nurse came out of the room and asked me to wait outside the unit. An hour had passed since we had come to visit him.

I stepped outside the ICU and told the children what was taking place, or as much as I knew was taking place. It seemed only a few minutes when another nurse came and escorted us all down the hallway into a small room. I knew being put in a small room meant that things had gotten very serious. She said someone would be in to talk with us very shortly. In a matter of minutes, the nurse who was caring for Charles came in to tell us he was in cardiac arrest and probably would not make it.
There was complete silence in the room. I cried out from the very depths of my being, although no one but God heard it. Me chest felt so heavy, it was as if someone had placed a huge weight on it. Dear God, this can't be happening! Not Charles, Lord! He is so young and strong and so important to your work, Lord! And I need him so much, God!
Then I looked around at my precious children, as their tears flowed silently down their cheeks. It was then that I realized they needed me - not falling apart, but strong. And the strength came. "My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is perfected in weakness." 11 Corinthians 12:9.