Update #156

I can still remember the look on every single person's face that I encountered during those first few hours.

It's 4:00 a.m., ironically (and I just realized this), the time that my friend Sarah and I finally arrived in Knoxville that night, and I just woke up from...can you call it a nightmare when you know that it ends well? A reliving, perhaps, of those first few hours. I can see vividly the look on Dave's friend Tommy's face when we finally found him in the waiting room, when he told us that Dave was out of surgery. I can hear Dave's parents' voices when I called them on their drive down to pass on the news, not knowing they already knew what I was about to hear. Dr. Tummers, who drew the short straw and had the unfortunate job of telling me that Dave wasn't going to make it, and Teresa, the nurse who gave me tissues and walked with me and Sarah to see him for possibly the last time.

I remember rounding the corner to his room, that first sight. I was afraid to touch him, trying not to throw up, trying to keep my legs underneath myself. And then holding his hand, standing by his bed, kneeling by his bed for so long. Trying to pray, then finally finding the only words I could think over and over and over - His Spirit, His will, His peace...

I remember Donna, Dave's night nurse for the first week, letting us stay so long past visiting hours - she did so many times that week - then gently telling Sarah that she needed to get me to leave so the nurses could change shifts.

That's when I woke up - today, not then. Then, it was a bad dream that wouldn't end. And today - today, I let my thoughts continue to wander through it all, all over again. Dave's parents and sister arriving, walking with them through the hell that I had been through already. Doctors. Nurses. Visiting hours that were so short. So many people, visitors, supporters, phone calls. Dr. Tummers is "almost hopeful." Sitting up all night waiting for 5:30 a.m. when I could see him again. The "cardiac episode." Something about "extraordinary measures" and organ donation? The dialysis. The waiting.

As I'm typing this, I can hear Dave breathing. A nice wife would probably leave the room so as not to disturb him. But I'm pretty sure I could sit here and listen to that sound forever. That's one of those sappy things that newlyweds say, right? But in this case...

We've had snow days for the past three days (one of which was actually justified, which in Cincinnati is pretty impressive). And when I woke up to the blanket of white on Wednesday morning, for a moment, everything disappeared - the dressing changes, Dave coughing from his cold, the wheelchair, the crutches, the meds, the stress of the past three weeks out of the hospital - and all I could think of was how glad I am that he is home. This morning, that feeling is magnified a thousandfold. And I just want to sit and listen to him breathe.

Most of this is coming, I know, from the fact that Sarah, who drove with me that night, will be getting up soon to take her five-month-old son to his second brain surgery in just over two months. And for a moment last night, I actually considered not going to sit with her and her husband at the hospital because it was too early and there was too much going on with Dave. Now I am remembering her, six and a half months pregnant, the first person that I called because I knew she would know what to do, driving through the night with me, holding my hand, making phone calls, forcing me to eat, sleeping on the floor at the hospital so I wouldn't be alone...

If you think of it today, pray for Sarah, her husband Ben, their daughter Abby, and their little son Caleb. They've spent so much more time in the hospital than any family should, and I know they could use the extra support today. And in the midst of that prayer, thank God that Dave is home. There are still so many things to pray for, but for today, that's the only one that matters.

A few more minutes to enjoy the sound of Dave breathing. Then, I'm going to take a shower. I have a friend who needs me to sit at the hospital with her.