by Karen Ball
The Pink Lady reached out and touched Faith’s hand.
“I’m glad the surgery is going well.”
Emotion welled up within Faith, making her words hoarse. “Me, too.”
The surgeon came around the corner about an hour later. He shook Zeke’s and Dad’s hands and smiled. “She did great, Mr. Bennett. It was a hard procedure. Her weight complicated matters, but it all worked out fine. We did the valve replacement and a triple bypass. Your wife flew off the bypass machine like a champ—”
Way to go, Mom.
“—and within minutes we were using meds to lower her blood pressure when we usually have to use them to raise it. So that’s all good. The next few days are critical, of course, but we’re encouraged.”
“Can we see her?”
At the eagerness in her father’s voice, Faith slipped her hand in the crook of his arm.
“Give them about a half hour to get her settled, then call on the white phone and go on in.”
Faith threw herself into Zeke’s arms and hugged him.
“Whoa, darlin’. I need to breathe.”
“She’s going to be okay, Zeke. She’s going to be okay.”
He cradled her against his chest. “God’s good, no doubt about it.”
The phone on the Pink Lady’s desk rang. She answered it, then turned toward Faith and Zeke. “Mr. Galine?”
Zeke nodded. She held the phone out to him, and he talked for a few minutes, then hung up.
“Trouble?”
“Looks like we’ve got a slight problem at one of our sites.”
Faith’s dad put his hand on Zeke’s arm. “Go ahead and deal with your business, Zeke.”
“Are you sure?”
Faith nodded. “Go ahead, sweetheart. I’ll ride home with Dad.”
Zeke gave Faith and her father a hug. “I’ll keep praying.”
Faith touched his cheek. “I know. Thank you.”
Neither Faith nor her father could sit still for the next half hour. When the wait was finally over and they’d made the call, Faith’s heart pounded as she followed her dad down the sterile hallway to the Cardiac Care Unit. The nurse met them as they came in.
“Faith, Mr. Bennett! I’m so glad to see you!”
Faith stared, then her mouth fell open. “Winnie?”
The nurse’s grin was broad and warm. “I would have known you anywhere, Faith.”
“I can’t believe you work here.” Faith looked around, then shook her head and took Winnie’s hand in hers. “No, I take that back. I can’t imagine you doing anything else.”
Winnie squeezed her hand. “Well, you always said I wanted to fix people, and you were right.” She waved her hand, indicating the unit. “Plenty of people here to fix.” Her smile softened. “Some of them more special than others. You ready to see your mom?”
At Faith’s nod, Winnie led them to Mom’s room.
Her father hesitated at the doorway, closing his eyes for a moment. She knew he was praying, asking for strength. Then he straightened and walked into the room.
The doctor and the Pink Lady had warned Faith and her dad that Mom would look bad—kind of white and gray—after the surgery. But Faith looked at her, lying there—deep asleep, her soft salt-and-pepper hair framing her face on the pillow—and she knew they were wrong.
Her mom didn’t look bad. She was beautiful.
Alive and breathing and utterly beautiful.
Winnie made a gentle adjustment to Mom’s pillow. “Look at those pretty pink cheeks.” She smoothed Mom’s hair back. “She’s got great color, and believe me, that’s unusual. Patients of this kind of surgery don’t usually look that good until a day or so into recovery.” She smiled at Faith’s dad. “You can tell Mrs. Bennett really wants to get better and go home soon.”
“Not near as much as I want her there.”
At the choked sound of his words, Faith had to blink to hold back the tears. She went to put her arm around her dad’s shoulders.
After a moment of looking at Mom’s face, he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Then he sighed and looked at Faith. “She’s going to be okay.”
“She’s going to be great, Dad.”
He gave her a weary smile as he took her arm, and they waved good-bye to Winnie and left the room. “She already is, hon. Always has been.”
The next several days went by in a blur of visits to the CCU. Faith’s mother progressed, though more slowly than the doctors had hoped. The first few days she’d been disoriented and frightened—which was even more upsetting for Faith than it was for her, because when it was over, her mom didn’t remember it. But Winnie’s calm presence kept Faith calm as well, and it was Winnie who finally discovered Mom was reacting badly to the pain medication. Once they got that changed, things were better.
Even so, Faith couldn’t shake a heavy sense of dread. It had been five days since the surgery, and Mom still hadn’t talked to anyone. Only that morning, while she and Zeke were visiting, Faith had to step out of the room to keep Mom from seeing how distressed she was.
“Faith?”
She turned to face Winnie. Her struggle must have been evident in her features, because Winnie took her by the arm and led her to the nurses’ station. She sat Faith in a chair, then got her a cup of cold water to drink. Faith sipped at the liquid, letting it run down her throat.
Winnie stood there, compassion evident in her features, her stance.
When Faith could speak, she sighed. “I-I’m sorry, Winnie.”
“Nothing to apologize for.”
Faith stood. “It’s just that she won’t talk! I try and try to get her to say something, but she lies there, looking at me with those wide, hurting eyes.” She swallowed back a sob. “I know she’s in pain, Win. But why won’t she talk?”
“Sometimes when patients have been through a great deal of struggle, not just with the surgery but even before that, their poor, weary brains need time to heal as well as their bodies.”
Faith looked at Winnie, taking in the kindness wreathing her face, the gentle beauty she’d acquired as an adult. Or had it always been there, and Faith had been too full of herself to see it?
“Winnie, I’m really sorry.”
She shook the apology away. “It’s a normal reaction, Faith.”
“No. I don’t mean about today. I mean about … before.” She wanted to hide her shame by looking at the floor, but she wouldn’t let herself off the hook that easily. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we were kids. You were my friend, and I blew you off.” She straightened, meeting Winnie’s gaze without flinching. “You didn’t deserve that, and I was wrong.”
She waited for the change in Winnie’s features, for the memory of those days to cloud her smile. But it didn’t happen. If anything, the compassion and kindness in the other woman’s smile only deepened.
“Thanks, Faith. I appreciate that. But it really is okay. And it’s nice to see you’ve found a good man this time.” She glanced to where Zeke was talking with Faith’s mom, and she grinned. “And a particularly handsome one.”
“He is, isn’t he?”
“Much better than Dustin.”
Faith laughed. It felt good to do so, and she gave Winnie a hug.
When she came back into Mom’s room, Zeke was sitting, holding Mom’s hand. Faith grinned. “Can’t leave you alone with another woman for a second, and you’re holding her hand.”
“I always was a sucker for a pretty face.” Zeke stood. “I need to get back to work, darlin’.” Faith hugged him good-bye and went to sit beside her mother.
She spent the rest of the morning talking to her mom, brushing her hair, kissing her cheek. Her mom smiled and touched a gentle finger to Faith’s face, but she stayed silent.
As much as she wanted to believe Winnie that this was normal, Faith couldn’t relax. The heaviness returned, settling at the back of her mind. Her concern grew so strong that she finally asked Winnie to see if she could talk with Mom’s doctor. Winnie made t
he appointment without hesitation.
“Two o’clock this afternoon. His office on the third floor.”
A couple of hours later, as Faith sat in Dr. Campbell’s office, waiting for him to come in, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Was she being paranoid? Overly protective?
God, please, help me know what to say—
“Mrs. Galine?”
Faith started as her mom’s heart surgeon came in the room. “Dr. Campbell.” She smiled her gratitude. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.”
He inclined his head, leaning back against his desk. “What can I do for you?”
Faith explained her fears as best she could, trying to keep the emotion from her tone. He was a doctor. A surgeon. He dealt in facts, not fears.
He listened, nodding from time to time. When she finished, he pursed his lips. “Well, the good news is that your mother’s heart is working great.”
Faith nodded. It was all true. She knew it.
“Her lungs are clear, and her blood pressure is right where it needs to be. So from the medical standpoint, she’s doing well. However—” at the solemn look in his eyes, the heaviness in Faith’s chest grew—“her muscles are beginning to atrophy from lack of movement. So in some ways you’re right; your mother is still in crisis mode. The simple answer is that she has to want to get better.”
“You don’t think she does?”
The doctor considered her question. “I don’t know, Mrs. Galine. You know your mother better than I. But I believe she’s been struggling physically for quite some time?”
Faith nodded. For way too long.
“Surgery like this can take a great deal out of a person. Your mother needs to find the inner resources to start moving, standing, even taking steps to get the muscles working and to keep her heart and lungs going.” He met her worried gaze. “As much as I hate to say it, if she doesn’t start to move and work at getting better, we can still lose her.”
The words hit her hard, especially because they held a ring of truth. She blinked, struggling with the emotions swarming through her. “Thank you, Doctor.”
He started to turn away, then hesitated. “From what your father has said, I take it you’re a religious family?”
Swallowing hard, Faith hugged her arms around herself. “We’re Christians.”
“Then it seems the best prescription I can give you for your mother is prayer. We can give her all the medicine in the world, but none of that can give her the will to live, to work at getting better. That can only come from one source.”
Faith met his eyes, and the sincerity she saw there sparked a tiny ray of hope. “God.”
“Indeed.”
With that, he walked away. Faith watched him go, her heart full. She’d hoped for a word of encouragement when she talked with him. But she’d gotten far more.
He’d given her truth. And the firm reminder that her mother was in the best hands possible: the hands of the Great Physician.
twenty-eight
“Hope says to us constantly, ‘Go on, go on.”
FRANCOISE D’AUBIGNE DE MAINTENON
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent: Thursday, March 3, 2005
Subject: Progress!
Hello, dear sisters. Good news! Mom is finally out of CCU into a regular room! It’s on the heart floor, of course, but it’s a regular hospital room. I wondered if this day would ever come. Winnie, the friend I’ve told you all about, who I’ve known since grade school when I kicked her in the head with a ball (I know, I know, I was a terror), told me the CCU normal stay for a heart patient is a couple of days, sometimes three or four. Mom was there for a little over three weeks! Win said that’s about the norm for someone as high-risk a patient as Mom.
But the CCU is definitely where Mom needed to be. You guys know my poor mom’s endured one complication after another. First she had a hard time coming out of the anesthesia from the surgery, then it took longer than usual to get her off the oxygen, then her kidneys shut down. Zeke and I spent night after night praying, begging God for His intervention.
He answered, and none too soon. We came so close to losing Mom that I still shudder when I think about it.
But finally, thanks to the prayers of so many, she started doing better a few days ago. And then, this afternoon, her heart doctor came into Mom’s room, planted his hands on his hips, and gave her a scolding look.
“Are you still here? I’m sick and tired of seeing you.”
Mom and Dad stared at him. Zeke grabbed my arm because he knew I was about to launch at the guy. That’s when the doc broke into a grin.
“So what say we move you out of here and into a regular room?”
We all broke into cheers. Almost made me cry.
I told Winnie I would miss seeing her every day, but that I felt like celebrating. She gave me the tightest hug ever.
So Mom’s all settled in. You can even come visit her if you want.
Thanks again for your prayers. She still has a long way to go, but this is progress. And that’s wonderful.
Love ya,
Faith
Faith raised her arms above her head and stretched.
“Did you have a good nap?”
She stood and went to take her mom’s hand. “I thought you were supposed to be resting, not me.”
Mom smiled from behind the oxygen tube. “I slept.”
Faith eyed her, and her smile turned sheepish.
“A little.”
“Hmm.” Faith opened the bedside stand drawer, taking her mom’s comb out. “How ’bout we get you all prettied up for Dad?”
“Okay.”
Her response was made on a half gasp. Faith tried not to show that it bothered her. In some ways, her mom was doing well. In others, she worried Faith.
Faith had asked the nurses about Mom’s shortness of breath, and they told her it was part of the healing process, that mom had to work hard to teach herself how to breathe right. They told Faith and her dad how they could help, by encouraging her to hold her heart pillow and cough, and to use her spirometer, a device she was supposed to blow into, moving an indicator to a certain point.
Faith had tried. So had dad. But the exercises were so painful, Mom had a hard time doing them as often as she needed to. Despite her mom’s protests, Faith insisted. She knew it was the right thing to do. What she had to do.
Faith wished doing what was right didn’t feel like being mean.
She sat on the bed beside her mother, drawing the comb through her mom’s soft, salt-and-pepper curls.
Her mom leaned against her and sighed. “Do you remember when I used to comb your hair?”
Did she ever. “Yeah, but I hated it.” Faith nudged her mom with her elbow. “You like this.”
“I could squirm and complain, if it would make you feel more at home.”
“Ha ha ha.”
Faith was so glad her mom’s sense of humor was coming back. It took nearly two weeks for Mom to start talking after her surgery, and even then it had only been to Dad at first. But bit by bit, Mom came back to them.
It helped, too, when Faith and Dad convinced the nurses not to give Mom sleeping pills anymore. She and her mother might be different in a lot of ways, but they shared one peculiar trait—they couldn’t handle medication.
Mom had really started gaining ground then. She was able to do more—to walk and do her breathing exercises more often. And though she battled frustration over her slow progress, she talked and smiled more.
Especially when Dad was there.
All he had to do was walk into the room, and her face bloomed into a beautiful smile. And looking at her, his eyes glowed with a special light. A light that made Faith’s heart swell with joy.
She remembered thinking, as a little girl, that everyone’s mom and dad were like hers. She knew better now. They were as rare as it got. And she was as grateful as could be that God had given them to her.
“Kno
ck, knock!”
Faith and her mother looked toward the door. Winnie stood there, arms loaded down with bag upon bag of what looked to be silk pansies. Faith’s mom loved pansies. Bright, cheerful helium balloons—a pansy, a Scooby Doo, a Smiley face—danced at the end of strings looped around Winnie’s wrists.
“What in the world?” Faith giggled. “You moonlighting as a clown?”
Winnie arched her brow. “I’m here to help decorate your mother’s room.”
“Decorate it?” Mom managed in her gasping voice. She looked from Winnie to Faith. “A hospital room?”
Sweeping into the room, Winnie plunked the bags down on a chair and started pulling out silk flowers, beautiful vases, posters of the ocean, and stuffed animals. She winked at Faith. “Hey, it may be a hospital room, but it doesn’t have to look like one.”
“You’re amazing.”
Winnie grinned. “Yeah, I am.”
Faith hopped off the bed and went to help. Winnie’s enthusiasm was contagious, and soon she had Faith’s mom pointing to tell them where to put things so she could see them best.
By the time they were done, every available space had something colorful and cheerful on it. The crowning touch came when Winnie pulled out what looked like markers, then removed the cap of one and turned to the window.
“Win—”
But Faith’s caution came too late. Winnie starting writing a Scripture verse on the glass.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Faith looked at her mom. “I hope she knows she’s paying for the windows.”
Winnie grinned at them as she went from the window to the mirror. She held up one of the markers. “Window chalk. Completely washable.”
“Well then!” Faith took one of the markers from Winnie’s hand.
“Hey! What are you doing?”
Faith grinned this time. “You forgot to draw butterflies.”
A half hour later, Faith’s dad walked into the room. Stopped. Looked around. Then stepped back outside to check the number on the door.
The three women laughed and called him back in. Faith went to link her arm in his, waving at the gaily adorned room. “Isn’t it beautiful? It was Winnie’s idea.”