Thursday, April 13, 2017

This Is What Happened: Part 4

I am thankful for the woman who brought me this chicken ceasar parmesan on pita. It was wonderful, and so was she.

(Feel free to backtrack and read Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 of this story. Really. They're more exciting than today's entry, and do not lead with pictures of hospital food.)

Well, believe it or not, we are closing in on the final episode of this chapter in my life. I know! Who knew so many words could be used to say "Welcome to my new life!" (That, to summarize, is essentially what my New Best Friend the Hematologist told me when I met him this week. Blood thinners forever, and grapefruit no more than once a week, and while you're here, how about let's draw eight vials of blood? EIGHT!)

But this whole experience has been enormously educational. Here's what I have learned:

I have learned that I am surrounded by the very best, very finest, very dearest family and friends anyone could have. I realized in the 10 minutes that I thought I was going to die that I have not told these dear family and friends nearly often enough that I cherish them, and that I have lived the most blessed life because of them.

I have learned that being in the hospital is the next best thing to being an exotic dancer, because hoooo-boy, does everyone just have to go about their business while you are inadequately covered.

And I have learned so much about how to pray for a person who might find herself (or himself) in a similarly precarious situation.

I hope I have been clear in this space that I am a praying person, and I deeply believe in this spiritual practice. I know to the very marrow of my bones that dozens, maybe hundreds, of people (including many, many of you) have been praying for me in the past few weeks, and I am weeping as I consider the magnitude of this gift. Because I know these are the things you've been asking as you lifted me up to the Divine:

That the right people be put in my path. I cannot express completely how this played out, because it was inexpressible. Every single person I met, from the moment my initial EKG was read until this very minute, has been the right person at the right time, doing and saying the right things. There was the medical assistant who drove me to the hospital and asked me to tell her exactly what the Boys are doing these days. I saw you, Esther, and I saw what you were doing, and I loved you for it. There were the emergency room nurses who brought warmed blankets, and Dr. V., who diagnosed me. There were the firefighter/EMTs who went to school with the Boys and lifted me into the ambulance, then talked to me about Costa Rica and upcoming weddings. The nurses in the cardiac ICU--Jessica, Steve, Kensie, Kayla--who joked with me and told me enough but not too much. Even the food service aide who brought my lunch and was just so delighted that I was able to have a regular diet was magnificent. Every single person was encouraging and competent and cheerful.

That I would not be afraid. I knew I was in a perilous state for at least 10 hours, and I'm not even counting the days before when I was probably at risk of sudden death. Do you know how much of that time I was afraid? Ten minutes. I remember it vividly: I was on my back in the emergency room, my blood pressure had been going up for two hours and the doctor had just given me the news that a heart attack was confirmed. I looked at Husband, who was sitting in the chair next to the bed, and I thought "I don't think I'm going to make it out of this, and I am so very sad for the years I will not have with this man, and with my Boys and Lovely Girls." But then I thought of the woman who had that very morning brought me a refrigerator magnet her mother had made. "No Fear With God" the magnet says, and even though I had accepted the gift off-handedly, I remembered the fiery furnace and the witnesses who said "We know God can deliver us out of this, but even if He doesn't, He's still God." And from that moment there were times when I was concerned, times when I was shaky, times when I was confused, but no more times when I gut-wrenchingly afraid.

That I would know how much I am loved. Oh, people. Again with the tears over here, because you cannot imagine. You simply cannot imagine how I have been touched by the messages, the cards, the flowers, the concern. I know you have been praying that I would feel that support, because I do.

I'm only glad that I am here and can tell that you are the very best, the very dearest, the very finest. I love you, I cherish you, and I have lived the most blessed life because you are in it.


  1. I'm so thankful you're all right. You remain in my prayers. I'm blessed to have family be a part of your story. God weaves us together. Blessings & Blessed Resurrection Day! Perhaps you feel you've had one of those. :)

  2. Well. Oh my. This is your blog reader from MN (commented back a few months ago...?) Have not read your blog for a while. Oh my. I am thankful that you are well. So thankful - for you, your husband, family, friends - your circle of people, your quilt of people who cover your life. I know that the preciousness of your people has been heightened. Prayers for you and yours have now been said from Minnesota. They will continue.