hospitals & hard things, pt 2

Our hospital journey feels like it has two very distinct parts – the time before Scott’s surgery, and the time after. I can’t say which was more challenging, because they both held very deep and different kinds of hard. But by far, my favorite stories to tell are the ones of all the incredibly unexpected ways we’ve been taken care of through it all.

After Scott was taken into surgery, the kids and I made our way down to our favorite part of the hospital, the Wiesenhof Café. I called home for the first time since we’d been admitted into the hospital. It was so good for my heart to hear their voices, as both my sister’s family and Scott’s family were getting ready for the Husker Spring game. I shared our life update, that Scott had finally made it into surgery, as well as got the updates on news from home.

I heard my sister’s tears from the other end of the phone as she told me our mom wasn’t doing well. Her physical condition was worsening, and her hospice care nurses advised her not to risk taking her all the way to Lincoln for a football game. Julie had been caring for our mom every day since Februray, and knew this was the day she had looked forward to for months. So against the advice of well-meaning professionals, she took her to the game with her family and did everything in her power to make it an incredibly special day. I talked to my mom on the phone that afternoon, to tell her about Scott and that we were doing okay and how God was taking care of us in unbelievable ways. I told her how much I love her, and got to hear her say it back. That phone call was a gift I didn’t know how much I needed.

While waiting for Scott to come out of surgery, I ran into a kind older woman named Anchen we’d met at the café earlier that week. She had struck up a conversation with us during lunch about what wonderfully behaved children I had, and how Jonah would surely become an architect or engineer by all the masterpieces he was creating with his little Lego sets. She asked about our story and shared a bit of hers, and she prayed for us right there in the café before we parted ways. I knew I liked her from the start, so it was great running into her a second time.

When I greeted Anchen outside the ICU, she was surprised to see us. She assumed Scott would be released from the hospital by now, not in for surgery. She asked where the kids and I were staying, and I realized then we didn’t know. In all the commotion of the day, I was just so relieved Scott had actually made it into surgery, we hadn’t sorted out all the housing arrangements for the rest of us yet. Within minutes, Anchen was making plans for us to stay with her in Jeffrey’s Bay, for free, for the remainder of Scott’s hospital stay. Her husband had been in the hospital for nearly a month, so she decided quickly we would stay with her, and every morning she would drive us all to the hospital, then every evening after visiting hours we would ride back together. She told me to meet her in the café the next afternoon at 4:00pm, and she would have all of the details arranged. Then she was gone.

I stood there, outside the G-Ward, speechless. Feeling utterly amazed and completely taken care of.

On Tuesday afternoon, a full week from when we first arrived, Scott was released from the hospital. He was sore and weak and still in a great deal of pain, but finally on the road to recovery. Sweet Anchen insisted that we were not allowed to travel back to Alexandria until Scott had time to heal and his stitches removed, and we did little to object as she gave us accommodations in the most beautiful beachfront area in all of Jeffrey’s Bay, along with a truck to use and recommendations to all the best seafood places. This small, passionate 80yr old woman quickly became part of the South African family we desperately needed.

It was Wednesday morning when I got the call from Julie. Mom wasn’t going to make it.

It’s impossible to put into words what that day felt like. It was a day we knew was coming after my mom’s four year battle with cancer and decision to stop medical treatment. It was a day we thought might come in February, but her strength regained. & it was a day I didn’t know if I’d make it home for to be by her side.

When my mom lost strength in February, and moved in with my older sister, I prayed about coming home. To take care of her, to support my sister, to be there. But through that time I felt an overwhelming peace to stay in Thailand – both through prayer, and through FaceTime conversations with my mom, when she encouraged me over and over again that I was where I needed to be. February came and went, and I was so grateful to do the work we did as a family in Thailand while my mom was so well cared for by both my sisters, my stepdad, uncle, and many friends. Then April came, and her health declined, and again I knew I couldn’t be there – this time because of our own medical emergency oceans away.

My mom passed away on Wednesday, April 25^th, surrounded by family who loved her, without any pain or struggle. And as I cried tears of every emotion that night, I was so deeply grateful to have Scott by my side. I thought of the timeline of it all – that if his surgery would have been even a day later, I would have received that call all alone, while he was in a hospital bed a city away. Instead, we were together, for the first full day in over a week. & I knew even in my grief, I was where I needed to be.

That little house in Jeffrey’s Bay was given to us as a place for Scott’s body to heal, but served as an oasis for my soul, as well. Our pace was slow and expectations little, as each day we took much needed time to heal. On that Sunday afternoon, we took a drive down the coastline to Saint Francis, the southeastern tip of Africa, and as Jonah and Teagan hunted for seashells of every shape and color scattered along the rocks, I sat and listened as the heavy waves crash all around me. It was the day of my mom’s funeral, and I knew I couldn’t be there. But as I breathed in the salty air, I took in the greatness and beauty of the vast ocean. I thought about how much greater Heaven must be than all of this, and how much Mom must love being there, riding horses along the water, in the presence of her Jesus she loved unapologetically. It was a time set apart that I will always cherish.

Scott doesn’t like to use the word hard. He says hard is what people go through when they don’t have hope. When I share about how hard our time in the hospital was, he’ll argue with me and say, “No, that’s not it. Hard is what people face in this situation without Jesus. What hope or comfort would you have then?”

It’s true. & I feel the same way about grief. Having my mom pass away while living out of the country has been a heavy emotional process to walk through, but maybe hard isn’t the right word for it. Because the hardest feeling would be if I didn’t believe there was any hope of seeing her again, on the other side of this broken world.

During our time in Thailand, before we could foresee any of this happening, I shared with some friends one of my favorite parts from the Bible. It’s on Jesus’ last night with his closest friends, and he’s explaining truth too important for them to miss. He tells them to abide in him, to remain close and intimately connected. & as they learn to do this, their joy may be made full. These words have meant so much for me, and hold so much weight for our family. That no matter where we are, anywhere in the world, Jesus is asking us to abide in him, and as we do, he promises that not only will we flourish and bear fruit, but that he will share his joy until it is full in us (more of this in John 15).

That is the best way I know to explain how this past month has been. There have definitely been times of hard, but maybe hard isn’t the right word after all. Because his joy has been full in us. We have experienced so much good in the unexpected – in offers to do our laundry and lost water bottles returned and strangers who have become part of our family. We have been taken care of in big ways, like tumor results coming back benign and plane tickets gifted to us. & also in a million other small ways from those who invite us over for dinner and play with our kids and help us rent a car when our driver’s license unknowingly expired.

Our time in South Africa has been a journey we wouldn’t trade for anything, but it hasn’t been easy. It has been raw and humbling, and one we never could have gone through all on our own. We have learned to say yes to help whenever it’s offered (in whatever form it comes), and through that we have experienced community and healing and a deep, real joy in the midst of our circumstances. We’ve become closer as a family, walking through this side by side, and our faith has been strengthened in a way that only comes from the heavy and the hard.

My beautiful friend Jolene, who works at the café, told me that maybe the reason for all of this was because God had people right there at the hospital we needed to meet. That there were those who needed to hear our story and enter into it. She said that left to our own plans, we would have been okay. But put in God’s hand, he was working something completely unplanned, yet unequivocally more meaningful.

& she was right.