Last night, Greg and I visited a woman from our church at a nearby hospital. Pete had tripped over an electrical cord in her bedroom on Saturday, causing a fall which fractured her femur. During her surgery on Tuesday, she had a heart attack. When we saw Pete last night in ICU, she was so swollen from meds I hardly recognized her.
She stirred slightly when we entered her room and spoke her name, but then sunk back into a drug-induced oblivion. Pete had so many tubes sticking out of her that it was a challenge to even find a spot where I could lay my hand on her and pray.
"We almost lost Pete," her sister told us after our brief prayer time. "She's improved some, but they are worried about her getting pneumonia now. Her lungs are already weak because of the emphysema . . ."
I realized how silly I'd been to bring the latest Rachel Ray magazine for Pete to read as she recovered in ICU. I gave it to her sister instead, to help her pass the long hours as she sat by Pete's side.
At work yesterday, I received an email asking for prayer for a young man who'd worked up at Kokrine Hills Bible Camp last summer. Last weekend, he and a friend had been out dirt-biking and he'd flipped his bike and landed on his head. Andrew hadn't been wearing a helmet and had sustained severe brain injury.
The doctors were just waiting for all the family to arrive before they took 19-year-old Andrew off life support . . .
An electrical cord . . . an unseen pothole . . . such small, insignificant things. But what life-shattering impact they had on two precious lives . . . not to mention the family and friends who now stand vigil over them.
When Greg and I came home last night, Danielle and Krispin were cuddled on the couch in the living room, watching an episode of Sponge Bob. Not really in the mood for such spongy frivolity, I retreated to my room to meditate on more somber matters. But their giggling drew me back downstairs, and I snuggled up to Danielle and savored the moment.
Sponge Bob was annoying, yes.
But the room was still filled with laughter, and love . . . and life.