Greater Still The Calm Assurance…This Child Can Face Uncertain Day Because He Lives

There is one verse in the song, “Because He Lives,” I absolutely love. The words are: “How sweet to hold a newborn baby, and feel the pride and joy he brings, but greater still the calm assurance, This child can face uncertain day, because He lives.” I wonder if that long ago night when Mary held Jesus, she knew this baby was the baby who would give the world that calm assurance. I believe she knew because the Bible says multiple times, “But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

Similar to Mary, when my mother held me in her arms as a baby she knew in her heart my life wouldn’t be an easy one. My mother recently confided in me when I was an infant, a crippling fear would grip her heart at the thought of raising me, a fear she never had with my sister when she was a baby. Call it “mother’s intuition,” but she knew in the depths of her soul I would face the “uncertain day” the song talks about. 

It was as if the enemy wanted my mother to live in fear of raising me, because that’s what I’d learn from her; how to fear, not to trust in God. Thankfully, God helped my mother overcome this fear, and she received the calm assurance the song promises. God knew it was imperative my mother gained this calm assurance, so she could instill it in my character, because this calm assurance would be what would get my family and I through the darkest and most devastating storm we would face 23 years later.

When I left the restaurant to go home from college for my bowel surgery, I had an unsettling feeling around the corners of my heart.  For the first time in my life I wasn’t completely confident things would be okay for this surgery.  There were several reasons that attributed to these feelings.  This surgery was not like any other surgery I had been through before.  During the surgery to correct the twisted bowel, an endoscopy and a colonoscopy would be performed and I would wake up with a NG tube in my nose to pump my stomach and allow my bowel to heal.  So two days before my surgery I had to begin a soft diet to prepare my system for the colposcopy prep I would begin the next day, then next afternoon I started to drink that dreaded colonoscopy prep and was no longer allowed to eat before my surgery.  

D-day cam on Tuesday December 13^th, 2011 and thankfully the surgery went very well and I was told I would remain in the hospital on the surgical unit for three to four days. While the NG tube down my nose and throat is an experience I don’t want to repeat again, I was able to make the best of it. The most difficult aspect was I wasn’t allowed to eat and the NG tube couldn’t be removed until my bowel healed.  When I was finally allowed to eat, it had been five days since I had consumed any solid food.  The day after my surgery, my surgeon allowed me to eat popsicles every four hours with my NG tube in and let me tell you, I lived for that popsicle.  When you aren’t allowed to eat anything except a popsicle, which the NG tube pumped from my stomach about 30 minutes later, that popsicle becomes like an eight course meal. 

Finally, on Friday my bowels showed signs of healing and I was able to eat broth.  Once it became apparent I would keep the liquid down, I was allowed to try solid foods on Saturday, and I chose, drum roll please…cereal and it was glorious.   This meal agreed with my stomach as well, so the last step for me to be released to go home was for my labs to be checked one last time.  If they were good, I would be discharged.  My labs were taken on Sunday and while my hemoglobin was on the low side, no one thought anything of it other than my body reacting to the trauma it had been through and it would eventually go back to normal.  Little did we know at the time, an “uncertain day,” was on the horizon for my family and I. 

I went home on Sunday afternoon and everything began going down hill. Within the next 24 hours, I felt myself wilting and my body shutting down and my family watched it happen right before their eyes.  All I could do was sit and lay, it took all of my strength just to move.  My dad got home from work just in time Monday evening to hold me steady and from collapsing in the toilet as I threw up.  Immediately after I got sick, my skin turned a golden yellow hue and my hands, gums, and reds of my eyes devoided of their color.  These were all signs my hemoglobin was not going back to it’s normal range, but it was continuing to drop.

My mom called the hematologist on call at Nationwide Children’s and we were told to get to the ER at Children’s as soon as we could get there.  So 24 hours after I was released from the hospital for my surgery, I was heading right back there again.  That Monday night, Nationwide Children’s ER was insanely busy. I was triaged and then had to wait about two hours before I was taken back to a room in the ER.  While we were waiting, my mother share with me some exciting news.  She wanted to share it with me, but didn’t feel she could until this moment.  She told me how earlier that year, God had revealed to her, He was going to completely heal me.  Because of this she knew I was going to be okay.

I was finally taken back to a room in the ER and saw two Hematology fellows on call. The plan was to get an IV started, get my labs checked and go from there.  It took several tries to gain IV access, but finally one of the nurses was able to administer an IV.  Once we got my lab results back, we were all so surprised.  My hemoglobin wasn’t nearly as low as we thought it would be. It was actually in the high “8’s.”  What we didn’t know at the time was the results were a “false high,” because I was so dehydrated.  The level my hemoglobin was registering would not cause doctors to believe I needed a blood transfusion.  Fluids and steroids would be the best course of treatment. Unbeknownst to all of us that night, my hemoglobin was already at a dangerous low. You may wonder why it’s so important the hemoglobin level stays normal.  The hemoglobin is the part of the blood that controls the oxygen throughout the body and brain. When the hemoglobin is low, they body is lacking the oxygen it needs to stay alive. The hemoglobin count was supposed to be between 12-15. A low hemoglobin can be life-threatening if not treated properly.

It was about 1am Tuesday morning when the Hematology fellows decided to admit me.  Unfortunately, the hematology unit was full and wouldn’t be until Tuesday night before a bed would be available, so I would be taken to the surgery unit and my blood levels would be checked again Wednesday morning.  I could never fault the wonderful doctors at Nationwide Children’s.  They have always treated me with the most wonderful care.  However, each unit is focused on their specific specialty.  The surgery unit would monitor the specific progress of the particular surgery each patient had had.   For example, they would continue to keep track of whether the bowels are healing properly or if their sutures are mending well.  Watching for the signs of a low hemoglobin is something the surgery unit wasn’t used to doing.

Hindsight is always 20/20.  I don’t know if it was because I had run myself ragged trying to juggle all of my school work, final projects, and finals while battling severe stomach pain and extensive weight loss or if it was because of on top of the weight loss, I went five days without eating because of the bowel surgery and came home from college weighing 75 pounds. Or was it because I didn’t receive my IV treatment before my surgery that I usually took every six months?  But this was my 25^th surgery and I had always done so well with all surgeries prior, so no one thought for me to receive it as a boost before my surgery.  Whatever the reasoning was, it was no one’s fault that that Tuesday I began going down hill, very rapidly.  My situation went from bad to worse at such an alarming rate, the thoughts began going through my parents’ minds— Was the divine healing God told my mom He was going to give to me, was Him preparing all of us for my ultimate healing in Heaven?

That Tuesday my parents watched in a horrifying fog my body decline.  Every time I had to go to the bathroom my dad would have to carry me due to severe dizziness, an excruciating headache and so I wouldn’t pass out. All I was capable of doing was staring and sleeping.  My parents had no clue what to do or how to help me.  They knew I was getting sicker with each passing moment, but until a bed became available on the hematology unit, I was in the surgery unit to stay.  The protocol was in place and because of my parent’s exhaustion and shock over watching my body slowly fade they were at a loss at what to do.  I truly believe God knew this and He gave my parents the lifeline they so desperately needed. 

My hematologist came to my room that evening before he left to go home.  Technically, since he wasn’t the hematologist on call he would not normally come to see me, but I believe divine intervention was at work.  In the 12 years my hematologist had been my specialist, my parents had never seen him look at me this way and expression was hopeless.  I was as white as a sheet, blankly staring at him, unable to speak.  He looked at my parents and informed them I would be moved from the surgery unit soon and labs would be drawn the next morning. He felt we were to insist those labs be checked that night, not the next morning.  Before he left my room he hit my parents with this blow, “If she makes it through, we might have to consider a bone marrow transplant.”  When he left my room, my dad looked at my mom, “Did you hear what he said?  He said, “if she makes it.”  He doesn’t think she’s going to make it.”

Just as my doctor said, I was taken to the hematology unit and my parents asked for my bloodwork to be checked then instead of the next morning.  The hematology staff agreed to this and explained they were going to go ahead and give me my IV treatment in hopes of turning my immune system around. The key to receiving this treatment was getting my weight to know what dosage I should receive.  The problem was every time I got up I was nauseated, my head hurt, and I would get dizzy.  The opportune time came when I had to go to the bathroom, so while I was up they would weigh me.  My dad began to help me up and the movement was too much and caused me to throw up. The nurse and my mom began to clean me up and the nurse knowing I was a creative writing major asked me to tell him about some of my stories. As I began sharing with him, I went in and out of lucidity.  My mom said it was as if all the characters and plots of my stories became a jumbled confused mess in my head because what I was saying made no sense at all.

After I was cleaned up, my nurse began the process of trying to get my blood work.  It was next to impossible.  It was as if all my blood had dried up, because every stick of the needle produced no blood. And when blood was finally retrieved it would clot before it made it down to the lab.  Finally, the nurse who was able to access my vein Monday evening in the ER was brought in to try. She was able to get the much needed blood by raising my bed as high as it would elevate, hanging my arm over my bed, and squeezing my arm from my shoulder down to my fingertip to get the blood they needed.  The nurse ran the blood to the lab and while my parents waited for the results, my mother and father decided they would take turns getting a shower since they hadn’t showered in 48 hours and the other one would stay with me.  My mother went to the shower first, while my dad remained with me. 

Unfortunately, my father was with me when I was in the worst state of mind yet because my body was lacking so much oxygen.  There were times I didn’t know my dad, and when I did recognize him, I could not make my body respond to his pleadings to talk to him.  At one point he was so terrified, the only thing he knew to do was to begin to sing “Jesus Loves Me,” to me.  I remember him singing some of this, but when I did, it was as if I was having an out of body experience, he was floating above me, like I was dreaming it, but there was nothing I could do to acknowledge I heard him.

All of the sudden several doctors and nurses rushed into my room with the devastating news my hemoglobin was 3.  My dad ran to the bathroom my mom was showering in and told her she needed to hurry and get back to my room; my hemoglobin was 3.  My mom rushed into my room and exclaimed in dismay, “Her hemoglobin is 3?!”  As she uttered this statement, the two Hematology fellows rushed in and said, “No, it’s actually 2.8.”  “What are we going to do about getting her blood?” My mom said frantically, “Last time she needed to be transfused it took hours to find her a match.  We don’t have hours!”  The fellows looked at my mother with relief and compassion, “We ordered Whitney blood Monday night.  We already have it.” 

A few minutes later the ICU attending arrived in my room to access my condition to see if I needed to be transferred to ICU.  With all the commotion and the stress of the night, it was finally realized I should be receiving oxygen.  The doctor placed the oxygen tube in my nose and it was as if light bulb was turned on.  All the lucidity I had lost came rushing back because I was finally getting the oxygen my body so lacked.  My eyes flew open and immediately I saw my room held about 7-8 doctors and nurses.  My eyes grew stark with fear and my mother immediately noticed, “Whitney,” she said gently trying to help me remain calm, “You remember a few years ago when your hemoglobin went to 4.8 and it was serious?  Well it’s like that now.”   She stepped away to allow the ICU attending to examine me.  Thankfully, even though I was so sick I still had some wit about me, because I inwardly chuckled when the ICU attending leaned close to me and said, “Whitney, do you know your name?”  Of course the answer was an easy one.  Even though I was lucid enough to answer the questions, I was too fragile to remain on the hematology unit, so it was decided I would be transferred to ICU.  As doctor and nurses were transporting me they explained to my parents about the treatments they would be giving me. They would administer several blood transfusions, my IV treatment, and an IV antibiotic that could turn my body red from head to toe.  They shared with my parents that my blood pressure was 60/30, my pulse was high, and I was in grave danger of having a heart attack, therefore, it was imperative I didn’t have a reaction, because my body was hanging on by a thread and it couldn’t take anymore trauma.  My parents were crushed because what they knew that these doctors and nurses didn’t was up until this point I had always had a reaction to all of these treatments.  From all appearances, the disease I had battled my whole life was about to take my life.

My parents were ushered into the ICU waiting room so I could be hooked up to machines.  It was well past mid-night Wednesday morning so my parents thought it was strange the only other person in the waiting room was a man sitting at the waiting room computer.  ICU was completely full that night and there was a three-person limit in each room.  Usually, a waiting room is full and everyone becomes acquainted with each other because of the common bond they share of holding vigil for their sick child.  Nevertheless, my parents began calling people, begging them to pray.  The first person my mother called was one of her closest friends.  When she began to explain, the gravity of the situation came over her and she began to sob.  My dad took the phone from my mother to continue the conversation.  All of the sudden the man at the computer came over to my mother.  He stood beside her and my mother said the first thing she noticed was he had the clearest, bluest eyes she had ever seen.  “What’s the child’s name?” the man asked.  “It’s Whitney,” my mom told him.  He looked at her and said, “Well I’ll put her on The Prayer Chain.” He didn’t say I’ll put her on my church’s prayer chain, or he’d let his pastor know.  No, he said, The Prayer Chain, then he left the waiting room, and my parents never saw him again.  The other night that I was in ICU, the waiting room was completely full.

My parents are certain this man was an angel sent by God to give them the peace and hope they needed that everything was going to be okay, because for the first time in my life, I had not one single reaction to any of the medications I was given.  In fact, my body miraculously began getting better much quicker than medical prediction or reasoning to the surprise and delight of my doctors.  I was released from the ICU on Thursday morning to the hematology unit and Saturday morning on December 24^th, 2011 I was discharged to go home, receiving the best Christmas gift I could have ever wanted. 

Two weeks later I went back to Asbury to begin my last semester of my college career with all of my friends and in May of 2012, I graduated on time with my degree. 

After that devastating storm I never looked back and mom’s prophetic words of God’s healing began to unfold.  Since 2011, I have been on six mission trips with mission trip number 7 on the horizon; I’m now a Sunday School teacher at my church. Also every year, I have been able to work in VBS and be a worker at my church’s annual church camp.  God has opened so many doors for me I never thought would be possible.  My doctors are amazed at the change they see in my body and even they have had to admit I’m a miracle. 

I wonder though how different it would have been if my mom never overcame her fear of raising me?  I know without a doubt that Christmas season six years ago would have surely broken us.  Thankfully, my mother learned to trust in God despite the impending physical trials she knew I would most assuredly face.  When she finally overcame these fears she could hold me as a baby, having the calm assurance I would be able to face “uncertain day”.  I feel like it’s so fitting the most terrifying trial of my life came during the Christmas season.  For it was during the first Christmas season when Jesus came as a baby and it’s because of that baby I can face tomorrow, it’s because of that baby all of my fear is gone and that tiny little baby held my future.  Yes, today, tomorrow and in the future not only will I be able to be able to face “uncertain day”, but every day will be worth living just because He lives.