Vomit. That was the first sensation I remember. The acrid residue of bile filled my mouth, tasting vaguely of cheeseburger, but I felt confused--I didn't remember throwing up. The second sensation was pretty close to follow. Pain. Paralyzing pain burned through my abdomen. I remembered the words that the doctor told me right before the anesthesia took over, "You may wake up without your uterus." Well, I guess they took it, I told myself.
I tried to take in my surroundings, but there wasn't much that could pull my brain away from the screaming pain inside me. I heard my dad's voice say, "Could we give her a blessing before she goes?" It was familiar. It was comforting. My dad was there. It seemed like he'd left the hospital only minutes before. Then, I heard my Joe's voice. I wanted to see his face and hold his hand. I opened my eyes, but everything was fuzzy and dark. Then, I felt my Joe's hands, not in my own, but on my head. His voice commanded me in the name of Jesus Christ to be healed. I heard my mom. She told me she loved me. She was stroking my forehead. There was sniffling all around me. I wanted to tell them I was okay, even though I wasn't sure I was.
They began moving me--transferring me onto another board. The pain once again demanded my full attention. I heard the words, "flight crew" and before I knew it they were taking me away from my family again. They were wheeling me outside. As they wheeled me out the doors of the hospital and on to the helicopter pad I had the thought, "This is bad." Then, in the moment when I felt most alone, my heart called out to God. "Please, be here with me." And then, I realized that it could be possible I was dying; part of me wondered if I was being melodramatic, but just in case, I needed Him to know, "I'm okay with whatever You decide," I prayed.
As they transferred me into the helicopter, I felt my feet being put under what felt like a dashboard in a car. My right foot went in just fine. My left foot, however, was jammed in rather roughly at a very awkward angle and hurt quite a bit. "My foot," I said as I tried moving it to see if I could fix the problem. I couldn't get it to budge. "Can someone please help me with my foot?" I asked. I was given a rather terse response by a flight crew member, "Don't worry about it. It's only a ten minute flight." In my head I began going through all the things I wanted to say to the idiot who told me not to worry about it. "This is so stupid," I thought. "Why does this thing have to be so small anyway? Why don't they make bigger helicopters?" I told myself to breathe as I accepted the fact that I couldn't do anything about it. As the propeller began to whir above me, a crew member slipped a headset over my ears. They asked if I could hear them and I responded. They told me they would give me some medicine for the pain.
I felt alone. I wanted my Joe. I wanted my parents. I thought of my kids and worried about them. As I waited for the medicine to kick in, my heart called out to God again. "Jesus, please be with me. I can't do this alone." What happened next is hard to describe. I knew He was there with me. And then, there was a part of me that questioned if I was worthy to be with him. But before I could even form the question in my mind, he assured me that all I'd done was enough. I knew without a doubt that I mattered to Him and that He had redeemed me. He had suffered for me. He loved me so completely, and my feeble attempts to be obedient had been enough.
I've always wondered if I'd know Him when I see Him again. I know with more conviction that I ever have that, though the eyes of my physical body have never seen Him in this life, my soul knows Him perfectly. My soul is complete and full through Christ. I had but to call out His name and He was instantly at my side.
I woke up in another dark room where everything was fuzzy. I didn't remember landing in the helicopter. I had no idea where I was. Then suddenly, I heard Joe's voice. I needed to touch him, to know he was real. I reached out for him and he quickly grabbed my hand. Only then, I was actually able to understand the things he was saying to me.
"You have some pretty gnarly scars," he told me.
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Does that mean I am the toughest?"
I heard chuckle at me. "Yep," he said. "You are definitely the toughest."
"So now I'll have some street cred," I said. "I guess it's a good thing I don't wear bikinis."
Once again, I heard him chuckle.
"Are my scars straight?" I asked.
"What?" Joe asked.
"Are my scars straight?" I said, trying hard to say it louder. It felt like I'd been punched in the throat.
"I don't know," he said. "I think so. I can't really tell because they are bandaged up, but I think they are straight."
"Ah dang." I lamented. "They should've given me something cool, like a lightning bolt or something."
I heard him laugh this time. I loved the sound of his laugh. I knew he was worried. I wanted him to be okay too.
"Is the baby okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, she's fine," he answered.
"Did they take my uterus?" I asked.
"No," he answered. He paused for a second, "but they did take out your right ovary."
In the background I heard my dad. "Now you can literally say, you've 'let it all hang out.'"
What? I thought to myself. What does that mean?
Part 4: ICU
I tried to take in my surroundings, but there wasn't much that could pull my brain away from the screaming pain inside me. I heard my dad's voice say, "Could we give her a blessing before she goes?" It was familiar. It was comforting. My dad was there. It seemed like he'd left the hospital only minutes before. Then, I heard my Joe's voice. I wanted to see his face and hold his hand. I opened my eyes, but everything was fuzzy and dark. Then, I felt my Joe's hands, not in my own, but on my head. His voice commanded me in the name of Jesus Christ to be healed. I heard my mom. She told me she loved me. She was stroking my forehead. There was sniffling all around me. I wanted to tell them I was okay, even though I wasn't sure I was.
They began moving me--transferring me onto another board. The pain once again demanded my full attention. I heard the words, "flight crew" and before I knew it they were taking me away from my family again. They were wheeling me outside. As they wheeled me out the doors of the hospital and on to the helicopter pad I had the thought, "This is bad." Then, in the moment when I felt most alone, my heart called out to God. "Please, be here with me." And then, I realized that it could be possible I was dying; part of me wondered if I was being melodramatic, but just in case, I needed Him to know, "I'm okay with whatever You decide," I prayed.
As they transferred me into the helicopter, I felt my feet being put under what felt like a dashboard in a car. My right foot went in just fine. My left foot, however, was jammed in rather roughly at a very awkward angle and hurt quite a bit. "My foot," I said as I tried moving it to see if I could fix the problem. I couldn't get it to budge. "Can someone please help me with my foot?" I asked. I was given a rather terse response by a flight crew member, "Don't worry about it. It's only a ten minute flight." In my head I began going through all the things I wanted to say to the idiot who told me not to worry about it. "This is so stupid," I thought. "Why does this thing have to be so small anyway? Why don't they make bigger helicopters?" I told myself to breathe as I accepted the fact that I couldn't do anything about it. As the propeller began to whir above me, a crew member slipped a headset over my ears. They asked if I could hear them and I responded. They told me they would give me some medicine for the pain.
I felt alone. I wanted my Joe. I wanted my parents. I thought of my kids and worried about them. As I waited for the medicine to kick in, my heart called out to God again. "Jesus, please be with me. I can't do this alone." What happened next is hard to describe. I knew He was there with me. And then, there was a part of me that questioned if I was worthy to be with him. But before I could even form the question in my mind, he assured me that all I'd done was enough. I knew without a doubt that I mattered to Him and that He had redeemed me. He had suffered for me. He loved me so completely, and my feeble attempts to be obedient had been enough.
I've always wondered if I'd know Him when I see Him again. I know with more conviction that I ever have that, though the eyes of my physical body have never seen Him in this life, my soul knows Him perfectly. My soul is complete and full through Christ. I had but to call out His name and He was instantly at my side.
I woke up in another dark room where everything was fuzzy. I didn't remember landing in the helicopter. I had no idea where I was. Then suddenly, I heard Joe's voice. I needed to touch him, to know he was real. I reached out for him and he quickly grabbed my hand. Only then, I was actually able to understand the things he was saying to me.
"You have some pretty gnarly scars," he told me.
"Oh yeah?" I asked. "Does that mean I am the toughest?"
I heard chuckle at me. "Yep," he said. "You are definitely the toughest."
"So now I'll have some street cred," I said. "I guess it's a good thing I don't wear bikinis."
Once again, I heard him chuckle.
"Are my scars straight?" I asked.
"What?" Joe asked.
"Are my scars straight?" I said, trying hard to say it louder. It felt like I'd been punched in the throat.
"I don't know," he said. "I think so. I can't really tell because they are bandaged up, but I think they are straight."
"Ah dang." I lamented. "They should've given me something cool, like a lightning bolt or something."
I heard him laugh this time. I loved the sound of his laugh. I knew he was worried. I wanted him to be okay too.
"Is the baby okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, she's fine," he answered.
"Did they take my uterus?" I asked.
"No," he answered. He paused for a second, "but they did take out your right ovary."
In the background I heard my dad. "Now you can literally say, you've 'let it all hang out.'"
What? I thought to myself. What does that mean?
Part 4: ICU
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