Dead on Arrival - Resurrected by Grace

My Story: Part 1

I love the beginnings of stories. Whether it be a book or a movie, I enjoy the opening scenes the most. Because they hold all the promises of what is to come; unburdened by commitment or baggage. Beginnings are full of hope. This story is an exception. Because the beginning of it is a sad one. It's the ending, however, that makes this story worthwhile.

It's been several years since these events occurred and I have spent the majority of that time contemplating how best to share this story. Why? Because stories are important and everyone has one. This one is mine...

January 22, 2013, 10:30 am – It was the day after my six month wedding anniversary. I was at home, sitting in a recliner, working on homework for my Hebrew class. I was putting in the minimum amount of effort required to obtain a passable grade when my phone rang. My mom had collapsed at work, the ambulance had just arrived, and I needed to meet them at the hospital as soon as possible. I remember feeling grateful that I was actually dressed decently and not like the swamp monster I usually was when home alone with no plans to leave. As I drove to the hospital I prayed a prayer that I have since repeated many times: "Father God, give me the grace to react in a way that glorifies You. Prepare my heart for the best-case scenario and the worst; that I may react with grace and love. Prepare my heart, prepare my heart, prepare my heart." I strongly believe that the way we choose to react to difficult situations can be a powerful testimony to those around us at the time. It's an opportunity to minister to others in the midst of our struggles. And we should never enter into battle unless we are prepared to face the worst. So, while driving to the emergency room, I asked God to arm me with the tools I might need.

I beat the ambulance to the hospital which was a little disconcerting. I stood in the hall with some of my mom's coworkers waiting for the ambulance to arrive. I'm sure they tried explaining to me what they saw happen at the school where my mom worked but I honestly can't remember. I do remember my mom's intern, Charmayne, standing there with me while the doctors began asking questions in preparation for my mother's arrival.

Does she smoke? No.

Any allergies? Yes, biaxin and um Aleve, I think.

Does she drink? Yes.....yes she does drink. (gives significant look to doctor)

Medications? Ambien, antidepressants, hormonal stuff...

Diet and exercise? No exercise really but she eats really well; salads, chicken, no soda, etc"

History of diabetes? No.

History of heart disease? No, her mom died of cancer; I don't know about her dad.

The barrage of questions halted as the ambulance arrived. They pulled up and I was privy to a process that I had previously only witnessed while watching Grey's Anatomy: doctors, nurses, and paramedics working together seamlessly to carry a patient in and bring everybody up to speed on the events that had happened not even twenty minutes ago. As they loaded my mom off the truck, I saw a paramedic sitting astride her chest, administering compressions while his comrade ran alongside the gurney squeezing an airbag into my mom's lungs. They wheeled her past me into the exam room and I swear that time slowed down: I can remember it so clearly it's as if the scenes were directed for film. 

She was blue. I know people say that and we assume its hyperbole; a poetic explanation meant to convey the drama of a traumatic situation but I'm being quite literal when I say "she was blue". She was actually, really and truly a shade of blue. She looked dead; she was dead. The compressions on her chest seemed so violent and time returned to normal as I realized the doctor was speaking to me again, asking more questions which I answered numbly. Charmayne looked at me and told me I was pale and needed to sit. I resisted and then a wave of dizziness swept over me and I conceded to sit for a minute trying to regain my breath. I took three slow breaths and repeated over and over "You can freak out later. You can cry later. You can deal with all of this LATER." I stood and allowed them to show me to the special waiting area for the ambulance bay. 

 By then, a crowd of her coworkers were there and decided to join me. I will be honest, there weren't a lot of her coworkers I was particularly fond of. But I had known many of them for several years by then and for better or worse they were a part of the tapestry of our lives. However, while we waited, a kind of talk began to arise from them that I just couldn't tolerate. I heard them say things like "I can't believe this is happening" and "I can't believe this could happen to Peggy". This was a bit of a stretch and when her boss, a pockmarked, over-demanding child of a man who had made her life miserable at every opportunity began to recite these sentiments, my normally passive personality clashed with my respect for truth. "Are you KIDDING me?" I said a little too loudly while staring her boss directly in the eye. I held his gaze and noticed him shrink, just a little, beneath my accusing glare. Because you don't get to treat someone like crap for five years and then act all shocked when they practically fall over dead in your hallway. I continued, "You're SURPRISED that this happened? When you've done nothing but take and take and take from her for the past five years? She KILLS herself for this job and you're SHOCKED? I'm not surprised AT ALL that this has happened." I didn't look away from him right away, not wanting to let him off too easy. Everyone got very quiet after that. As I said, they had known me for years and knew me only as my mother's opposite; for while she shined like the sun at every occasion and sometimes burned others with the strength of her personality, I was much quieter and easily cowed. But at that moment, I was a spotlight on their false friendships and two-faced sentiments. There were people sitting there that had purposely hurt my mother – going out of their way to make her life harder and sadder. I wouldn't stand for them to pretend to love her when I knew the truth: they were jealous. That was, by far, the ballsiest thing I have ever done/said to another person. After that, I tuned them out and couldn't tell you when they left.

The sequence of events gets a little murky from this point on. I remember certain things happening but syntax is the enemy of recollection and the exact order of things is lost on me. I know I made phone calls at some point: my husband, Matt, my brother, Jason, my best friend, Bekah, my mother in law, Trish, my brother in California, Kelby, who wanted to know how serious it was and whether he should fly out...I couldn't tell him. There were others. It's weird because I don't remember calling people that seem obvious to me now: my mom's best friends in Washington, my grandparents, my mom's best friends in town. I'm sure I did but I don't remember those conversations at all...

At some point I found myself surrounded by people I was much more comfortable with and much less hostile towards. My husband Matt, brother Jason, Charmayne, Bekah, MIL Trish, Aunt Karen, and our Grandmother. We tried to make conversation to pass the time. I remember laughing with Jason and Charmayne while, in the next room, the doctors worked on my mom. Although only separated by mere feet, the atmosphere between the two environments could not have been more drastically different. And without knowing it, we were only moments away from learning how severe the situation really was...