by Karen Ball
“Do you want me to go with you?”
She looked up at him. Thank You, God, for a man like this to love me. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure … it’s probably just a temporary setback.”
His sky-blue eyes studied her. “It sounds pretty serious, darlin’.”
Faith looked away. She wouldn’t listen to that kind of talk. God wouldn’t let anything happen to her mother. He couldn’t. He knew how much she meant to Faith, to Faith’s father … how much they needed her. Mom had spent her life serving God, being obedient and sacrificing for others to follow Him. Now, she and Dad had finally retired, were finally ready to start relaxing and maybe even traveling a bit.
No. God wouldn’t let anything happen to her now.
She hugged Zeke and held on, soaking in his solid strength. “I’ll run over to the ER so Dad’s not there alone, so I’ll know what the doctors have to say.” She straightened and even managed to muster up a smile. “Why don’t you start the church prayer chain going? And give the coffee gals a call for me, okay?”
Zeke hesitated, then gave a slow nod. “Okay, but call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
It was almost midnight when Faith sat at her computer. She knew she needed to go to bed, to get some rest. But she needed to do something else, first.
She turned on the computer, then pulled up her e-mail program. Her fingers rested on the keyboard as she went through all that had happened that day.
Reliving the tension, the fear, brought familiar words washing over her.
“The Lord is my shepherd …”
She’d been praying the same words over and over lately. This morning, when she woke up was the first time in days … weeks … it hadn’t been running through her mind. She’d thought that was a good sign. That maybe she was learning to trust. That maybe things would be okay with her mom.
She should have known better.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures …”
She could use a nice, green pasture right now. Soft grass, the sun shining down … What she wouldn’t give for a good, solid sleep. Lately that same nebulous apprehension worked its way into her unconscious nearly every night, wreaking havoc with troubling dreams that left her exhausted when she woke.
No wonder she’d dozed off so quickly this afternoon.
“He restoreth my soul …”
That’s why she’d been so thankful to wake up free this morning. But that was over. The heaviness was back in full force, settling deep in the middle of her chest, ratcheting the muscles there until her chest felt so tight it was hard to breathe. Her pulse raced, then slowed as she deep-breathed her way to calm, then raced again as fear clawed its way to the surface.
Her gaze drifted to the computer.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of de—”
No. She wouldn’t even think that. She’d write what she knew. Borrowing trouble never helped.
She started typing.
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Sunday, February 6, 2005
Subject: Prayer request/my mom
You know you’ve had too many crises when the emergency room staff knows you by name.
The thought brought a weak smile to Faith’s face as she typed.
Hi, friends. What a day this has been. Dad and I just got back from the hospital. As some of you already know, Mom is in the ICU, being monitored constantly. She had pulmonary edema. It all happened this morning during a chemical stress test on her heart. She tried to deal with the discomfort and breathing trouble, ’cuz, as she said, “I thought I was being a baby.” Crazy lady. By the time she told them she had to get out of the machine they had her in, she was in bad shape.
When Dad called me, he was pretty shaken. He doesn’t get like that too often, so I knew things were serious. When I got to the ER, her breathing was so labored it was scary to listen to her. Sounded like she was breathing through pudding. And she was about as white as the hospital sheets on her gurney.
They did test after test, and then the doctor came in and said they’d be admitting Mom to the ICU. Not just to the hospital, but to the ICU. She was as shocked to hear that as we were, and she reached out a trembling hand to Daddy. He cradled it between his two large, strong hands, and I could see the peace flow from him to her.
Such comfort in a single touch.
We were in the ER with her from about eleven-thirty to a little after two, when they got her into the room in ICU. Dad and I went back to visit her tonight, and before we saw Mom the nurse told us she’d already passed roughly thirteen pounds of fluid! Amazing. There’s more to go, but overall she’s doing much better now, breathing more easily and much pinker. When Dad and I got ready to leave, Mom was even teasing us a little, asking us if we wouldn’t like to have cots brought in so we could sleep there with her.
They’ll be doing more tests tomorrow, and the cardiologist will come up with some kind of game plan. I’ll let you know what we learn tomorrow.
For now, please continue praying for Mom’s healing and for Dad’s peace of mind. I have to admit I’m scared. Mom’s only sixty-nine! I keep praying it’s not as serious as we’re thinking. I told my dad that everything would be okay. I reminded him that Mom’s been through rough things before and come out fine. She’s a fighter—after all, she survived my rebellious years, and you all know how ugly that was—and she’s got lots of years ahead of her.
But even as I was saying all that and sounding so confident, inside I was scared to death. This is my mom! And she looked so weak, so frightened. I wanted to have her turn to me, like she did all those years when I was a kid, and tell me everything’s going to be okay. But she couldn’t do that.
As we left, one of the nurses told us to try and get some rest. I must have looked at her like she was nuts, because she patted my arm and said, “Don’t worry. The doctors here are the best.” Of course, I trust that. But here’s what scares me.
What if even the best doctors aren’t going to be good enough?
So I’m coming to you guys for help. Please, keep us in your prayers. And, if you think of it, tell me everything’s going to be okay.
I need to hear it.
Thanks. I really appreciate you.
Love ya,
Faith
twenty-six
“We have to pray with our eyes on God,
not on the difficulties.”
OSWALD CHAMBERS
“WELL, WE’VE GOT SOME ANSWERS.”
Faith watched the cardiologist page through the papers on his clipboard, afraid to say anything. Zeke stood next to Faith. Her father sat on the edge of her mom’s bed, their hands entwined.
Jesus … be with us…
“The angiogram showed two, possibly three blockages.”
Faith swallowed hard, wrestling the anxiety within her to the ground, not allowing it to push through and keep her from being able to listen, to take in what the surgeon was saying.
“In addition, we need to replace the aortic valve.” He lifted his gaze from his clipboard to Faith’s parents. “So Mrs. Bennett, we’ve got you scheduled for open-heart surgery in two days.”
Faith stiffened, and Zeke’s thumbs worked the muscles in her shoulders, doing his best to soothe her. She leaned back against him as the surgeon went on to explain the procedure. Faith did her best to absorb it all, but the moment he’d uttered those words—open-heart surgery—fear surged within her like a tide gone wild. Her heart raced, her head ached, her face felt hot and then cold.
Open-heart surgery. Her mother had to have open-heart surgery.
Jesus, where are You?
“I’m not going to lie to you, Mrs. Bennett—”
That comment brought Faith’s focus zooming back to what the doctor was saying.
“The surgery won’t be easy, but it will be far easier than your recovery. You have a lot working against you.”
Faith looked at her mother, taking in the
somber expression on her sweet face, the sudden lack of color in her cheeks, the way her fingers gripped her husband’s hand.
She was frightened. And who could blame her? They’d been through this with Faith’s father a few years ago. No one had to tell them how hard and long the recuperation could be. And Mom had a lot more working against her.
“What if we don’t have the procedure done?”
Faith was surprised at how steady her father’s voice was. She felt a surge of hope at his question. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe this was something they could work on, fix with diet. Maybe the threat of surgery was enough to scare Mom into walking agai—
“Of course, that’s your option. But if this surgery isn’t done, I’d guess she’d have a few months left at best.”
A few months? Faith couldn’t breathe. A few months? How was that possible?
From the expressions on her parents’ faces, she could tell that had hit them as hard as it had her.
“And if it is done—” Faith squeezed the words out around the boulder-sized lump in her throat—“will it take care of the problems Mom’s been having?”
The doctor looked at Faith. “It certainly should help a great deal.” He turned back to Faith’s mother. “You should find your mobility greatly restored, and you won’t have nearly so much trouble breathing when you lie down and try to do things.”
“Will I be able to exercise again?”
The tremor in her mother’s words was almost Faith’s undoing. But she wouldn’t give in, wouldn’t let herself dissolve. Not yet.
“I believe you will.” The doctor’s tone was kind, as though he sought to ease some of Mom’s fear. “The good news is that this valve surgery is the safest of heart surgeries. And you really should feel a lot better after the recovery is over. The valve problem is what’s been causing your shortness of breath and lack of circulation.”
Hope sparked in her mother’s eyes, and Faith drew every ounce of encouragement from it that she could.
“It will be slow at first—” the doctor leaned forward, putting his hand over Mom’s where it rested on the bed—“but with the heart problems taken care of, you’ll start feeling better and better as you recover.”
Faith appreciated the way the doctor really thought through the questions before answering them. She had the sense he was doing his best to be encouraging, but to also give them a realistic picture of what they were up against. That was good. Faith didn’t want pie-in-the-sky promises. She wanted to know the truth. How else could she prepare for what was to come?
If only she knew exactly what that was. If only she could find something to calm the anxiety chewing at her, leaving her ragged and raw inside. For no matter how encouraging the surgeon tried to be, no matter how encouraged her parents might be at promised improvements, as Faith listened to the doctor finish up explaining the procedure, she could no longer deny the truth.
She had a bad feeling about this.
You’re overly tired. And you’re letting fear have its way with your imagination. All you need is some sleep.
“When will you do the surgery?”
Zeke’s question brought Faith’s attention back to the doctor.
“The sooner the better. Probably Tuesday or Wednesday.”
Two days. If they were moving that fast, it had to be even more serious than she’d thought.
The doctor stood, ready to leave. Faith tried to muster a smile, but her trembling lips didn’t want to cooperate. “Thanks for all your help—”
She’d sworn she wouldn’t cry, not in front of Mom and Dad, but her voice didn’t seem to care.
Zeke’s arm came around her shoulders. He held his hand out to the doctor. “Thanks for everything.”
The surgeon nodded, and as he left the room, Faith went to hug her father and press a kiss to her mother’s head. “It’s going to be okay, Mom.” Her mother nodded, and Faith put her hand on her dad’s shoulder. “I need to go get something to eat, okay?”
“Sure, punkin’. You go ahead.”
Her mother smiled at her. “I think I’ll wait here.”
Her teasing words accomplished what Faith was sure her mother intended—to make Faith laugh. She leaned over to give her mother a fierce hug. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, sweetie.” Her soft hand cupped Faith’s cheek. “Now go get something to eat.”
Faith nodded, and she and Zeke walked from the room. When they were out of sight, she turned to her husband. “Would you mind going down to the cafeteria alone? I’ll be down in a few minutes, but I need to do something.”
“I’ll be downstairs. Take your time.”
With slow, heavy steps she made her way to the hospital chapel. She peered in. Thank heaven. It was empty. Pulling the door closed behind her, Faith eased onto a pew, closed her eyes, and let the tears come.
Darkness could be comforting.
Faith liked sitting in her computer room with the lights off, letting the glow of the computer screen bring illumination. Okay, so it probably wasn’t good for her eyes, but she didn’t really care.
She’d slipped in here when she got home to read her e-mails. The words of care and encouragement from her friends were a balm to her hurting, frightened heart. Everyone in the Coffee Crew had responded, and to a person the message was the same:
“Everything’s going to be okay. God’s in control.”
Of course, Jennifer added that she needed to relax, and Deb told her to take a hot bath. Sandy suggested a long walk in the woods, and Patti urged her to “go ahead and have a tantrum if you want, you’re entitled.” Lori sent her a heartwarming prayer, Linda sent her a moving devotion, and Connie sent her a joke that had her in stitches. Andi and Connie assured her they were with her. Every step of the way.
Faith sat there, grinning at her computer screen through her tears, more grateful than she could ever express for these crazy, heart-friends.
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Monday, February 7, 2005
Subject: Mom’s surgery
Okay, my mom’s open-heart surgery is set for early Wednesday. Angiogram showed two, possibly three, blockages, so they’ll be doing a double or triple bypass in addition to replacing the aortic valve. I can’t explain it, but I’m nervous (I know, I know, relax, take a bath…☺).
What’s hardest right now is that Mom is apprehensive, not just about the procedures, but about the recovery. Her diabetes can make it slow and potentially dangerous. But the good news is that this is a really safe surgery, and it should make Mom feel lots better. I hope so. It’s been so hard on Mom, these last few years, to continue losing ground physically. She’s been great, of course, always looking to God for strength and encouragement. But it still hurt her to not be able to walk, to move well, to do the things she loved. And it hurt us to see her struggle so.
Please be praying for God’s hand on those caring for her in the hospital, for His touch on the surgeons and on Mom during the surgery, and for His healing and mercy on Mom as she recovers. And please keep Dad in your prayers as well, for peace and calm during all this. Mom means everything to him. I can’t imagine what he’d do without her. She completes him, and he her.
Okay, I’m going to stop now before I make myself cry again. Thanks for your prayers. I love you guys!
Faith
The
Floodwaters
“And the floodwaters rise …”
MATTHEW 7:25
twenty-seven
“The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing … not healing, not curing … that is a friend who cares.”
HENRI NOUWEN
TWO DAYS HAD NEVER PASSED SO FAST.
And four hours had never passed so slowly.
Faith looked up from the magazine she’d been trying to read for three of those four hours. None of the words seemed to penetrate. All she s
aw when she stared at the page was her mother’s face.
Why didn’t the doctor call?
The surgery should have been finished over an hour ago.
“You want to take a walk?”
Faith mustered a smile for her husband. “That’d be nice.” Good thing he had employees he trusted to oversee the company when he was gone. With all the time he’d spent with her at the hospital, he’d be in trouble if he didn’t have good people to take the reins for him.
She stood, studying Dad’s face as she did so. He looked so weary. “Dad, can we get you anything?”
“I’m fine, dear.”
If only that were true. But he was as worried as she was, and she knew it.
“Zeke and I are going to stretch our legs. We’ll be right back.” He nodded, and they went around the corner to the desk where the Pink Lady sat. The sprightly little woman came hours ago to let them know that the surgery had begun.
“The next phone call will be to let you know she’s off the bypass machine and the heart is working.” Her smile had been confident and comforting, putting Faith more at ease.
Until now, that was, when Faith glanced at the clock and realized how long ago that first call had been.
The Pink Lady looked up as Faith and Zeke approached, answering the question before Faith could ask it. “No word, dear.” She smiled. “But don’t worry. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Well, that makes one of us.
The phone rang. Faith froze, looking up when her father came to stand beside her. The Pink Lady spoke briefly, then turned to them with a bright smile. “Your wife is off the bypass machine, Mr. Bennett.”
“Thank God!”
Faith hugged her father’s waist. “How long until we can see her?”
The woman glanced up at the clock. “It shouldn’t be long at all. The surgeon will come out to talk to you first.”
Faith’s father nodded, then went back to sit in the waiting area. Zeke rubbed Faith’s back. “God’s with your mom, darlin’. I know it.”