We lived both a nightmare and a dream over the course of one month. The nightmare began on Mother’s Day. By Father’s Day the dream was realized.
The next few posts are both a summary of the events and some of the words I wrote as we lived them.
It all started with some bad salami. It was Mother’s Day and my sweet husband didn’t want me to cook so he went to the store and bought me meats and cheeses per my request. As soon as he finished eating, he said something wasn’t right. And by bedtime, he just looked at me and said, “I don’t feel so good.”
The next morning was moving day for my Addie and her family. This was a huge moment for them as we all prepared for the move of our family some 500 miles from what had always been our hometown. Her husband had acquired a good job and we needed to get them moved immediately. Our move would follow within about 3 weeks.
It about broke my husband’s heart to stay home all sick and feverish while the rest of us handled a monumental day of moving. I won’t even go into all that transpired that loooong day, but we had them on the road for the trip to our family’s new location early the next morning.
Exhausted, Justin and Kyrsten and I collapsed on the couch and remarked at how glad we were that we didn’t know ahead of time how difficult that day would be.
Little did we know what lay in store.
My husband got sicker. Not keeping any food in and spiking fevers here and there up to 103 degrees. In the meantime, the rest of us were packing up our world. I was also making chicken noodle soup and bone broth and homemade applesauce and every little nutritious remedy I could think of to help my husband heal.
In the meantime, our basement had flooded. The basement of the house that was sold. The water table in our area rose to a one hundred year high. More work than I can tell you went into trying to clean up that mess and no small amount of pressure added to our pile of concerns. Would the new family still want the house with water in the never-before-been-wet-basement? Would the whole thing fall through?
During this time, we lost power for a couple days. Now, we had a sick Christian, a shut-down sump pump, no heat, limited food preparation options, and no running water.
He rallied for a day, but then, unbelievably, things went downhill fast.
I’m not going into details, but let’s just say he started bleeding internally. We would learn later that the amount of blood he would lose over the next 48 hours was equivalent to what one would lose after amputating a limb. But, my sweet husband was not quite admitting how bad things were. None of us even knew what was going on.
Until he stopped being able to walk. He almost passed out on the way from the bathtub to our bed.
This was scary beyond words. We got out our anointing oil and my son led and anointed his dad with oil as we prayed over him. I sat with him as he slept for a bit and prayed over him and played this song…
And then he woke up and told me it was time to go to the hospital. I had waited for him to tell me he was ready. We arrived at a small, local hospital at 1:30 a.m. on Sunday–also Memorial Day weekend. We were hoping a smaller hospital would be less crazy since it was a holiday weekend.
After examination, they determined that they couldn’t handle the level of care he required. His platelet count (platelets make your blood clot) was almost nonexistent (should be between 150,000 and 500,000). His hemoglobin levels were literally in the toilet.
I kinda felt like all the doctors were surprised he was still breathing.
And I sat by his side and wondered how in the world we got here.
I sit in a quiet hospital emergency room. The ever-ticking clock keeps reminding me that I should be sleeping. My stomach and its knots beg me to go back to when life felt good and easy.
For a girl who bragged not too long ago about not asking God why, I have done some crow-eating. When we boarded this train–the one that is moving my family away to begin anew–we began to encounter challenges. Big ones–scary ones. For every three scary things it seemed a miracle would follow close on its heels, and we would feel excited and renewed, and begin again with the hoping and the planning.
And then, CRASH!! Down the sky would fall.
From house catastrophes to financial Mt. Everests to this stupid emergency room where my husband is at this very moment getting a blood transfusion. So pale he’s almost see-through. So weak that my strongest-man-alive needed a wheelchair to get here from my car. So scared that my bravest-man-I’ve-ever-seen asked me for help and a hospital ride. Two weeks now he’s been sick. Two horrible, long weeks.
In one week, we are supposed to close on the sale of our house. In one week and two days we close on the purchase of our dream home. 95.5% of my world resides in boxes. The stress and strain on our family is at an all-time high.
At this moment, I don’t even see how we can fix a flooded basement, let alone get my husband healthy enough to drive our box truck hundreds of miles in 8 days.
And yet, I still have hope. A wobbly sliver of hope. But I feel it trickle like the tiniest creek in my spirit. Reminding me to hold on to how loved I am despite this pathetic, myopic view I have of these bizarre and scary circumstances.
When you’re the wife and the mom and the world falls apart, you find a way to fake the face and clam up the tear-well that threatens like some crazy dam holding back way too much liquid–or out-of-control emotion.
Stuff beyond our control forces us to give up or look up.
All of my past faith-talk either becomes the glue holding me together when the rubber meets this road or just a bunch of empty platitudes.
Either I mean it or I don’t.
I mean it.
To be continued…