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.