Two years have gone by since God blessed Rachel with her new
lungs. Without a doubt this past year was much better than the first year post
transplant. The first felt like we were trying just to keep her lungs, this
year we got to enjoy them. Rachel’s lung function is now above 100%, compared
to close to 20% the month after we got married.
The miracle of her beautiful lungs is something we thank God for daily.
Last year on the anniversary of her transplant, I posted all
of the Facebook status updates I was sharing throughout the stay at the hospital
to recap all that happened. That entire first year, including the transplant
itself seemed to be blocked from our minds because of all of the horrible
things Rachel had to go through. It’s amazing how sometimes God can blind the
sour moments of life with the memories of the sweet ones.
This year we’ve been able to look back and see a little more
clearly. We’ve also been able to talk about aspects of the process that were
just too painfully recent to bring up until now.
I’d like everyone to know, we are extremely happy right now
and Rachel is living the best year of health she’s ever had. That being said,
this anniversary is bittersweet. We appreciate all of the good thoughts and
well wishes, but this isn’t exactly a birthday. We (along with all of you, I’m sure) celebrate
Rachel’s new life year round, while the anniversary of the surgery is something
more of a somber occasion.
That being said, I’d like to reflect on a couple different
aspects of the process that have been on my mind this year:
The Call:
It will be 2 years since we got the call on February 25th.
Rachel and I were in the car driving back from Walmart and Katy Perry’s
“Firework” came on the radio. I remember turning it down as she answered her phone and
held my breath as my heart started pounding. She started crying while talking
to the caller and I felt my heart rise up to my throat. It was one of those
situations where you always play out in your head how you’re going to react,
but nothing can prepare you for the real thing. I knew right then that our life
was about to be turned upside down, and that no amount of mental preparation
could take care of what was in God’s hands now.
Every time that song comes on the radio, I get the same
feeling: that helpless surrender to something you know is bigger than you. (This
is probably one of the few times in history that Katy Perry will spark someone’s
emotions to pray for something other than her song to stop being played on the
radio)
The Night Before:
Once we got to Hopkins they prepared Rachel for the next
morning’s surgery. Her parents slept in the waiting room and the nurses allowed
me to sleep in the hospital room with Rachel. I watched her fall asleep in my
arms and tried to do the same, but it was impossible. I felt like a child. I
felt helpless again, wondering if this was the last night I would get to spend
with my wife. I thought that if I stayed up and didn’t sleep, I could somehow
slow time a bit to savor this moment I had with Rachel. I didn’t want to fall
asleep because I knew what the morning brought. I prayed and prayed, but I
still couldn’t shake the feeling of what I had read about the surgery, the success
rates, the recovery process, and all the risks involved. My fear was blinding
me from seeing what God was about to do, and I regret that. It was by far the
worst night of my life.
Before Surgery:
Early the next morning they came to take Rachel. This is the
hardest part for me thinking back. I kissed her and told her I loved her. We
always said, “I love you” and never “goodbye” because to us, “goodbyes” are
unnecessary. We know that no matter what happens, we’ll be together one day in
heaven. As I held her hand for the last time as the nurses wheeled her bed into
the hallway, I experienced something I pray no husband or wife has to go
through. I remember running through every memory I had of my relationship with
Rachel. I remember staring into her eyes like I was burning a permanent picture
of her at that moment into my mind. I prayed again that this would not be the
last time I said, “I love you” to my Rachel on this earth. I told myself that she
was in God’s hands, and that was the only way I could find comfort in this
situation. Miraculously, after the horrible night before, I experienced
something I remember singing as a kid in Sunday school, a “peace that passes
understanding.” I knew she was going
to be OK. I know people will say that it was just my optimism making the best
of a situation I couldn’t handle, but this was different. Optimism can comfort,
but it’s Faith that assures.
After the Surgery:
After the 8 hours of surgery, doctor came in and told us
that everything had gone well, that the lungs were beautiful, and that she was
about to come out on her way to ICU if we wanted to see her. Before long she
was wheeled past us in her hospital bed. She looked gorgeous. It was like
seeing her for the first time at the concert where we met. It was like seeing
her come down the aisle at our wedding. It was like the future when we see each
other in Heaven. She went through the hall quickly and as soon as she left, I
burst into tears for the first time since crying with her the night before. I
had no idea what we were in for over the next year, but at that moment, everything
about the transplant was perfect.
“I need three hands”:
As Rachel woke up in ICU while still on the ventilator, they
called us (Sam, Karen, and I) up to her room. She couldn’t talk with the tube
in her mouth, and her eyes were still closed, but she was able to hold our
hands one at a time. We were all on one side of her bed and she made her index
and middle fingers make a walking motion around to the other side of the bed.
She then started to sign the number 3. All three of us standing there were
talking it through trying to figure out what she needed. Poor Rachel kept
getting frustrated with our ineptness at understanding post-op sign language
but we finally understood her when she signed “I need three hands.” We were all
able to hold her hands around the bed. It was one of those surreal moments that
you only see in movies. I remember walking out of the room with a huge smile
along with Sam who was as speechless as I was. We both are huge film fans, but this topped
any scene of any movie.
Her Sleep:
The 12 days she spent recovering, I spent as many nights as
I could sleeping in her room with her. As she slept I’d either pace the halls
of the hospital, or sit next to her bed watching with tears in my eyes as she
took her the deepest, most beautiful breaths I’ve ever seen her take. The whole
time I listened to the first Mumford and Sons’ album. Especially “Sigh No More”
Singing quietly the lyrics:
“Love; it will not
betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be
There is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be”
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be
There is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be”
I still can’t listen to that song without feeling those same
tears of joy starting to well up. My love for Rachel, her love for me, God’s
love for both of us, all of it so perfectly described and beautifully written.
Looking back at what I’ve just written, I realize some of those
don’t seem like the happiest moments, but they are what have been on my mind
recently. We have had the best time the past year enjoying the new life God has
given to us.
All of those memories bring up two thoughts I’d like to
share with you:
If you got “the call,” if you had to spend the last night
with the person you love, if you had to say “I love you” before possibly not
seeing them again…what would you say to them?
My relationship with Rachel has always been about living
every second like it could be our last. But why should it take a terminal
illness to make us live like this? None of us are guaranteed another minute on
this earth. You have to make the best of the life God has given to you.
Thank God for your life no matter how bad you think things may
be. Tell someone that you love them like it’s the last time you’ll be able to
say it to them. Don’t rush your life, but live and love every second to the
fullest.
Or to take from Mumford and Sons’ newest album: “Love with urgency
but not with haste”
Secondly, there will come a time in your life where you will face something beyond your
strength. Something not you or anyone in this world could possibly handle. Rachel and I only made it through all of this because of our
faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. The strength we had and still have comes from a
power greater than ourselves.
Philippians 4:13
“For I can do
everything through Christ, who gives me strength.”
