The year that was: Provision

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4


Jeff came home.  We settled him into a recliner in the living room.  It was more comfortable for his hip joint than a bed.   He was incredibly weak at first, walking with a walker, tiring easily.  Over time, he gained appetite and strength again, and with a regular regimen of antibiotics through his PICC line, he began to improve.

We began to get cards in the mail.  One of the very first letters we received was from a dear friend of ours who had been widowed.  She wrote words that we needed to hear, words that we would cling to in days to come:  Jesus told me to tell you this:  He loves you.  He cares for you."  That card was the first, but the message was repeated many times over.

"God loves you.  God told us to send this to you.  God cares for you."  What amazing and beautiful words to us through difficult times.  We read the cards to the children.  We let them look through them, let them see how God was taking care of them - in spite of their parents' fears and skepticism.  At times we truly stood and in the midst of pain and fevers and doctors' visits - beheld the goodness of the Lord.  He did not remove the pain nor the tough times - but He let us know that He was with us.  That was the most important thing.

We had been worried about finances.  God began to provide for those, too.  He must have been nudging some hearts, because people that we didn't even know began to show up, sending gifts in cards, helping us through a horrible time.  God's people came through, and it was just enough.  There was not excess, we did not head to Disneyworld, we did not waste it, we still had huge medical bills, we still lived simply and carefully - but there was enough to get by day to day.

Our larger city homeschooling groups brought food:  Canned goods, noodles, paper towels, shampoo.  Our small, local community of homeschooling friends gave so generously to us.  They brought us meals for a month, I think.  Online friends - some of you (!) gave to help us through. My brother's church in Georgia undertook to pay a large portion of the surgeon's bill.

Our home was paid for.  (Remember?  We bought this place for $16,000?  I was so discouraged at the time at this old house - yet another old home that needed remodeling - but can you imagine how thankful we were that we owned our home free and clear and would not lose it through illness and inability to work?)  Our vehicles were paid for.   Jeff did not receive a paycheck for three months, and there was no short term disability available. The Lord provided enough to cover our insurance payments, which Jeff's workplace did not cover while he was unemployed.

I get soggy-eyed as I stroll back through time, remembering.

God carried us.  He carried us through his people.  It is so easy to get discouraged about the state of the church, but we have experienced the very best of God's network of believers.  There was such love, and unity, and coordination - without any human coordinator.  It was God at work.

Our mission commitments were paid by a friend.  That meant that the missionaries who rely on us for support did not have to do without while we were down and out.  Anonymous donors paid for our children to go on stateside mission trips.

We were never left alone - not even for one minute.  That does not mean it was not hard.  That does not mean that we did not stare at death and disease, nor that I did not worry myself silly-sick, because I did.  There was still a very long road ahead.

But our God?

He delivered us.  He walked with us, and carried us.  Sometimes we get to really see that, to feel it.  Other times, He carries us, and we don't realize it until much, much later, when we can breathe again.

This is just part of our story, of course.  Many Believers have different stories, with different endings.  Not everything turns out well in this life.  Everyone of us will eventually face difficult times, times which will either strengthen us or threaten to destroy us.   For a time, I was not certain of what our outcome would be - strength, or destruction.  Every story, though, has the same theme woven throughout - as Christians we can find hope again in the God who carries us, in the God who turns what was meant for evil to good, and in the only God who longs to bring  healing and restoration to our human situations.

Coming up:  a second infection and hospitalization

Looking back - the year that was: Staph infection/sepsis/hospitalizations (Part 3

(There's a little part of me that cringes a little at writing all of this down.  I fear that people will think I'm complaining, or being ungrateful, or "not letting go," or trying to get too much attention out of something that is long finished or even that I will bore those who already know what happened.  Well, I continue writing in spite of those worries, because those aren't the reasons for writing it all down.  Mostly, this is for the kids. 


There's no doubt that many individuals and families have suffered and endured and held it together through much tougher times than we did.  Our situation wasn't special, although it was tough.  If you have read here for any length of time you know that things turned out okay for us - you know the end result.  The process and the day-to-day was important, though,  and we are still thinking it through and realizing powerful lessons from the year that was.  As you read, remember that it gets worse before it gets better.  Sometimes we don't grasp what is happening until it is over.  So much good and so much growth came out of some really hard times and some very bad days.)

This portion of the story is hard to write.  Some of it is not very pretty.  I hope that I do okay.  :)

(Part 1 is here, part 2 is here.  This part of the story picks up while Jeff is in surgery.)

I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down in the waiting room, right below a huge, framed cross-stitched prayer.  A simple note attached to the frame said that the doctors at this hospital met every morning to pray for their patients before surgeries began.  At any other time, my skepticism might have kicked into gear.  I'm sure I would have been doubtful.  Now?  With my beloved being taken apart - sinew separated from muscle and bone - I fervently believed.  I wanted to believe with all of my heart that the surgeon humbled himself before God and while he worked with all of his skill, he asked for guidance for himself and healing for the man he worked on.  I wondered who had taken the time to stitch this canvas.  (I can't stop my mind from wondering strange things.)  I was so grateful to be at a Catholic hospital, a place where the wonders of science and human know-how were humbly balanced with spiritual things.

I moved tables and plugged in my laptop.  I had a decent grip on myself at this point, so communicated with the kids at home to see how things were going.  I decided that I'd better begin to evaluate how we would hold up financially should this be a long term thing.  I assumed that Jeff had some sort of short-term disability/medical coverage through his work.  I didn't really know anything, hadn't considered what I'd do if this situation ever arose.  We had life insurance - Jeff had made sure of that throughout the years.   I didn't want to think about the need for that, of course, but what about interim?  One of the last things Jeff had expressed to me in a moment of clarity was worry over how we would make it if he could not work for a long time.

I sent out a plea on facebook.  "What do I need to be doing, what do I need to be thinking about?  Are there any papers I need to fill out or any offices to contact?"

Some friends replied and told me to check with Jeff's workplace.  (Jeff worked for a private social services agency at the time.  He was a family counselor and mentor.)  Many assured me that there was likely "something" by way of provision through his work.  I knew that Jeff did not think his company even offered short term disability or health insurance.

There were others, though, that chided me for my lack of faith, for my worry.  "You have nothing to worry about," they said.  Others were praising God, putting on a happy face for my sake.  Some sent me notes telling me that everything would be fine.  I know that people were just trying to help, trying to keep me from worrying.  Knowing what I knew, though, it was tough to take.  I have stood beside wives who have buried husbands, mothers who have buried babies.  I forever love and trust our Father God - but I am a realist, too.  Sometimes, life is just plain hard.  Bad things *do* happen.  Daddies do die.  My pretending otherwise and refusing to fill out paperwork wouldn't change that.

If nothing else, through this trial, we examined faith.  In many ways, I would say that my concept of faith was redefined.  I used to think that faith meant that if I believed that all would be well, then God would reward me and it would indeed be so.  I've also been guilty of thinking that faith meant if I believed hard enough that God was bound to do it.  The tearful, sweaty moments of life demand an examination of that belief, though - because what would that make God?  A Master Puppet, for whom we pull the strings and He is bound to act as we declare?   Just this week, I saw a sign which read "Faith means believing that God WILL do it."  Believe enough, pray enough, praise enough....and God will do what we want.

No, when deeply challenged, I found that I don't believe that is what faith is at all.  Not in the slightest.

Faith *is,* I believe,  trusting God when He doesn't come thru like we think he should, when we can't see where He is going with something. It is making the choice to love Him, anyway, when our lives are inexplicably hard, when we go thru tough times, when we can't see the purpose nor the plan.  Faith is believing when God seems distant, not when he feels close.  Faith is not demanding a certain outcome.  Faith is saying, "I will love you and trust you no matter what the outcome."  Faith says, "I will love you and follow you when I don't understand you and just maybe, you don't seem to make sense to me."  Faith is born when there is absolutely nothing underneath, when God is all you have, when you look at life without God and know that it is not a place you want to be.

A short while ago, I gave Jeff my latest definition of faith:  "Faith is like being pinned to a clothesline simply by your goosepimples.  There's nothing below you and the connection doesn't feel all that sturdy.  But still, you believe that you are being held."

Faith  - born of trial - ain't easy.  It's not trivial, it's not trite, it doesn't spout easy answers to difficult situations.  Faith - thru loss and devastation - is hard won; and when it comes it will last and it will mature.  I think God loves that kind of faith and that it honors Him to be trusted against all human reason.  Faith *is* confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.  (Hebrews 11:1)

I learned, once again, in deeper and more personal fashion what *not* to say to a suffering friend and how to encourage an individual who is going through a difficult time.  Trite, easy answers are out.  So is downplaying the situation.  Mostly, it helps to simply let the individual know that you care about them, that you are praying for them, that you are available to help out if so needed.  (And thankfully, there were plenty of people who did just that.  God blessed us with so many friends - new and old - who came out of the woodwork to love on us and care for us.  I'll write more about that later.)  But there are always a few, in every difficult situation, who simply don't know what to say nor how to handle their words.  Never, never, never (please,) chide a friend for seeming to falter in their faith when their husband or child is on the verge of death.  I still have one person who feels I did not handle my faith well while sitting in that waiting room - she felt I should have trusted more and believed more and not considered how to take care of my children without a paycheck.  I grieve that the relationship still has not been restored.  She has not spoken to me about it, even a year from the situation - but I refused to demand a specific outcome from the Lord.  I did not feel that I had the right to demand that God keep Jeff alive.  I asked this of God, to be sure,  but I could not demand and then expect that He would act, then call that "faith."  Faith - in that hard place - came to mean to me that I would accept what God decided.

Acceptance does not mean a lack of emotion.  God can handle our questions.  He can handle our anger.  He can handle our fears and our lack of comprehension thru the tough times - but He does want us to trust that He operates from a core character of love for us and that He can be trusted in the big picture of life.  

 

Looking back - the year that was: Staph infection/sepsis/hospitalizations

This week marks the one year anniversary since my husband, Jeff, fell ill from a staph infection.  At this point a year ago, I could not look ahead and see how things would be - could not feel, could not think, could not even imagine, really.


Some of you are new here, some of you never really knew what happened.  Since I want to write the events of that time down for our children, I hope that you will feel free to read along.  We all need hope, don't we?  The story of his illness/recovery and that of the rest of our summer and the birth of our ninth baby will take some time to tell.  I understand that it is lengthy, and not everyone will want to read it.  That's okay - I just want to be sure that it is written down for our children.  Some of them had no idea how sick their Dad really was.  Since they were mostly home taking care of each other (feeding, bed times, laundry, etc.) they were unaware of a lot of what was going on.  Our big kids really had to step up to the plate last year.  They kept our family going, kept us together.  What would we have done without them?

The staph infection and sepsis which threatened Jeff's life came without warning out of the blue.  It was early May, 2010, and our family was emerging from a horrible flu.  All of us, except for Jeff, had been ill for days.   Although we had not told anyone other than our children and a few other people, I was 16 weeks pregnant with our ninth baby.  The flu brought high fever, vomiting, and achy joints.

In between taking care of the rest of us, Jeff had been working around our home and on another old "fixer-upper" he had gutted.  He had been working on plumbing in a crawl space, and thought that he had wrenched his hip a bit as he stepped down between the floor joists.

Jeff has a Birmingham Hip, which is a type of resurfaced joint.  Because he had limited mobility and pain due to a claw-like bone spur on his hip joint, he had the surgery done in April, 2007.  He healed well from that surgery, but did have to take care to not injure himself again.  His days of bungee-cord jumping were over.

Despite the twinges of pain in his hip joint, he mowed the yard in the evening and seemed to be fine.  Around midnight, he woke up shaking uncontrollably.  He was sweating profusely, with nausea.  He did not have a fever at first, but as the night progressed his fever climbed.  We were sure he had finally succumbed to the flu.  He had the same symptoms as the rest of us, right down to the joint pain.

I wrapped myself around him, trying to calm his shaking, trying to warm him, then trying to cool him - trying to find him some comfort, somehow.

We made it through the night and thru the next day, still thinking he had the flu.  We went ahead and celebrated our son Josiah's 8th birthday on Monday.  We were a few days early, but since it was Jeff's day off from work we took advantage of the day.  Josiah wanted home-made chicken nuggets and home-made macaroni and cheese.  Our biggest sons were away from home for the day.  I remember being really stressed because of having a few less helpers and trying to salvage the day for Josiah.  Jeff was not beginning to feel any better like it seemed he should.   By bedtime the pain in his hip had intensified to the point that he could scarcely walk or bend to sit.  We pulled out a cane I had found at a thrift store and brought home in the event that my parents ever needed it.  Jeff used the cane to support himself as he walked - but we could not even begin to knock the pain with over-the-counter medications.  He continued on with ever-increasing pain and chills and nausea throughout the night.

At some point we both realized that this was not the flu, that he must have something wrong with his hip joint.  But what?  It came on so suddenly.  When the second morning came, we called our family doctor.  She told us to go to the emergency room.

Looking back, I have kicked myself a hundred times for not getting him to the hospital sooner.  Why didn't I realize this wasn't the flu?  Why didn't I suspect something was wrong with his old surgery site?  Our doctor assured me that if we came in sooner they wouldn't have realized the severity of it, either, and would have likely sent us home to wait it out.  I don't know about that, I just know that I suffered severe guilt that I did not realize how bad things were.  As it was - I insisted that when morning came we would be going to the doctor and I would not take "no" for an answer.  Jeff didn't resist much at all.

He slowly got ready - trying to remember everything he needed to do for his family should this be a big deal.  I raced around trying to leave things in order for our children at home alone for who knows how long.  Jake was 17, Nick - 15, Emily - 14, Julia - 11, Josiah - 8, Samuel - 5, Benjamin - 4, Mariam - 2 and in the middle of deciding that she was going to potty train herself.

I'd spent a lot of time in the ER in the past year - first when our son Nick was mugged and beaten up, and next when our son Sammy was life-flighted in when he suffered a head wound.  It's interesting to look back and see how I handled yet another crisis.  My heart was in my throat, feeling the sense that this was serious but not knowing what it was.  I knew where all of the free coffee pots were in the hospital, but made sure to pack quarters for pop and food from the snack machine.  I didn't plan to leave Jeff's side for more than a few minutes, if that even.  Since we hadn't told many people about my pregnancy, I was trying to not wear maternity clothes yet.  I basically had one outfit, and it was dressy.  I wonder if the ER people wondered why I dressed up to bring my husband to the ER?  Along with the limited wardrobe, I had learned that I needed to be a little bit aggressive sometimes to get the right care for the people I love.  I wanted to look professional even at that point in order to get respect.  Over years spent sitting with sick people in hospital settings, I know that often you get the type of care you command.  I'm generally a non-confrontive person - easy to dismiss because I don't look too threatening.  I've learned how to be an advocate for my "patient," however, whoever that might be.  I also know my husband, and often when he is under pain medication he is either totally "out" or he is too sick to speak for himself.  It's a horrible thing that I hate - when due to pain or illness he becomes unavailable to me.  It is the darkest place I know and a place I never want to visit again as long as I live - but I was prepared for it:  Prepared to make decisions for him, prepared to advocate for him, prepared to be nice and gracious but also ready to grab lapels, stethescopes, or whatever it took to get him some pain relief.

The drive to the emergency room was tense.  Jeff winced from the pain at every bump in the road.  I kept up a light chatter, pointing out things along the 30 minute drive to try to take his mind off of the pain.  I failed.  I remember there was a child's shoe lying in the road.  I pointed it out to Jeff.  I was pretty sure by then that he just wanted me to shut up.  I did.

I drove the car up to the door, but I could not help Jeff out.  I was not strong enough.  An orderly came out to meet us and helped extricate him from the front seat.  I parked the car, and by the time I arrived inside another orderly was trying to find a way to get him seated in a wheelchair.  He could not bend to sit - his leg and hip muscles were clenching and painful spasms were constant.  It was devastating to watch my husband in so much pain.

Within twenty minutes he was taken to an exam room, where the entire process was repeated in the attempt to get him onto the bed.  He'd try, and wince, and shake and cry out in pain.  The orderly was a big guy with an amazing amount of compassion.  Somehow, he was finally able to get Jeff upon the bed - which was small and shaky and slippery.  Why aren't ER beds more comfortable?  There was no need for me to "get bossy" in the ER - they knew much better than I that this was something serious.  They started an antibiotic quickly and soon a grizzled doctor wearing a doo-rag and the attitude of a no-nonsense Vietnam War Vet entered the room.  He, too, showed great compassion.  He took one look at Jeff and ordered morphine in measured doses until his muscles relaxed.  Jeff's muscles are the short and tight type - he is a thickly muscled man, built as strong as an ox.  It always takes more than the average dose to get his muscles to unclench, and consequently, he usually responds with nausea and by falling asleep.

Finally, for the first time in days, he was able to have relief from pain and to sleep.  For the first time, now that he was not hurting, I could breathe again.  We stayed in the room the entire day, repeating the pain-relief/sleep cycle over several times.  Labs were drawn, scans were taken, and the antibiotics were pumped into his body, preemptively.  There was a orthopaedic surgeon in the hospital, but we would need to wait until he was finished with his day's work before he could do a needle biopsy of Jeff's hip.

I sat by Jeff's bed, rather numb by it all.  I read too many magazines.  I raised and lowered his head as needed.  Held the barf bowl.  Covered him with blankets as he shook uncontrollably.  Cried a bit in the bathroom, but was mostly too numb to show emotion.   I didn't know what was wrong but I had a feeling of dread.  I thought about how the kids and I would make it if he died.  I have dear, dear friends who have been widowed young and knew that there was no way I was immune, yet knew that I had huge responsibilities and had to hold it together.  I knew, all too clearly, that it was a distinct possibility that he might die.  It had been my greatest fear since becoming a wife at age 20 - knowing that I could lose the one I loved so immensely.  And what about this precious new life?  We didn't even have a name or know if we were having a boy or a girl.  Would Jeff get to know this baby?

Jeff was eventually moved to a room on the floor for the evening.  A needle was stuck into his hip joint and some fluid was aspirated to be tested for infection.  If there was infection, he would have surgery the following day.   (To be continued.)