I started writing this post back in November -- but I was so overwhelmed by emotion that I couldn't finish even writing it. The pain was too fresh and emotions too raw, I couldn't make it public. Now, after a few months of seeing God's hand at work -- I feel ready to share my Thanksgiving 2012.
I was watching the clock, waiting for 5 o'clock so I could start my long "to-do" list. I needed to baste the turkey, make a cherry pie, clean up my house and who knows what else. Mark was getting off work at 5:30 and would come home to help me -- then we planned to run over to my parent's house to greet the Smiths and play with the kids before they went to bed. That was how we planned to start Thanksgiving and it was going to be great.
But then I got a text from my Mom. "Pray for Dad ...he was just in an accident...taking him to the hospital."
My heart immediately dropped to my stomach. Surely it wouldn't be serious -- horrible accidents don't happen to my family, I thought to myself. Dad's a (mostly) careful driver. What happened? Pretty soon Mom called -- she didn't know much else, just which hospital they were taking him to and that she had to run home before getting to the hospital. I offered to run over to the hospital, since I could be there in 15 minutes, much faster than she would be able to make it.
Much of the drive to the hospital was a blur. I'll admit that there was some texting and some talking going on as I drove -- trying to make sure my husband knew. I had to let my boss know I had left the office early and why. I had to ask my friends for prayers. I arrived at the hospital and was greeted by my Mom's boss and family friend from church. He helped me find Dad's room in the ER and then stayed with us till my Mom got there.
My first sight of Dad gave me hope -- he didn't look too beat up, some bruises and bumps, but nothing major. He knew he had a broken wrist/arm (same one he broke back in jr. high) but I honestly thought he'd maybe stay one night and then be home with us for Thanksgiving day. My sweet father smiled at me and said "well, looks like Brian will have to find a replacement for me in the church Christmas play".
Since I was the first family to arrive, I gave the hospital staff all the demographic information for their records. His address, date of birth, emergency contacts and insurance information. I met his doctor and nurse and watched as they examined him to determine the extent of their injuries. They were both calm and relaxed and acted like it was all going to be ok -- which helped put me at ease. They took him back for xrays and CTs and all other kinds of scans and tests. Each time, Dad came back in more pain and it hurt me to watch him hurting, knowing there was nothing I could do to help him.
The time in the emergency room is a little bit of a blur. There was a chance Dad would need surgery because of some internal bleeding. The doctors wanted to keep him over night for observation, the plan was to take another CT in the morning and then decide whether surgery was needed. Hospital staff came and went, my sisters came back to the room (the ER has a policy of only two people back there at a time -- some how we ended up with 4 in Dad's room at one point), a Pastor from our church came and prayed with my Mom and me, my husband was there and all the while Dad seemed to be okay. Not great, but okay.
But suddenly his color started to fade, he complained about being super hot and sweaty. Two new doctors came in and started asking questions in preparation for surgery, if he should need it right away instead of waiting till the next day and the longer they questioned him, the less sense Dad's answers made. He told the doctor he was starting to get dizzy, that he was starting to lose it
(Looking back, I should have known what "I"m starting to lose it" meant, since it was the exact phrase Mark said to me before fainting at our wedding). The doctor nodded and kept asking him questions. A machine beeped in the background, kind of an annoying, urgent sound.
A little bit later, the nurse came back in to check blood pressure. He looked at the machine and was convinced it was giving him wrong numbers, so he took the blood pressure again. He didn't believe that reading, so he got a new cuff and took the blood pressure again. He still didn't think it was right. He calmly walked out of the room and a second later I heard his very urgent request for the ER Doctor to come to Dad's room. I heard the Dr order someone to call the head surgeon and get him down there NOW. Pretty soon, there was commotion outside Dad's room.
Then there was commotion inside Dad's room. Doctors, nurses, techs, you name it, they were in the room. Taking blood pressure immediately. Hooking him up to saline and who knows what else. Someone started to wrap his broken arm in gauze.
I sat in the corner of the room and it suddenly hit me. My Daddy was in serious trouble and I had no guarantee he was going to make it out of that hospital alive.
A doctor came in and introduced himself to us all. He explained Dad's blood pressure drop was indication of internal bleeding and that they were going to take him in for surgery. The plan was to open him up and see if they could locate the bleeding. Then they whisked Dad out of the room, some tech/nurse still wrapping and splinting Dad's arm as they went.
It wasn't till some hospital staff began to lead us to the family waiting room that I let my emotions surface. As we walked, I cried. We met Jaime and Joanna in the Emergency waiting room and told them to follow us, we'd explain it when we got there. I walked behind them, trying not to alert them with my tears.
I cried because I was so incredibly relieved for the medical staff who caught the blood pressure problem, I cried because I realized how easily that could have ended differently and I cried because Dad was in surgery and there were still no promises he would make it. I cried because I was completely spent emotionally. And as I cried, I was filled with peace. Whatever happened in that operating room, God was in control.
Fast forward a couple of hours. We got the news that Dad was out of surgery, things had gone well, but they were going to keep him intubated overnight. I barely followed the explanation of the surgery that the surgeon gave us, I caught that it could have been much worse, both his injuries and the extent of the surgery required to patch him up and that the Doctor seemed pleased with the surgery, but everything else is pretty much a blur. We waited another half hour before we were able to see him in his ICU room. I'll admit, it was a little scary to see him hooked up to all those machines, but it wasn't even close to how scary it was to see him losing it in the Emergency Room.
Now here we are, over two months after the accident. Dad's hand is out of a cast, his stitches are out of the incision from surgery, he's recovering from the gout that came on because of trauma. Life seems to be returning to normal. But one thing has changed, I am now aware of how truly blessed I am.
I love you Daddy!