I have always wanted to tell this story. Maybe too
much time has passed. Afterall, I missed the day by one day. I am an
anniversary person. I carry the calendar of my life in my head. Holiday dates and
official national holidays are easy to find on the calendar. I am also a
calendar person. The calendar squares are often like little diaries for me
beginning with my first Hallmark calendar in high school.
This is the stuff families are made of, the histories
worth telling over and over again. Families have their own stories which should
be told. Word of mouth, the truth of details, over and over again.
My father entered the hospital scheduled for a femoral
aorta bypass surgery due to blockages. The doctors thought things over and said
“Before we do that surgery, we need to check out his heart.” The night before
his heart cath he had enjoyed his hospital meal, finishing it off with a piece
of pecan pie topped with the little butter pat on the little white tab. He
loved butter on everything.
The morning of his procedure, I was scurrying at home to
meet the early time slot. I found myself humming the hallelujah from his
favorite choir anthem, Majesty and Glory. He had been in church choir
all of his adult life. I threw a couple of books into a bag and headed out the
door.
The hospital was still quiet. The helpful lady in pink
had not even arrived yet to dispense her knowledge of the hospital. One other
woman was in the Heart Cath waiting room. My mother encouraged me to go get some breakfast while my
father had his test. She would go when I got back. I was
to the checkout when a woman ran into the cafeteria, telling me the doctor was
with my mother. My dropped breakfast tray echoed through the empty room as I
ran to the elevator. My father had to have immediate open heart surgery. Mama
and I were quickly ushered to his side. I leaned to his ear and sang a few
words of our favorite anthem. We left to wait in the hall for his trip to
surgery, not knowing we were on the cusp of minutes we would later recall over
and over. The chorus of hallelujahs still stuck in my head.
As he was wheeled into the hall, he went into cardiac arrest
right before us. In seconds, we were running down the hall, behind the two
nurses racing the gurney into surgery. To this day, when I walk that hall,
which is a main hall of the hospital, I still look up to the very spot where I
raised my eyes in a vocal prayer as I ran.
The daytime lights had not been turned on in the waiting
room when we entered. We had gone to gather Daddy’s suitcase in his room and call
my husband and brother-in-law. My sister was in route to the hospital from Alabama,
but still hours away. We decided against calling her in the car. Ignorance is
bliss, at least for a few minutes.
And then one of the nurses who had run with us down the hall
came into the waiting room. Just know it is not good when you are ushered into
your own little waiting room. His heart had stopped and the doctors were
working on him. The doctor had opened his chest before the gurney hit the
lights. She said the doctor was literally massaging his heart.
She asked us if
we were praying people. We always have been but that situation would have sent
anyone to their knees. She said a prayer for us and left to check his
condition. We went into automatic suspension, moving to call more family as the
balance of all of our lives hung in the balance.
My mother was prostrate on the floor, begging God for my
father’s life. We didn’t even have words. I reached into my bag and pulled out
a little Bible I had brought with me. I was reading a new chapter of Proverbs every
day to gain wisdom. 31 chapters. But I didn’t have the concentration to keep
reading.
We just sat in our little waiting room, looking at the light coming in
at the bottom of the closed door knowing our future would be decided when we
saw a shadow approach. Finally, the nurse came back and told us they had
started bypass surgery. But it would still be touch and go.
When the surgeon came in much later and explained what had
happened, I asked him if I could kiss his hands. He looked at me and said, “No.
It’s not me.” During the course of the day, we were ushered to CCU by the chaplin.
What looked like dozens of machines and tubes canopied over a small figure we
only recognized because they said it was him. He was alive.
We had moved up to the CC/ICU waiting room as a few friends
and family gathered to hold our hands. Later in the day, my sister arrived from
Alabama. She was coming up the hospital steps, unaware of the day’s turn, when a
man in my church who had just left our waiting area, saw her and recognized that
she must be my sister. “Are you Amy’s sister?” He was able to gently break the
news to her and brought her to us.
Every family has gone through similar paces. The minute your
breath goes away or your knees. These are the times that bind. Waiting on
shadows underneath the door.
The lights dimmed in the waiting area. With the world upside
down, people settled down into a recliner/rocker trying to sleep. I closed my
eyes but couldn’t sleep. Wait. I reached down and got my Bible out of the bag.
I turned to Proverbs 21. It was April 21. The first verse read, “The king’s
heart is in the hand of the Lord.”
Of course, there is much more to this story. But this was
the start of our blessed journey for the next thirteen years.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
The majesty and glory of Your name.
By Tom Fettke
