"It is well with my soul."
Much has happened since my last post. I got a late night call that my brother Donnie, who was working on building an Olive Garden restaurant in Anniston, AL, was to have open heart surgery the next day. I hurriedly got ready and left in the wee hours of Feb. 22. I drove hard, taking a short nap on the side of the road (near a toll booth) but the surgery had started by the time I got to the hospital.
Long hours in the surgery waiting room. George, Donnie's job superintendent, took me to lunch and later, dinner, but the operation dragged on. It was nightfall when at last I was summoned to the cardiac ICU to wait some more.
Finally, the doctor talked with me. Donnie had a strong heart and everything looked good. With cardiac circulation restored by the bypass, my brother had a "new lease on life," IF he would quit smoking, drinking and eating his killer diet. For the moment, he was fine and I should go home and get some rest.
Having had almost no sleep for two days, I did just that!
The next day, the bottom fell out and Donnie's blood pressure plummeted. For several hours, the monitor alarms went on then off then back on. I continued to pray. Recovery after that was up and down, so he was held another two days in ICU. I stayed night and day in the ICU waiting room until he was transferred to a floor, at which time I went back to his little apartment both nights and slept for at least 10 hours each.
On his first day home, Donnie walked to his company van and began digging around in it. I was concerned because he wasn't well enough to be doing all that. Later that night he came to my bedside and showed me his blood soaked tee shirt. I dialed 911 and we spent most of the night in the ER. I was exhausted when we got home and strode deep into the Land of Nod.
In the morning, my brother was not in his bed. Not in his chair. Not in the house. Not anywhere outside. I drove around thinking he may have tried to take a walk. No Donnie! Fear was making it hard to pray coherently, but God didn't need the words to make sense, He heard my heart. A taxi pulled up and out popped Donnie. He had gone to the job site! ... And to buy cigarettes.
His recovery is no less miraculous than his surgery which the doctor says saved him from a certain fatal heart attack (his coronary arteries were 80% occluded). The home health nurse drove up and found him standing outside smoking and with a look of sheer amazement said, "Is THAT the patient?!"
Sunday morning, George, who had been so kind to me earlier, came to the apartment needing help. He was dizzy and had chest pains. No ambulance. Instead, he wanted me to drive him to the ER. Ultimately he was admitted and is still in the hospital.
This morning I learned that my granddaughter Alena died last night. A pharmacology student and on the dean's list, she had worked in nursing homes from her teens. Such a caring, loving and bright young woman. Now gone from here.
She had fallen on the ice a few days ago and hurt her back. Last night she was uncomfortable so took her pain meds and muscle relaxers and went early to bed. A few hours later, she was discovered. She had vomited and probably aspirated some of it. An autopsy was performed today but the results aren't yet available. Nothing on that paper will change the fact she is gone.
My heart is heavy and it seems impossible that Alena could be dead. My first thought was the news felt like being kicked in the stomach. Then came the lead weight, crushing even the initial pain. A deadness. A dirth of emotion. I have walked through much of my day like some B-movie zombie.
But every now and then, and without warning, the tears blur my vision. Hot, burning my throat as well as my eyes. Then they are gone and only grit remains, irritating my dried out eyes.
Yet I am not crushed. Bruised, badly bruised, and hurting. Wounded, yet full of hope and through the pathways of my being wafts an old favorite hymn...
"Peace like a river attendeth my soul
When sorrows like sea billows role..."
Truly, at the core of it all, through the power and love of my God, I can honestly say,
"It is well with my soul."
Long hours in the surgery waiting room. George, Donnie's job superintendent, took me to lunch and later, dinner, but the operation dragged on. It was nightfall when at last I was summoned to the cardiac ICU to wait some more.
Finally, the doctor talked with me. Donnie had a strong heart and everything looked good. With cardiac circulation restored by the bypass, my brother had a "new lease on life," IF he would quit smoking, drinking and eating his killer diet. For the moment, he was fine and I should go home and get some rest.
Having had almost no sleep for two days, I did just that!
The next day, the bottom fell out and Donnie's blood pressure plummeted. For several hours, the monitor alarms went on then off then back on. I continued to pray. Recovery after that was up and down, so he was held another two days in ICU. I stayed night and day in the ICU waiting room until he was transferred to a floor, at which time I went back to his little apartment both nights and slept for at least 10 hours each.
On his first day home, Donnie walked to his company van and began digging around in it. I was concerned because he wasn't well enough to be doing all that. Later that night he came to my bedside and showed me his blood soaked tee shirt. I dialed 911 and we spent most of the night in the ER. I was exhausted when we got home and strode deep into the Land of Nod.
In the morning, my brother was not in his bed. Not in his chair. Not in the house. Not anywhere outside. I drove around thinking he may have tried to take a walk. No Donnie! Fear was making it hard to pray coherently, but God didn't need the words to make sense, He heard my heart. A taxi pulled up and out popped Donnie. He had gone to the job site! ... And to buy cigarettes.
His recovery is no less miraculous than his surgery which the doctor says saved him from a certain fatal heart attack (his coronary arteries were 80% occluded). The home health nurse drove up and found him standing outside smoking and with a look of sheer amazement said, "Is THAT the patient?!"
Sunday morning, George, who had been so kind to me earlier, came to the apartment needing help. He was dizzy and had chest pains. No ambulance. Instead, he wanted me to drive him to the ER. Ultimately he was admitted and is still in the hospital.
This morning I learned that my granddaughter Alena died last night. A pharmacology student and on the dean's list, she had worked in nursing homes from her teens. Such a caring, loving and bright young woman. Now gone from here.
She had fallen on the ice a few days ago and hurt her back. Last night she was uncomfortable so took her pain meds and muscle relaxers and went early to bed. A few hours later, she was discovered. She had vomited and probably aspirated some of it. An autopsy was performed today but the results aren't yet available. Nothing on that paper will change the fact she is gone.
My heart is heavy and it seems impossible that Alena could be dead. My first thought was the news felt like being kicked in the stomach. Then came the lead weight, crushing even the initial pain. A deadness. A dirth of emotion. I have walked through much of my day like some B-movie zombie.
But every now and then, and without warning, the tears blur my vision. Hot, burning my throat as well as my eyes. Then they are gone and only grit remains, irritating my dried out eyes.
Yet I am not crushed. Bruised, badly bruised, and hurting. Wounded, yet full of hope and through the pathways of my being wafts an old favorite hymn...
"Peace like a river attendeth my soul
When sorrows like sea billows role..."
Truly, at the core of it all, through the power and love of my God, I can honestly say,
"It is well with my soul."
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