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 13th, 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
25th 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 24th, 2011 I was discharged to go home, receiving the best
Christmas gift I could have ever wanted.
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.
