not my will
A hospital at night is a completely different beast from its daytime counterpart. It still bustles with nurses and orderlies – angels in bright blue scrubs, if you must know - vitals are still taken at regular intervals, and doctors’ orders are still submitted for patient care. It’s no less busy and yet there’s a lonely emptiness that echoes throughout the mostly empty halls and seeps beneath the door of every room; a shadowy companion to the patient within and the person propped up in the reclining chair that substitutes as a makeshift bed. I’m propped up in said chair as I simultaneously write this post and look up at every move and sound that Michael makes; getting up to take care of whatever need I can help with that doesn’t require a nursing degree.
Our day closed in a mind-numbing new world of PICC lines, the competing beeps and alarms of various machines, clear bags of IV nutrition in unnatural shades of color, pain pumps, ice chips, bendy straws, and an 11:38pm renal ultrasound that I don’t even want to contemplate the result of. Watching him struggle to move in a body that has very little strength to obey his commands (which it was want to do mere weeks ago) and to express his thoughts and needs while I struggle to understand them has us both feeling the frustration of this thing that looms ever greater over our lives with each passing moment. Isaiah 41:10 plays on a continuous loop in my mind, “Fear not for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
The honest truth? I’m afraid. I’m effing terrified and deeply dismayed. I don’t feel strengthened or helped or upheld with anyone’s hand let alone God’s righteous one. Michael receiving a miracle from God vies with memories of losing my first husband, thoughts of doubt, of no longer hearing Michael call me, “baby”, of his hand fitting perfectly in mine…of whether or not the last time we made love was, in fact, the last time.
I understand that some of you who read this post may hear the pain in my words and contemplate why an all-loving God (because He is) would allow such tragedy (because he does). It seems illogical and cruel and misguided; who would argue against that? It’s also breaking all our hearts wide open and drawing us closer to Him with the purpose of increasing our faith - stretching us to a breaking point of complete surrender; not my will, Lord, but Yours.
That night, I stood at Michael’s bedside and let go of the tears that had been aching for release from my heart all day. I held his hand and kissed his cheek and told him how sorry I was for all that he’s going through and how much I love him, and of what a joy he is to me. He didn’t speak, only looked at me with eyes full of love. Oh, God…my GOD…I refuse to contemplate my life without him.
45 minutes later, Michael was moved to the ICU and he’s been there ever since. It’s scary that he’s there and good, too, because he’s getting more immediate and monitored care. I try and take all of this in breath by breath, one heartbeat at a time. Our children have been my absolute rocks in this; each one a touch stone in their own special way, loving on their dad through their own heartbreak and disbelief of what’s happening and still honoring the man who loves them crazy big! And so, this bucking bronco of a ride continues and we’re all holding on for dear life; one gloved hand anchored to our seat, the other in the air for balance and praise to the One who’s grooming and leveling this arena floor.
