There is not an event in my life that I have talked about with someone every day for a year.  That is until the day Things Began to Change.

Ever since I have talked about the events, the emotions, the miracles – recounting every image, every thought, every fear, every blessing – on my husband’s journey to a heart transplant over and over and over again.

Sometimes the discussion begins as a question:

“What did I say when I first woke up?”

“When did you first find out I was matched with a heart?”

“How long did my heart stop in the elevator?”

“Why did they tell you I might not wake up?”

“Who called you when I went into Arrhythmia?”

Sometimes the discussion begins as a story:

“You were so determined to get out of the ICU, you refused to eat until they let you out!”

“I asked them to page everyone I knew at the hospital when they told me you had to go on life support – the physician’s assistant, the social worker, and the chaplain.  Then I sat with the chaplain and cried, ‘I didn’t have enough faith.’”

“Some days you were less than cooperative, but I just told the nurses that was your fight to live.”

“Every night before I went to sleep I called your nurse one last time to check on you.”

“I was sitting on the bench outside the elevator when Dr. Simeone walked by and said, ‘I think we have a heart.’”

Sometimes the discussion begins as a memory:

“This is the path I walked from my hotel every day to get to the hospital.”

“As I turned the corner at 1:00 in the morning, there you were with breathing tubes down your throat for the first time.”

“I played for you Mighty to Save as we waited for you to wake up.”

“I was in my hotel room when I got the call.  ‘He nodded for the first time.’”

As I live the same days and months that I lived last year, with the only difference being one more digit at the end of the year, I remember those days with the same clarity as if they were today.  I can hear the beep, beep, beep of the machines in John’s room.  I can smell my hotel room.  I can see John’s sweet face crying out for relief.  I can feel the peace that God gave me.

In those days I prayed, “God whatever happens, may you get the glory.  Whether you take him home or leave him here with me, may people come to know you through this story.”

I never get tired of telling the story. 

I have told it ever since, and I hope to tell in forevermore.

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Six months ago today, at this very moment, I was standing in the ICU waiting room on the fifth floor of Duke Hospital.  John’s parents were there with me, and his sister, Jamie, and brother-in-law, Will, had just arrived from Georgia. John had gotten matched with a heart, and we were waiting for the nurse to come and tell us it was time for us to see him for the last time before his transplant.

I remember her coming into the waiting room.  We weren’t the only family in there.  Others were waiting, too, to see their loved one a last time before visiting hours ended.  Typically only two family members are allowed back at a time, but this time she told us we all needed to come back. 

I walked out of the room first and started shaking, and not crying, but just breathing hard.  Jamie walked with me with her arm around me, and we squeezed each other hard.

At the end of John’s bed was the machine as tall as me that had kept him alive for the previous two days.  This machine had a name, ECHMO, which confused me at first, because it took me several hours after he was hooked up to it to realize that its real name is LIFE SUPPORT.

I looked at John.  I want to say he looked peaceful.  But he did not.  Every part of his body had some type of tube coming out of it.  I knew that this was the next step – only not the last step.  John was unresponsive to commands even though he was off of all sedation medications.  The doctor told me, “We’re going to take him into surgery, but you need to know that he may not wake up.”

We stood around John’s bed as doctors and nurses hurried around us preparing him – disconnecting and reconnecting medicines, transferring his oxygen and tubes to portable versions that could take him into the operating room.  I felt like I had no time.  There was so much I needed to say to him to comfort him to love him, but he had to go.

I asked Will to pray over John, and as I held John’s hand, Will prayed.  We then left the room, stood in the hall and waited for his bed to be rolled down the hall.  Finally, he came out – and ECHMO followed.

I remember watching John go right as I went left to the surgery waiting room.  And I remember feeling closer to my Heavenly Father than I had ever felt before and than I have ever felt since.

Surrender.  That was my only choice.  In most prayers of my past I felt like there was an element of responsibility or control that I had.  I could try harder, make better decisions, work more at it, and then God would help me.  But with this prayer, to save John’s life, there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I laid John down at Jesus’s feet that night - again – after laying him down the week before when he got so sick. I knew God may take John from me.  I knew John may be disabled for life.  I knew.  And yet the only thing I could do was lay him down – give him to Jesus – and ask for Him to hear my prayer and answer it.

You would think that I would feel out-of-control, frantic, fearful that’s God’s will was not my own.  But I wasn’t.  I knew that God’s will was perfect – no matter what happened.

And in those moments I experienced divine peace.  The peace that the Bible describes, but I had never experienced.  The peace that transcends all understanding (Philippians 4:7).  And, wow, did it transcend understanding. 

So tonight, six months later, I praise my Heavenly Father, whom I have the awesome privilege of knowing as a person who talks to me daily, and I thank Him for each extra day with my precious husband, John, that He has blessed me with, and for allowing me to experience His presence in a way that I never had before so that I can be a witness to the reality of the Cross available to every person on earth.

Happy 6 Month Birthday, John!  You are one of God’s many miracles! 

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Today we celebrate John’s 3 month birthday from his heart transplant, and we remember the thankless gift from his donor’s family.

Every day I am asked about John, and my first response is “He’s perfect!” And for the most part, that is true! It has been an incredibly blessed month for us. The best way to describe it came straight from John. He went to the grocery store by himself one day, and when he got home he said to me, “I almost lost it after walking to my truck. I got choked up.” I asked him what happened, and he said, “I just remember not being able to walk around the store and to the car. I can’t believe I feel this good.”

John’s month has given him an indescribable appreciation for his new heart that he was told he would experience, but that took a little while to fully comprehend because recovery is sometimes no fun!

Here are some of the things John’s enjoyed this month:

~ He’s back at work – full time! John’s company has been wonderful to us, and they were expecting him to come back even later than he did. I was so proud of him for going back so soon!
~ He’s been chipping in the backyard getting ready to play some golf again.
~ He went to the GA/TN game, and of course that broke GA’s losing streak!
~ He skips up the stairs two at a time.
~ He pressure washed some of the outside of our house.
~ He takes walks around the the entire neighborhood with me. He has never been able to do that since we’ve moved here.

It has been quite a month!!

On a slightly disappointing note, John’s last biopsy, this past Monday, came back showing that he is having a little rejection. His rejection level is 1 out of 4. This is very common, and what the doctors have always prepped us for, but because we have been so blessed with zero rejection since his transplant, we were a little concerned. John’s doctors aren’t nearly as concerned as we have been. They just adjusted John’s medications, and he will go back at the end of November for another biopsy. This slight rejection hasn’t affected John at all. He has just continued going strong.

I remind John that a slight 1 rejection is nothing compared to where he’s been. We are trying to stay focused on our blessing of his new heart and to not be fearful. After all, God has already shown us that he is in control and will take care of us. We are now praying for continued good health and zero rejection next time along with the continued peace that I, especially, experienced over the past several months.

We thank you so much for all of your continued prayers for John and for rejoicing with us in all of his blessings!! We look forward to what new adventures this next month will bring

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