I made it. I arrived while Hunter was still in surgery (7 hours!) but they were closing him up and it wasn't long before one of the surgical team came out, telling Angie and Tommy he was in recovery and responsive but would be in there for awhile. When the doctor talked to them, he felt pretty certain he had gotten all the tumor but they would do an MRI the next day to be sure. Everything had gone very well and he didn't think there had been any damage to brain tissue. What wonderful news! Of course the pathology report wouldn't be back for almost a week, but we had reason to be more than "cautiously" optimistic. Everyone was hugging each other, relief and joy written all over the faces that an hour earlier had been tight with worry. The once tired smiles of encouragement for the anxious parents were now truly shining with light and laughter.
The most critical part was over, and several of those who had been waiting with Angie and Tommy for hours left the surgical waiting area and headed home, many with a two to three hour drive ahead of them. Where there had been standing room only when I arrived, we were now able to all find seats. The tension had lessened and everyone was more relaxed. Angie and Tommy hadn't had much sleep for a couple of nights and were exhausted but happy. Angie said, "I feel like I could just close my eyes and fall asleep right here, but I can't just yet. I can't wait to see him! They said they didn't shave his head, just the area where they made the incision." "Oh that will make Hunter happy!" I laughed, "He'll still have his 'Bieber' hair." Thinking about Hunter and his preoccupation with emulating the latest teen sensation, Justin Bieber, made me smile. It was nice to suddenly be thinking about the normal concerns of a ten-year-old. Thank you Lord, for bringing us through the anxious hours of waiting in limbo, back to this new appreciation of everyday life.
After another couple of hours in the surgical waiting area, they wheeled Hunter out on their way to the Pediatric ICU (PICU). They stopped and let Angie and Tommy come see him. To my relief, they let a few of the rest of us come and see him too. He wasn't really awake but he did respond a little bit, enough to show us he knew we were there. "Hey Buddy, it's Gram. I got here before you got out of surgery and I've been waiting here with Mama and Daddy. I love you and Pop and Lissa send their love too. They'll be here tomorrow." I don't know if he heard me or if he remembers that I was there, but I am forever grateful that I was. Angie and Tommy went up in the elevator with Hunter and those of us who were staying followed after gathering up all our things. The doctor had said Hunter would be in the PICU for at least 24 hours, then they would move him back to the Neurology Department as soon as a bed was available. For now we would be camping out in the PICU waiting area. They had strict visiting hours and rules, and of course there was no privacy anywhere, but it was all for the benefit of the patients. I was very tired, but for the first time that day, I felt like I was where I belonged.
Good and gracious God, I praise your holy Name and and thank you for answering our prayers for a quick diagnosis and resolution for Hunter. Thank you for the skilled and compassionate medical staff who continue to care for our boy. Thank you for all the people who have been lifting this family up in prayer and being here to support them. Lord, you know too well the pain of watching your child suffer and I imagine it brings you great joy and satisfaction to grant healing. I also know that sometimes your answer to our prayers is not the physical healing we seek, but the strength and faith to see us through an illness, whatever the outcome. Father, I don't know what your plan is for Hunter's life, but I know you have one. I pray that we will further him along on your path to that plan, guiding him as you would have us do, and teaching him the truth of your Word. In Christ's Name, Amen.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Waiting on God, Part 3 - reaching the hospital
Compared to DFW or even Love Field, the Birmingham, Alabama Airport isn't very big, but to me the corridor seemed awfully long as I headed toward the exit to the baggage claim area. Nearing the escalator I heard someone call my name. Looking around, I expected to see my brother Nat or sister-in-law Angel; so it took me a moment to register a familiar but unexpected face. Marty Hoven, family friend, gave me a big hug and said he was there to get me to the hospital. He asked if I had any bags and when I said yes he looked concerned and said "I hope it's not very big cause I'm in a two-seater." I was more worried about whether or not my bag would be on the plane since I had changed flights.
We got to the claim area and checked to see if any unclaimed bags were left from the previous flight. No, but that was good because it meant they had likely been put on the next flight to Birmingham, which should be this one. So we waited. Again, I did not, could not, wait patiently. To make matters worse, my phone was dead and I couldn't call Angie. I was glad Marty was so calm because I was on the verge of panic. After what seemed like forever, but was surely no more than fifteen minutes or so the luggage from flight 984 began sliding through the curtain. I watched anxiously as the bags slid by me. Marty waited anxiously to see how big a bag I had. It seemed everyone else in the claim area had gotten their bag when mine finally came through the line. I hauled it off the belt and we headed out, Marty sizing it up as we walked. We stepped out of the airport into a sky heavy with dark clouds and air thick with humidity. After getting off on the wrong level the first time, we finally made it to Marty's little red Mazda Miata. His concern was well-placed, but just as everything else in my life falls into place when I place my trust in Jesus, my bag fit into the trunk like a glove.
As I settled into the car, I looked at my watch for what must have been the millionth time that day. It was about 4:30. It had been six hours since Hunter had gone into surgery to remove the tumor from his brain. Would I make it there before he woke up? It was raining steadily as we exited the parking deck and headed out to the freeway. Being in a small car, in five o'clock traffic in the rain, I was glad Marty was a cautious driver. As badly as I wanted to reach the hospital quickly, I still had enough presence of mind to know it was more important to get there safely. We chatted some, but I mostly looked out at the gray, gloomy weather. "Thank you Lord for getting me here. Thank you for Marty and his little red car. Get us to the hospital safely Father and help me to stay calm. I trust you Jesus, but please, no more delays!"
Finally we reached Children's hospital. As we took the crosswalk from the parking deck I tried to remember the last time I had been there. It must have been when Lissa had her tonsils out. After thirteen years I knew a lot of things had changed, but it all seemed strangely familiar. We got to the the waiting area where Marty had left Angie and Tommy, but it was locked. Just as he was trying to call them, Tommy's niece Brittany showed up to lead us through the maze of hallways to the surgical waiting area. I cannot describe how relieved I was to finally see my daughter. I didn't even put down my bags, I just hugged her. Not too long, because neither of us wanted to start crying, but long enough. I looked around at all the many faces of family and friends. So many people there to support Hunter and Angie and Tommy. So much love. So much faith. Faith in each other, faith in the doctors and medical staff, faith in the hospital. Mostly though, in the face of so much uncertainty, faith in a God of awesome power and incomprehensible mercy. Alone, we can never love enough, believe enough, be strong enough, be skilled enough, or care enough. But when we put our faith in a God like this, whose love and faithfulness and power and wisdom and compassion and grace are so much more than we can comprehend, it will always be enough to see us through. We trust you Jesus to always be with us wherever we are, so we are always in your presence, right where we are supposed to be.
We got to the claim area and checked to see if any unclaimed bags were left from the previous flight. No, but that was good because it meant they had likely been put on the next flight to Birmingham, which should be this one. So we waited. Again, I did not, could not, wait patiently. To make matters worse, my phone was dead and I couldn't call Angie. I was glad Marty was so calm because I was on the verge of panic. After what seemed like forever, but was surely no more than fifteen minutes or so the luggage from flight 984 began sliding through the curtain. I watched anxiously as the bags slid by me. Marty waited anxiously to see how big a bag I had. It seemed everyone else in the claim area had gotten their bag when mine finally came through the line. I hauled it off the belt and we headed out, Marty sizing it up as we walked. We stepped out of the airport into a sky heavy with dark clouds and air thick with humidity. After getting off on the wrong level the first time, we finally made it to Marty's little red Mazda Miata. His concern was well-placed, but just as everything else in my life falls into place when I place my trust in Jesus, my bag fit into the trunk like a glove.
As I settled into the car, I looked at my watch for what must have been the millionth time that day. It was about 4:30. It had been six hours since Hunter had gone into surgery to remove the tumor from his brain. Would I make it there before he woke up? It was raining steadily as we exited the parking deck and headed out to the freeway. Being in a small car, in five o'clock traffic in the rain, I was glad Marty was a cautious driver. As badly as I wanted to reach the hospital quickly, I still had enough presence of mind to know it was more important to get there safely. We chatted some, but I mostly looked out at the gray, gloomy weather. "Thank you Lord for getting me here. Thank you for Marty and his little red car. Get us to the hospital safely Father and help me to stay calm. I trust you Jesus, but please, no more delays!"
Finally we reached Children's hospital. As we took the crosswalk from the parking deck I tried to remember the last time I had been there. It must have been when Lissa had her tonsils out. After thirteen years I knew a lot of things had changed, but it all seemed strangely familiar. We got to the the waiting area where Marty had left Angie and Tommy, but it was locked. Just as he was trying to call them, Tommy's niece Brittany showed up to lead us through the maze of hallways to the surgical waiting area. I cannot describe how relieved I was to finally see my daughter. I didn't even put down my bags, I just hugged her. Not too long, because neither of us wanted to start crying, but long enough. I looked around at all the many faces of family and friends. So many people there to support Hunter and Angie and Tommy. So much love. So much faith. Faith in each other, faith in the doctors and medical staff, faith in the hospital. Mostly though, in the face of so much uncertainty, faith in a God of awesome power and incomprehensible mercy. Alone, we can never love enough, believe enough, be strong enough, be skilled enough, or care enough. But when we put our faith in a God like this, whose love and faithfulness and power and wisdom and compassion and grace are so much more than we can comprehend, it will always be enough to see us through. We trust you Jesus to always be with us wherever we are, so we are always in your presence, right where we are supposed to be.
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