23 years ago today. It begins with a coma: a 5-year old facing death. A 20% chance of survival, and even then likely to be brain damaged. This is not something any child should face, nor the parents. The doctors usher us to a small room ... that one reserved for bad news. They send a fat priest. The previous night ... at a summer barbecue with friends, and our 5-year old has a headache. Nothing particularly worrying. Then come the convulsions, throwing up, the progression into coma. As strangers in a foreign land, with no insurance, what does one do? We rush to the emergency room, leave a message with the deaf house mate, pray - that is all that we can do. Met by a doctor with a Christian belt buckle, this is reassuring. Not so the questions of "have you been beating her?" Then a CT scan, but only when the machine miraculously begins to work when, out of frustration, the nurse throws forceps at it. Shallow breathing, no consciousness, and a golf-ball sized blood clot compressing the brain. It was so good that a 60-something-year old man has had a heart attack, because now the helicopter is there for him, and they can squeeze our daughter in too (to her everlasting frustration she can not experience the flight). Poor parents. We drive two hours drive to catch the helicopter. We try to pray, but words are hard to find. Arriving at last at the hospital we can catch a last quick touch of her, barely breathing, unconscious. They finish a second CT scan, and wheel her off to the operating room. The doctor says not to be too hopeful. Then she's in the waiting hands of the top neurosurgeon within 3 hours flying time. We wait, in the small room. First the platitudes of the minister ... I think our confession of Christ is more assurance to him than he is to us. A phone call comes ... from the other side of the world my parents track us down to this tiny room. That brief message to our deaf house mate has amazingly made it to far-away home. Terse loving conversation, facts conveyed to my questioning surgeon-father, prayers communicated, information passed that over 200 people are praying. Still waiting ... we expect 4 1/2 hours. Friends enter ... they have tracked us down on the flimsiest of information, collected things and driven 2 hours to find us, bringing a compassionate ear, prayer, food, and favorite teddy bear. We're told we must eat, and the friends take us to a local restaurant. Distracted conversation, holding emotions in balance with trying to stay functional. Back at the hospital, and the doctor is angry. Where were we? The operation is over, she is out earlier than expected, she's alive. We see a tiny body with enormous head bandage lying in ICU. What state her brain is in no-one knows. But at least coming out of the operation so soon must be a good sign, surely? Off to the Ronald McDonald house next door to beg a room. If only it was to McDonalds to get a happy meal. Morning, and she is moved out of ICU. The doctors are amazed, she's doing very well. For 5 days we hover by her bed, even to the point of begging permission to sleep in the chair. From dozy consciousness she slowly progresses to fully awake. Friends call daily and visit - no cell phones. Each does the long drive, even her kindergarten school headmistress. A red and silver tinsel wig to cover the shaved skull with its horseshoe-shaped blanket stitch scar where they entered her head. Familiar pictures and drawings stuck to the walls and ceiling. Messages from near and afar ... everyone is praying. Long hours of reading to her, continuing the Narnia series of books we had been busy with before all this started. Stories of a God in love with a strange people ... us. We begin short walks down the corridor, first with her in a kids trolley, then walking while holding her hand. She walks and drifts into the wall ... she has lost vision on one side from the compression of the optic nerve. Tests, more tests by more doctors, but she gets stronger. One week later to the day we leave hospital. The doctors are amazed. We say God heals. Back at friends, we lay her on the kitchen table, head over the sink, as she has her first hair wash to clean away accumulated muck and goo ... but only one side of her head has hair. Two weeks later we climb the local hill. This 5-year old climbs confidently to the top. Miracle? More tests, visits to the hospital. Her vocabulary is off the top of scale, her puzzle solving is poor, vision has not returned on one side. Medication regimes are discussed ... anti-seizures for the rest of her life, but at least she's alive. The doctor has a drawing from her stuck on his wall. It says "I'm a miracle." He agrees. We worry about finances. No insurance, a student grant, that's all. The bill arrives: because it is an emergency admission of a foreign minor whose parents have no insurance, and only because of all those factors, we need not pay a cent. The hair begins to grow, a T-shirt is painted together with friends that says "I'm a miracle". We briefly change continents to see the family. A memorable greeting, rejoicing, and giving thanks to God. Six months later we stand at the rail of a ferry as we cross a lake. With parents on either side she realizes she can see both in peripheral vision ... sight has been restored. Two years later and no complications. School is progressing well. All seems normal. The doctor says, "if you like, you can try wean her off medications". We do so, and then she has tick bite fever ... no complications, no seizures. Today she is married to a wonderful man, knows God, is a super athlete, an adventurous explorer, a graduate student, and a compassionate volunteer with the poor.
23 years ago today we learned what's valuable, and we learned trust in God, we learned friendship, we learned so much. Did God make it happen? No! Has God used it for good? Yes.
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Why?
Probably the best therapy is to express yourself. Why do you think psychiatrists make you lie on the couch and talk, while all they do is murmur "hmmm", "uhuh", or "go on"? Archives
May 2017
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