I have heard it said many times throughout the years that the phrase “fear not” is found 365 times in the Bible. One for each day of the year. I’ve never counted them myself but it doesn’t surprise me that there would be that many. If we are commanded so many times to not be afraid, then there must be a good reason for it and it must be possible to “fear not”, even in the most difficult times.
Becky had been back at Cornerstone for four days now. I was limited to 2 hour visits every other evening due to the policy in place there. It was Wednesday, September 30th and I had just pulled into the parking lot at my job. I had a few minutes to spare, so I called Becky to check on her. Nothing seemed unusual in her voice, although we barely got to say “good morning” to each other when she said, “The nurse is here, I’ll call you later”. I had no idea that it would be the last conversation we would have. At 11:30 am my phone rang. I recognized the number. It was the floor supervisor from Cornerstone. “Hello, Mr. Sherman, there’s been an issue with your wife, Rebecca. We had to intubate her. She is stable now, though.” “What? Intubate her? You mean she’s on a ventilator now?” “Yes, she is. We didn’t have a choice. We almost lost her.” My heart sank. I dropped what I was doing and drove down to Houston. Even though my next day to visit was Thursday, they made an exception this time. Obviously this was serious and things were about to change drastically.
I had learned by experience, going all the way back to 2002 when she received her liver, that even though I may not have control over some of the circumstances, I can control the atmosphere in a room. I can bring anxiety into a room, or I can bring peace. Imagine you are the patient in a setting like Becky was and you are already struggling to maintain a sense of calm. In walks your husband, full of anxiety, mumbling words of angst and fear. It affects everything in the room. Or, the husband walks in carrying the presence of God, bringing peace into the midst of the storm. I knew that this was my mission each day that I walked into that hospital room, no matter what was taking place at the moment. It wasn’t easy, though. There were days when I felt so sorry for her that grief would try to creep in.
When I entered her room I immediately sensed tremendous fear. They had shoved a large tube down her throat and I could see the fear and panic in her eyes. Tears welled up in my eyes. I could sense fear and anxiety in the nurses who were in the room as well. Becky was trying to tell me something but I couldn’t figure it out. Every time she would struggle to say something her oxygen saturation levels would begin dropping and the nurse would have to tell her not to try to talk. All I could do in that moment was hold her hand, speak comforting words, and release the peace of God over her. Thoughts tried to take over my mind – “This is a huge step backwards”. “What if this is the end?” All of the “what ifs”. Immediately Psalm 23:4 came to mind, Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. The Passion Translation reads like this – Lord, even when your path takes me through the valley of deepest darkness, fear will never conquer me, for you already have! Then 1 John 4:18 came to me – There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. When I become more aware of His perfect love than I do of the evil pressing in around me, His love displaces the fear and peace displaces the anxiety. I began to thank Him out loud for His perfect love and the peace that passes understanding.
Each day I would send texts and messages to family and friends with updates, many times leaving out some details simply for time’s sake but I knew that there were people getting the messages who knew how to pray, letting Holy Spirit fill in the details.
She began to relax some. They had sedated her a little more and I felt like peace had settled into the room. I was told that as soon as a bed in the ICU became available she would be moved back to Methodist. I didn’t know what the next few days or weeks would hold, but I knew who held Becky and I.
I was able to stay with her until she was transferred back to Methodist later that night. The visiting hours in the ICU were 1-5pm daily, so I knew I had to make the best of my time there. I wanted to be with her all day but four hours was better than nothing. They had her heavily sedated to keep her from fighting the uncomfortable tube going down her throat. She slept the entire time I was there the first day. It was October 1st now and it was hard to believe she had already spent 78 days in the hospital.
The next morning around 11:30 I got a call from the nurse telling me that Becky had tested positive for covid again and I would not be allowed to visit her agin until she tested negative. What? I couldn’t believe it! “Nooo!!!”, I shouted after I got off the phone. I was told they would have to wait 24 hours before testing her again. The next day seemed to drag by slowly. Every couple of hours or so I would call the nurse to check on her. She was resting comfortably. Finally, she was tested again and this time it was negative. I was allowed to visit again. Not much seemed to change with her condition over the next couple of weeks. It was like a roller coaster ride. They would do a chest x-ray and tell me it looked a little better, then a couple days later text one would look worse again. I met so many doctors and interns my head was spinning. With COVID-19 being so relatively new, it seemed like they were desperately trying anything they could, hoping to see some results.
Occasionally, Becky would try to tell me something and I had to try to read her lips while having the tube down her throat. The only thing I could ever make out were the words “I love you”. Of course, my heart melted each time. The other times, we both would get so frustrated that her blood pressure would skyrocket and her oxygen saturation levels would drop. The nurse would intervene and tell me to step away and let things calm down. I can’t say enough good things about the nurses who work the ICU at Methodist. They were so attentive to details and treated Becky and I with such compassion. They are amazing!
After a couple weeks they performed a tracheotomy on her to place the tube directly into her esophagus. I was relieved because I knew this would be more comfortable for her. There was talk from the doctors trying to wean her off of the ventilator if her numbers could get down to a certain level. Sometimes it would get close but then they would have to raise it up again. Even though the ventilator was going directly into her esophagus she wasn’t able to communicate much, other than nodding her head sometimes. They had to keep her sedated too and that made her confused sometimes. I desperately wanted to know what she wanted to say to me. I told her every day how proud I was of her and that she was going to come home. I tried different ways to lift her spirits and infuse some hope into her. My sons and daughter-in-laws would leave voice messages for her and I would play them. I would show her videos of Norah, our granddaughter. Usually she would just stare straight ahead but every now and then her eyes would widen a little. As I look back on it now, I feel like there came a point where she knew she wasn’t coming home (at least not to our house). There was talk again that if her requirements for oxygen dropped some, then she would be transferred back to the LTAC. This was getting old. I didn’t want her to go back there again unless they were certain she had improved enough. Otherwise it seemed futile to me.
The rollercoaster ride continued through the end of October. During this time I had come across several articles and videos about people who had been on a ventilator for weeks and weeks and miraculously being taken off of it and eventually going home. A couple of them had even had longer hospital stays than Becky. I would tell Becky about them, hoping to keep faith alive in her and also myself.
I started to notice something different about her during the last week of October. She was making less eye contact with me when I would talk to her and even when she did her eyes seemed to look right through me. I knew that they had increased her sedation a little but they couldn’t raise it up too much and risk her blood pressure dropping. It was like a balancing act. Where I had seen some fear in her eyes before, I didn’t see that now. It was almost as if some kind of resolve had come over her. I wondered many times if she was already getting glimpses of the other side.
Just a couple of days into November, I arrived at the ICU as usual and signed in at the desk, putting on the badge required to visit. I was met by the head ICU doctor, who said, “Can we talk for a few minutes?” “Sure”. We sat down in a private meeting room. “Mr. Sherman, your wife has been in here over a month now and she is not getting any better. We can try to keep her comfortable, but we’re just going around in circles now.” Thoughts started racing through my mind so fast I didn’t know what to say. I felt like what he was really trying to tell me was, “There are other sick people who actually have a chance who are waiting for a room in the ICU and there’s nothing else we can do for her. Maybe it’s time to ‘pull the plug’, so to speak.” I thought about my four sons, who had not been able to visit her the entire four months in the hospital and I knew that Becky would want to see them and hear their voices in person at least one more time. After a minute of silence, I spoke up. “I’m not making any decision until my sons are allowed to see her.” Oh, no problem, we can do set it up for them to see her on a screen, you know, facetime.” “No, I meant in person”, I said. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.” “Why not?” “It’s against our policy. It’s just not safe.” “Put yourself in our shoes. How would you feel?” “I’m sorry, but we just can’t do that.” “Then I’m not making any decisions right now” I said.
The next day, I got a phone call from a lady with palliative care. She wanted to meet with me that afternoon after I arrived at the hospital and discuss some “options” and “decisions” I might need to consider. We sat down in the same room and she told me there were two options at this point – hospice care, or they remove her from the ventilator and she passes in a short time. I told her I was willing to consider hospice. Again, as the day before, I asked if there was a chance the boys could see her in hospice and she said, “probably so”. I asked her to explain the process and she told me that an ambulance would be sent to pick her up, and then they would remove her from the ventilator and take her to hospice. Then the boys would be allowed to come see her. “What? Remove the ventilator before she goes to hospice? What if she dies on the way there? No way! My sons are going to visit her before she passes and each one is going to say something to her and she is going to be alive to hear it!”
The next couple of days I received visits from liaisons and everyone but the CEO himself, it seemed like, all of them trying to reason with me. I plead my case with every one of them. On the third day I raised my voice a little while talking to one of them in the hallway and was immediately told about another man who had to be escorted out by the police one day.
On November 11th, when I arrived, I was informed that they wanted to move her back to the LTAC. I was given the choice of Cornerstone or Kindred Hospital. I chose Kindred because something just felt right about it, though she had not been there before. I’m glad I made that choice. The paperwork was all done and she was moved to Kindred the next day. It is located right across the street from Methodist. Their visiting hours ended every day at 8:00pm and I was told that they had been known to make exceptions for other family members under special circumstances, which gave me great hope.
With each passing day, she seemed to be a little less responsive and was sleeping most of the time as they were just trying to keep her as comfortable as possible. It was November 13th, her 62nd birthday. Just a few weeks ago, I still had hopes that she would be back home by this time, or at least in a facility where our family could be together to celebrate with her. Instead, here we were at this specialty hospital with life apparently slipping away. I informed the hospital staff on her floor of her birthday and that evening they brought some balloons in, gathered around and sang Happy Birthday to her. It was such a kind gesture. The on-duty hospital chaplain was there too and she pulled me aside. “Have you thought about arrangements yet?”
“Uh…no, I really haven’t. We’ve been believing for a miracle.”
“I know it’s not an easy thing to talk about, but sometimes we just have to let them go”, she gently said.
My thinking had to shift at that moment from the miracle of her recovering and coming back home, to “what does Becky want?” Of course, I wasn’t able to get a response from her by this time because she was so heavily sedated.
The next day, one of the doctors told me that her kidneys were starting to shut down. “She will need dialysis”, he informed me. The thought of her hooked up to another machine just made me cringe. I called Dr. Botto, her pulmonary doctor, a man whom I had more respect for than any other doctor assigned to her. He was compassionate, yet not afraid to tell you the truth. I asked for his opinion. He responded with a question, “The question is, how long do you want to prolong her suffering?” “I don’t want to prolong her suffering”, I responded. I called my pastor and told him the decision I was facing. “The question is, what does ‘life’ look like to Becky right now?” I knew the answer already. Being hooked up to another machine is not the life she wants.
I told the attending physician that dialysis was off the table now. Either we were going to see another Lazarus type of miracle or she would be completely whole with Jesus in a few days. Most all of her vital signs were holding steady. The next morning I was talking to her nurse and mentioned that our sons had not been able to be with her for four months. She responded, “I will speak to my supervisor and see if they can come one at a time and visit her.”
“That would be fantastic!”
That afternoon, each of my sons were able to come see her briefly and talk to her. I knew she could hear them, even though her eyes were closed and she was mostly unresponsive. It felt like a huge weight was being lifted from me. I went home that night feeling a sense of contentment, knowing that the boys were able to finally see her.
The next morning I was back at the hospital and everything seemed to be the same. Later that morning a thought came to me. Why not ask if the boys could come again today, except this time Raychel and Hannah come and visit too? The hospital staff had been gracious enough to bend the rules and allow the boys to visit, why not push the envelope a little? As I was sitting by her bed thinking these thoughts to myself, I noticed her heart rate had started to drop very low. The nurse was automatically alerted by the machine and came into the room. “This is not good”, she said. Then I followed her out of the room and asked her, “What are the chances that my sons could come up here again today and bring their wives this time?”
“I’ll check on that for you.”
“Thank you very much!”
I went back into her room saying, “Thank you, Lord, for making this happen for us.” I sat by her side again, watching the monitor almost constantly, especially her heart rate, which had dropped dangerously low. A little while later, her nurse got my attention from the window. I walked to the door and she gave me the good news that my sons, along with Raychel and Hannah, would be able to come up for a short visit. “Thank you so much!” Then, something amazing happened. I walked back over to her bed and said, “Guess what, Honey? The boys are going to come up again and this time Raychel and Hannah are coming too!” Right after I spoke those words, I watched the monitor and her heart rate began to rise again! There was no eye movement or any other physical sign, but her heart responded.
Each one of my Jason and Raychel, Brian and Hannah, Nathan, and Ben were each able to go in one by one and spend a few minutes with her while I waited in the lobby. They each spoke from their heart, a couple of them told her it was ok to go if she wanted to, and that they would be ok. The others could only manage to tell her how much they loved her and that was perfectly fine. It was another display of God’s goodness. Had she not been moved to this hospital they would not have been allowed to see her, even after four long months of separation. The heart of this beautiful mother held on for one last chance for a visit from the ones who were everything to her.
By 7:30pm they had all left and I was back in her room. All visitors had to be out by 8:00 and there were no exceptions. It was now time to leave and I knew it might be the last time I saw her, this side of Glory. I kissed her, told her I loved her, and said “I’ll see you later” as I walked out the door. At 10:24pm, November 16th, she slipped peacefully from the bonds of this earth into the eternal presence of Jesus, welcomed with open arms by those who have gone before.
I would imagine some of you might think it odd that I would write a series of blogs to tell this story. Why relive it? Because it is a story worth telling. We saw the Lord. We saw Him in the midst of crises. We saw Him in the midst of the unknown. We saw Him in the eyes, hands, and feet of healthcare workers risking their own lives to save the lives of others. We saw Him in the prayers, texts, phone calls, and gifts from family and friends who cared, some we had never met. I saw Him in the way He met me every morning with new mercies and peace that is beyond my comprehension. I saw Him in the courage and grace with which the love of my life fought through unimaginable sickness, stared death in the face and was finally welcomed home by the One who defeated death and the grave.
I want you to know that whatever you are going through or yet to go through, there is a place in God completely accessible to you through Christ. It is a place where Perfect Love drives out any fear and the Holy Spirit fills you with joy that nothing can take away.
Kevin