There I stood with tears streaming down my face in spite of myself. It may be just the butterflies in my stomach trying to find a way out…they usually exit through my tear ducts. I usually don’t get butterflies in front of a group. I do when I have to perform/say something memorized, I’m afraid my brain will fail me, or when I’m uncomfortable with the crowd, afraid of being judged. But this day I stood in front of my peers, my family, I
wasn’t reciting anything; I was telling a story of sorts. But this day the butterflies carried my heart.
Assignment: Give a 1-2 minute speech on prophecy, prayer, or praise. A story that happened to us.
When the assignment was given my topic popped right into my head. It was what was on my mind at all times and it happened to cover all three of the topics. My dad was going into surgery in about a week and he
wasn’t expected to live. I have been praying for my dad’s salvation for years. My aunt has had a prophecy about him, the song “Mighty to Save” was written for this exact situation in my life it seemed. So here I stood in front of the class filled with interns, intern teachers, and Dr. Fleming pouring out my heart and the tears of my butterflies.
I spoke about my life’s worth of prayers for my dad and his salvation. My aunt prophesied once that my dad would come to Christ, but he would come crawling. I had recently found out 3 days prior, the night before my birthday, that my dad had asked my mom not to share what the chances of him making it out of this much needed surgery alive. After some research my sister figured it was about 5%. I guess this was crawling time. My dad’s death bed awaited him that coming Thursday morning. Yet I had faith. Faith like that of
Shadrach,
Meshach, and Abed-
Nego when they faced the flames of the furnace. My God was more than able to save my dad from his nearly promised death. Yet even if he
didn’t I know that my God if faithful. He was going to use this time, he was going to save my dad. Tears streaming down my face I sat down.
Dr. Fleming however called me back up to the front of the class and I soon found myself surrounded by my intern family and found me, my dad, my family, everything covered in prayer. My mind started filling with a little hope. I decided to fight the doubt, the percentages a little through this prayer time. With hands all over me I felt loved.
The night before my sister and I left for Salt Lake I spent the night at her house. We where in the drive
thru getting some dinner when we got a call from our mom who was already in Salt Lake with my dad. “They might not do the surgery” Anger and bitterness filled me. They had to run some tests that day and where waiting for the results. They wanted to make sure that his stomach
wasn’t filled with fluid. If it was it was to risky. They also
weren’t sure his body would take the anesthesia. WHAT?! What is worse than five present chance to live. We already knew it was going to be to risky. If he
didn’t have the surgery the
ulcers in his
stomach would explode…they can’t just send him home. We prayed. It was short but we prayed.
I woke up in the middle of the night that night on my sisters couch. My dog had thrown up. Great another sick something. This was a breaking point. I had already been feeling shut down about this whole situation in the first place. Now I was angry. Visions of my dad dieing at home started to flood my mind. I never even thought that not doing the surgery was an option. My dad already weighed 130 pounds, two weeks before his stomach
couldn’t even handle jello anymore. He was going to come home and starve to death. That or the ulcers would explode and I was to much of a chicken to tell him that God loved him during all of this. I was mad, at myself, at the doctors (They
didn’t understand) at all of it. I prayed for sleep.
A few hours into our trip we got a call from my mom again. We got the go ahead on his stomach. There was no fluid. PRAISE GOD! But we
weren’t out of the woods yet. We still needed to know back from the other test. We waited and honestly enjoyed the ride up there just my sister and I. In the hotel room with my parents we waited. My dad was hurting pretty bad. His stomach was trying to down what little he had for lunch after not getting to have anything for breakfast due to the tests. The phone rang. It was the test results. He was good to go. PRAISE GOD! The burden lifted. After a month being depressed about this surgery happening I
didn’t think I’d ever be thankful for it happening like I was now.
My sister and I went out to a fancy dinner. My parents went to have more tests and then out to dinner themselves (I found out later my dad called that his last supper). More tests left the doctor with more doubt. How would his heart do with this? I
wasn’t mad at the doctor anymore though. It turned out he was a catholic. (We all laughed at this. My dad told my grandma that if the surgeon brought him out of this alive he would join his religion. We where all happy he knew God). Being a catholic he
wasn’t willing to put my dad on the table if he
didn’t think there was a chance he would not come out of it. He
wasn’t willing to kill a man in other words. This was comforting. If the doctor was willing to operate he must have hope. Although not as strong (my faith was holding on) the burden was lightly placed back on all of our
shoulders.
It was a rough night. All of us sleeping in a sick mans room was hard. It was hot in there, my dad was up much of the night, his stomach was killing him. When it was time to get up he was SO tired. He was saying that he had been looking forward to the needle for so long because it would be the first time in months he has gotten sleep. I reminded him he just needed to remember to wake up.
We checked in and waited. My Grandma, Dad’s mom, met us. We waited. A worker came and got us, my sister, mom and I, and we went into a smaller room. My dad got in his gown. We all figured/hoped that meant that his heart was good to go. We waited. Dad slept. Grandma came in. Soon after the doctor and all of the team that would be working on my dad came in as well. The little room was crowded. Everyone was very friendly. His doctor was amazing. He gently told us that he was not sure what he would be able to do in the surgery. In some ways it was like an exploratory surgery. The least they could do would be cut the nerves to his stomach. All that would do would be make his stomach make less acid. So he would hopefully be able to eat a little better. This still left the ulcer aka the pain and death threat. It was a band aid. The most they could do would be cut the ulcer out completely and reroute his large intestine to his stomach. Basically give him a gastric bypass, the same thing some people get to lose weight except in my dad’s case it would make him gain weight. This option sounded like it was less likely. My dad said that if this surgery could just make it so he could eat and sleep it would change his life.
The doctor told us he would be able to do this all
lyproscopically so they
didn’t have to cut him all the way open. He also very carefully told us once again not to get to excited because he
didn’t know if they would be able to help at all today and that dad’s chances where slim. Unknowing to my dad’s wishes the doctor told us that dad had a 27% chance of making it “if we believed in numbers”. I don’t. I believe in God. The percentage had jumped up (my mom told us later that his chances had been 10-15%) I think due to the
lyproscope.
They wheeled dad out. We all gave him kisses. I told him we where praying for him. I
didn’t know what else to say. I
didn’t feel lead to say anything else. This may have been the last moments I would ever see my dad and I
didn’t have words to tell him about God, I
didn’t have the guts to asked to pray. . . I just
didn’t know. I was encouraged through text by
Kirstein. God was in that room with us. He was ministering to my dad. My God is more than able to reach his heart before he goes and he
doesn’t have to use me. I
didn’t feel God lead me to say anything…so I
didn’t.
Once my dad was out of sight tears feel from my families eyes. I
didn’t cry. God told me in prayer that my dad was going to be
ok. I was going to trust that. I pushed the visions of how quite the house would be without him there. The “what will I do if…?” thoughts. I turned a deaf ear to them. My dad was going to be
ok.
We waited. The surgery was expected to take 4 hours. I
texted people what was going on. I
blogged a little. We talked. We ate. 2 hours later the lady at the desk giving updates told us he was coming out of it now. Oh no. Should he be? What does that mean? Did this just turn out to be a band-aid? 2 hours? It should have taken longer. They where trying to wake him up now. Last time they did this he almost
didn’t wake up. Odds where against him. I
texted people asking for prayer. My mom, sister, and I (grandma was gone, back to her hotel. She has health problems too.…I wonder if she would have joined us?) gathered around and prayed. We left it in God’s hands and prayed his will be done.
The doctor come out. Dad was in recovery. PRAISE GOD! The burden lifted. My dad was awake. My dad was alive!!! My dad is a miracle! The doctor explained what they where able to do. They
couldn’t take the ulcer out, that part of his stomach was like concrete (“No wonder it hurt so bad” says my dad later). So they (if I understood right) sewed around it or something. They hope that it will scar off that way and the body will just disregard it. They rerouted his stomach and cut the nerves they needed to cut. All in two hours. It was incredible. They did pretty much all they wanted to do.
My dad is funny under anesthetic. That was the happiest I’
ve seen him in YEARS and the first time I saw him smile in months. Pastor Shane prayed that he would sing worship when he came out of the surgery. My dad sang in his recovery bed. It
wasn’t worship….it was Johnny Cash. Some song about drugs and a whore. He also sang part of “your beautiful” by James Blunt. Pastor Shane pointed out that Johnny Cash got saved later in his life. I smile at this.
2 days later my whole family, including dad is home. 6 days later my dad gained 5 pounds. 8 days later, thanksgiving, my dad drove himself to Glens Ferry and called us after he got done bucking hay. I’m pretty sure that’s breaking the rules. This is now day 12. My dad is doing great. It’s awesome to see your dad eat. To see him eat without looking like what’s on his plate is road kill. With out being in pain ALL the time. Without drinking half of a bottle of
Pepto Bismal everyday. This is day 13 of my dad not smoking. This is day 13 of my life that I haven’t been a second hand smoker. Our house smells good. It smells like candles. I can leave cloths hanging up in the hallway and not smell like a chain smoker when I leave. This is day 12 of my dad’s second chance at life. He
hasn’t talked about God at all yet but something’s happening to him. A man
doesn’t just give up his life long crutch, smoking, overnight.
Thank you all for your prayers.
“Never Underestimate my Jesus”
-
Relient K
