The view from the window was comparable to hundreds of others in the hospital. And again, I was alone and prayerful, with the exception of Christian. He was brought to this room on the fifth floor ahead of me as I had to take time for admission procedures. An hour earlier, Cat Scans revealed a brain tumor, the cause of the sudden onset of his mysterious condition. As I came up the elevator to join him, I was given to ask the Lord,
“You’ve got to teach me that faith is more than believing in fairy tales.” Hardly the thing you would expect to hear from someone considering evangelism. I had not taken communion for awhile as it had been about eight months getting over the last dose of heaven through my living room window.
Christian wasn’t able to get out of his bed. The drugs injected for the purpose of keeping him quiet and motionless for three series of C-Scans were slowly losing their effectiveness. It wouldn’t be long before screams of pain in his head would necessitate the call for more Demerol.
Just that morning, we had taken our son to see another doctor. I was sure he was dying, but all he was getting was antibiotics. This one found a blood clot or a possible tumor in the X-rays. We took a closer look at a nearby hospital. I informed the family of Christian’s latest session at the “photographer’s” and about the thirty three slices of film clearly depicting a mass growing at the brain stem.
The rest of our family had been made aware of the rapid deterioration of his health and had become alarmed to the fact that we were dealing with more than just a childhood illness. Christian’s grandmother and his Aunt Karen came immediately to his side. Their presence was enormously supportive. I could easily have dismissed the entire scene as being only a very bad dream, except that Karen was also losing her grip on reality. She needed comforting, too.
She was so afraid that her about-to-be born baby’s soul would be the one to replace Christian’s when he departed this world. Well, I was not entertaining his possible demise, whatsoever. I told Karen in simple words,
“God doesn’t work that way.” I was sure the whole idea was not exemplary of God’s Grace. But, about midnight, the morning of June 1, 1984, the entire family had gathered in a room down the hallway to discuss just that.
They had all been summoned at this late hour because Christian had gone Code Blue. He had been dosing peacefully for about an hour when he began to jerk and twitch almost unnoticeably under the covers. I had never before observed the likes of it. So much of the behavior and symptoms coming from Christian the past two weeks, I had never seen the likes of before, in anyone.
What was that? I moved closer to his face and listened at his lips. Gurgle. Gurgling was coming from my precious, adorable baby boy. At first, as I stood up and took a long look at him, I was calmly deciding to have a nurse come and tell me what I didn’t know. Is he okay? Is this more of the weirdness he’s going through?
The next minute later, I had already moved from his side, gone to the nurse’s station for assistance, and was standing way out of the way as the nurse begun to take vital signs. I had moved quickly for help because it had become so apparent that the mass found this morning was killing him, and fast. I had never before actually seen the passing on of a dying person. Christian did it so many times over the next four months.
But now, passing before my eyes was a chilling scene of a frantic nurse trying to get vital signs, any at all. Her instruments were dropped uselessly aside as she began CPR and hit a staff emergency alarm for life support. I was the epitome of mortification when the “paddles” were rolled thru the door and hospital personnel came pouring through the woodwork to save his life.
“This very bad dream is so cruel,” my mind screamed. “This can’t be happening! We didn’t even get a chance to save him! I won’t have it! It isn’t so! I can’t take losing him! This pain – this cross, is too much to bear! As a part of my mind fell away in agony, my voice was heard. Christian was resuscitated.
He was taken for emergency operating for the purpose of installing a shunt apparatus to pump off the backup of spinal fluid from his brain to the abdominal cavity. During the operation, I joined the rest of the family in the waiting room, to rest my own exploding brain. Heather, Christian’s oldest sister, came to my side and asked me in the sweetest way,
“Mommy, is Christian going to die?”
“No,” I said with that familiar complete calm. “Christian won’t die today. It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Well, God doesn’t work that way. I’m sure of it.”
“You’ve got to teach me that faith is more than believing in fairy tales.” Hardly the thing you would expect to hear from someone considering evangelism. I had not taken communion for awhile as it had been about eight months getting over the last dose of heaven through my living room window.
Christian wasn’t able to get out of his bed. The drugs injected for the purpose of keeping him quiet and motionless for three series of C-Scans were slowly losing their effectiveness. It wouldn’t be long before screams of pain in his head would necessitate the call for more Demerol.
Just that morning, we had taken our son to see another doctor. I was sure he was dying, but all he was getting was antibiotics. This one found a blood clot or a possible tumor in the X-rays. We took a closer look at a nearby hospital. I informed the family of Christian’s latest session at the “photographer’s” and about the thirty three slices of film clearly depicting a mass growing at the brain stem.
The rest of our family had been made aware of the rapid deterioration of his health and had become alarmed to the fact that we were dealing with more than just a childhood illness. Christian’s grandmother and his Aunt Karen came immediately to his side. Their presence was enormously supportive. I could easily have dismissed the entire scene as being only a very bad dream, except that Karen was also losing her grip on reality. She needed comforting, too.
She was so afraid that her about-to-be born baby’s soul would be the one to replace Christian’s when he departed this world. Well, I was not entertaining his possible demise, whatsoever. I told Karen in simple words,
“God doesn’t work that way.” I was sure the whole idea was not exemplary of God’s Grace. But, about midnight, the morning of June 1, 1984, the entire family had gathered in a room down the hallway to discuss just that.
They had all been summoned at this late hour because Christian had gone Code Blue. He had been dosing peacefully for about an hour when he began to jerk and twitch almost unnoticeably under the covers. I had never before observed the likes of it. So much of the behavior and symptoms coming from Christian the past two weeks, I had never seen the likes of before, in anyone.
What was that? I moved closer to his face and listened at his lips. Gurgle. Gurgling was coming from my precious, adorable baby boy. At first, as I stood up and took a long look at him, I was calmly deciding to have a nurse come and tell me what I didn’t know. Is he okay? Is this more of the weirdness he’s going through?
The next minute later, I had already moved from his side, gone to the nurse’s station for assistance, and was standing way out of the way as the nurse begun to take vital signs. I had moved quickly for help because it had become so apparent that the mass found this morning was killing him, and fast. I had never before actually seen the passing on of a dying person. Christian did it so many times over the next four months.
But now, passing before my eyes was a chilling scene of a frantic nurse trying to get vital signs, any at all. Her instruments were dropped uselessly aside as she began CPR and hit a staff emergency alarm for life support. I was the epitome of mortification when the “paddles” were rolled thru the door and hospital personnel came pouring through the woodwork to save his life.
“This very bad dream is so cruel,” my mind screamed. “This can’t be happening! We didn’t even get a chance to save him! I won’t have it! It isn’t so! I can’t take losing him! This pain – this cross, is too much to bear! As a part of my mind fell away in agony, my voice was heard. Christian was resuscitated.
He was taken for emergency operating for the purpose of installing a shunt apparatus to pump off the backup of spinal fluid from his brain to the abdominal cavity. During the operation, I joined the rest of the family in the waiting room, to rest my own exploding brain. Heather, Christian’s oldest sister, came to my side and asked me in the sweetest way,
“Mommy, is Christian going to die?”
“No,” I said with that familiar complete calm. “Christian won’t die today. It’s your birthday, isn’t it? Well, God doesn’t work that way. I’m sure of it.”
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