Fast forward 4 days, and I didn’t seem to be getting any better. I was drinking plenty of liquids, swallowing handfuls of garlic pills, drinking Echinacea tea, and sleeping the hours away while my kids were at school. I even arranged carpools so that I wouldn’t have to leave the house, and I could stay home and get totally well.
It was the day before the trip. I woke up and was sicker that day than I had been all week. My cough had gotten so bad, that the inflammation in my chest was extremely painful. I had no appetite. I felt like everything that I ate, couldn’t even make it down to my stomach. It was as if the food was getting caught in my chest and then just sitting there. I would burp all day long, whatever it was that I had eaten 8 hours before. I had severe chills all day long, and it wasn’t from the outside. I would pile on the layers of clothes but I was cold from the inside out. Nothing could warm me. I continued to believe that I would be fine come morning and I would be on that plane.
During the night, Makenna came and woke me. She, unlike the others in the family had managed up until this point to avoid getting sick. It was 1:00 a.m. when she announced that she had a headache and her eyeballs hurt in her head. She had gotten the flu. What could we do? Brandon and I were leaving for the airport in 5 short hours. I had arranged for the kids to stay with friends and family. Their overnight things were already with their caretakers. Every detail was set. When Brandon awoke in the morning, I announced the situation. Our 10 year old was sick, and I couldn’t stomach leaving a sick child with friends. How fair would that be to our friends? “Thank you for watching my kids, and oh by the way, your entire family is probably going to get this nasty flu due to our child.” Nope. I couldn’t do it. So Brandon sacrificed going on the trip to stay home with our sick child. I on the other hand, boarded a plane at 7:10 a.m. and was on my way to Utah.
I arrived in Utah feeling rather chipper. I had slept the entire plane ride, and was elated to get to the curb and get hugs from my mom and my dad, who were waiting in a nice warm car. Utah was not welcoming. It was grey, overcast, and not a lick of pure white snow graced the dirty ground. It was disappointing. But we were on the road to Richmond, to stay at Sadie’s house for the weekend. I was so excited to spend time with the entire family, and I just knew that it was going to be a weekend to remember. (Little did I know that it would memorable for more than just a birthday party.)
I don’t wish to reflect on the specifics of my sickness that weekend. It would detract too much from all that was perfect about that weekend. The highlights for me was making a delicious dinner all together in Sadie’s kitchen, hugging my nieces and nephews as they each arrived, seeing Shanna actually looking pregnant, practicing and singing a custom 3-part harmony song with my sisters for Dad, presenting Dad with a self-published picture album from his youth until now, sitting around and saying special things about dad, laughing a lot, sitting by the warm fire, and having all four of dad’s children present.
I tried so hard to put on a good face. The trouble was, that I had progressively gotten worse. My back was in severe pain, my dry heaving had increased and each time I went to the bathroom I would heave at least 10-15 times. My chest felt like it would explode each time I coughed, and my ribs were so bruised that it hurt to sit, stand, and lay. In short, I’ve never been so sick in my life.
At 1:00 a.m. I lay in bed at my sister’s house, and had yet to fall asleep. My back was so painful that I absolutely could not sleep. I had taken 800mg of Ibuprofen but to no avail. After praying my heart out for relief, I could no longer bear the pain. I called home to talk to Brandon. I told him that I needed him. I felt so alone, and the pain was unbearable. The pain was coming from my upper mid back on my left side and felt like some sort of knot that would not release its grasp on my very tired muscles. Brandon prayed with me over the phone and then encouraged me to wake Sadie and Judson for help. I felt terrible that I was about to awake a very quiet sleeping house. Sadie and Judson immediately jumped to my aid, turning on lights and making me comfortable in their own bed. Judson asked me questions about my pain so he could help me diagnose what was causing it. I thought maybe I was passing a kidney stone. I explained that I couldn’t quench my thirst, so maybe it was severe dehydration. Maybe a gall stone? None seemed to fit the location of the pain. So my dear sweet brother in law had me lay down on my stomach and he probed my back with his hands until he felt a large knot in the upper part of my back. He must’ve worked on that knot for 30 minutes, pressing it out with his knuckles as I groaned in agony from the discomfort. Sadie got on the intercom system and quietly called for my dad to join Judson in giving me a Priesthood blessing. My mom and dad arrived in the room, where oil was administered to my head by Judson, and then my dad blessed me with health and blessed me to be able to sleep that night. It was the first time since High School that I had been given a father’s blessing. It meant so much to me, and I was grateful for worthy Priesthood holders. Judson gave me some Gatorade type liquid to get me rehydrated, and a Valium to help me sleep. I went back to bed, grateful for those who sacrificed sleep to help me, and I slept through the night.
The next morning I awoke feeling a little bit better. Enough so, that I actually ate breakfast. Then I felt tired so I curled up on the couch with a blanket and fell back asleep. I took a hot bath in Sadie’s tub, skipped lunch, and managed to get myself ready for a night out. I accompanied the family to dinner where I neglected to eat, but managed to have fun at the Utah State basketball game. I had just enough energy to clap, and enjoy seeing a crazy crowd yell their team on to victory. I was grateful for a fun night out with the family, and a chance to feel good enough to be there.
The next morning was Sunday. We all slept in and were slow to get ready. It was time to depart and make our way back down the canyon. I said my goodbyes to the family, and my dad and I got in the car to make our journey. Half way down the canyon, I took a turn for the worse. I began dry heaving again, coughing so hard that I knew my dad had to be worried that he’d be getting sick within days. I felt terrible. I tried to sleep during that ride back to Salt Lake. When we got to my parent’s house, all I wanted to do was lie down and try to get some comfort from the chills and fever that now presented itself once again. My dad made me lay on the couch and he covered me with a down comforter and begged me to sleep. Which I did. I was in and out of sleep over the next 3 hours. Each time I got up for the bathroom however, I spent several minutes over the sink dry heaving and wretching and feeling like my body might truly break in half. The pain in my chest and my back was so horrid at times, that I felt like something evil lurked beneath the surface of my skin. I imagined that scene from “Alien” where the guy is tossing on the table, and all of the sudden a sharp- toothed baby alien rips through his stomach leaving him dead on the table. I kind of hoped that might happen. Then my pain would be over, but then what would that little alien do to my dad who so innocently was watching the“Super Bowl” in the basement?
Sick or not sick, happy or miserable, I knew I had to get home. I knew that the next several hours of sitting in the airport and sitting on an airplane would be a nightmare, but I had to get home. I needed my husband, I needed my bed, and I needed blue skies and sunshine. My dad, heavy hearted at putting a very sick child on an airplane, respected my wishes and drove me to the airport.
Once at the airport, I took my seat in the terminal and then spend the next 35 minutes watching people move ever so slowly away from me. I couldn’t blame them. Was it my sallow grey skin and hunched over body that warned them of my less than perfect health? Or was it the coughing until I dry heaved that made one mom pick up her child and hurry to the other side of the terminal? I felt a heaviness and sadness for the person (assigned seating on Delta) who would be sitting beside me on the trip back to Phoenix. An hour and a half flight from Utah to Phoenix usually seems like a moment in time. However, this particular plane ride home seemed an eternity. At one point the stewardess came on saying, “please fasten your seatbelts as we make our descent into Phoenix.” She came on talking about our descent 3 more times, and I swear it was a 40 minute descent until we at last touched ground. I would have loved to have been happy, but I knew I still had a long walk down the terminal, down the escalator and out to the curb where my husband awaited. When I saw Brandon standing on the curb for me, I practically fell into his arms from exhaustion and relief to be home.
Two days after being home, and no sign of recovery in sight, Brandon dragged me in my pajamas to the nearest Urgent Care. The funny thing about that name is that there is absolutely nothing “urgent” about the care you receive there. Note to self: Don’t go to an urgent care during flu season. I spent the next hour and 10 minutes, hunched over in a chair watching other sick people enter through the magical doors where I was sure they were being miraculously healed. I continued in my silent prayers for a simple antibiotic prescription, so that I could be done with this thing in a couple of days.
After a chest x-ray was taken, an elderly doctor looking a lot like Gepetto told us that I had severe double pneumonia, which means pneumonia in both lungs. He told Brandon to get me to the hospital right away. This was hardly the little prescription that I had been praying for. However, we were off to the hospital to the great unknown. Going to the hospital is a funny thing. The only way to secure a place in the hospital itself is to enter through the ER. This is sure a fun thing to experience. We walked in (I use “walk” rather loosely here, as I’m sure I looked like the female version of Quasi Moto all hunched over, draped in a blanket) to the ER where I saw a sight that made me want to cry. The ER was full of people. Not an empty chair was available. Feverish babies screamed in their mama’s arms, old men sat with green masks on their faces, a young teenage girl lay in her mom’s lap shivering, and a 300 lb. Indian man with long jet black hair walked by puking into a clear plastic bag. Wow, thanks for that!! We checked in at the front desk, which was quite similar to a ticket window at a theatre with it’s glass and little round window through which you receive your tickets. We filled out the necessary paperwork, and found our way over to an available chair. I knew it was going to be a very interesting evening. In the meantime, my kids were split up and were being cared for by two very loving visiting teachers.
An hour and 40 minutes into our wait, I convinced myself that I was getting sicker just by being surrounded by drippy nosed, puking, feverish, green colored people. But then what must I look like to them? I’m sure that I wasn’t a very comforting sight either. I found hope when I started seeing the people just ahead of us, being called back one by one. And then my heart sunk. The people being called back, were just getting their vitals taken, and then sent back out to wait it out in the waiting room for who knows how long? Time seemed to stand still. At last we were called back. A nurse sat me in a chair and took my blood pressure, and listened to my heart. Then she gave me some sort of pain reliever. A doctor then saw me, and told me that it was going to be awhile. The nurse asked if we could wait a few minutes. She came back and said that she just couldn’t send me back to the waiting room because I looked so sick. She lovingly had found an empty gurney which she’d pulled into the hallway, where I could now be helped without returning to the waiting room. I was so grateful to that little plump nurse, and had I any strength left, I would’ve wrapped me arms around her. Once on the gurney, an IV was put into my right arm and I was administered fluids for severe dehydration, some sort of pain medication, and they started me on an antibiotic for pneumonia. Within 30 minutes of the pain medication, I became ravenous. I hadn’t eaten a real meal in at least 4 days and I was starving and had an amazing appetite. Brandon quickly left the hospital and returned with Rubios fish tacos which I happily slurped down and nothing ever tasted so good!! After more than 3 hours in the ER on a gurney, I was finally given a room on an upper floor. It was so good to be in my own private room, and be away from all the other sick people.
Over the next 4 days I was cared for by wonderful nurses and doctors, was served by amazing friends and ward members, and was prayed for by family far and near. My best friend and husband played Mr. Mom in the best way he could, juggling household duties, caring for children, working, and maintaining the duties of his calling. He would help the kids get ready for school in the morning, even making lunches, and successfully got them out the door by 7:40 every morning. Thankfully our car pool made arrangements during this time to help fill my morning driving duties. Once the kids were at school, Brandon was at the hospital with me, where he worked from his laptop and cell phone all day. When 3:00 came around, he went back home to be with the children, to help with homework, feed them dinner, and get them to bed. This he did for 5 days while I lay in a hospital bed having my food brought to me 3 times a day, and where I could just nap and watch t.v. to my heart’s content. During this stay in the hospital, I was visited by so many close friends. I was brought magazines, tons of flowers, cards, and oodles of treats. One close friend even brought a mini cake for Brandon, because he had no birthday celebration. The day we first came to the hospital was his birthday, so he was totally gypped by a selfish wife who trumped his special day. Another friend even brought lunch from Paradise Bakery one day, sparing me from the often un-edible hospital food. I even enjoyed a delicious peach shake from yet another friend. I was the most loved girl in the whole world.
After 5 days in the hospital, I was finally cleared to go home. I was not yet well, but could recuperate at home on oral antibiotics. When I arrived home, I was greeted by 3 precious little children who practically knocked my weakened body over with their hugs. I was so weak. I was still very ill, still couldn’t eat very much, and sleeping was a chore. I had to sleep sitting up to avoid the terrible cough that still plagued me. My chest was still very painful, ribs still bruised from all the coughing, and my back had terrible knots in it from sleeping on a less than comfortable hospital bed. I had been given Percoset to help with the pain, and I was taking that every 4 hours to help me stay comfortable.
I was so happy to be home. So happy to not have nurses waking me every hour to take my vitals. I was so happy to be in my nice soft bed, and happy to receive little pictures and notes from my sweet children who were happy that mommy was home. Sunday I slept. Monday I rested. Monday night I didn’t sleep. I was in severe pain. Brandon was sleeping on the couch with cell phone in hand, should I need him for anything during the night. At midnight, he was awakened by a text that read: “Come quick”. He bolted into the room, where I was doubled over on the floor, taking very short and labored breaths, and telling him that I felt like I might be having a heart attack. Never had going to the restroom been such a chore. After getting me comfortable in bed again, and giving me a painkiller, I restlessly tried to get some sleep. When Brandon walked into the room the next morning, he could tell by the look on my face and the dark circles under my eyes, that I had had no sleep at all.
At 1:00 Tuesday afternoon, 4 sweet Relief Society sisters arrived at my house with cleaning gear and began cleaning my house from top to bottom. As each woman arrived, they made their way back to my bedroom where I lay beneath my down comforter trying to stay warm. Among the comments I heard as they saw me for the first time were these: “Hi Wend. Oh wow you look terrible.” “Hey there. You don’t look like you’re feeling well at all.” “Wow. Shannon warned me that you looked awful.” I must say that at a time like that, I took absolutely no offense whatsoever to these kind of comments. Let’s face it, mirrors don’t lie. They were saying the same things to me. Here are the dead giveaways that a person is really really sick: grey skin, hollow cheeks, lost weight, hunched over shoulders, shuffling when walking. My friend Shannon told me just a few days ago, that when she walked into my room that day, she thought that she was looking at a corpse lying in my bed.
While ladies were cleaning my floors, dusting my nightstands, and even scrubbing my tub, I was being taken to the car by Brandon. I was in pajamas and socks once again. We were heading to our Primary Care Physician’s office for further care and find out the status of my health. After listening to my breathing with her stethoscope, the doctor sent us back to an Urgent Care for more chest x-rays. It was as though I was living a deja-vu nightmare that I couldn’t escape. We once again waited for more than an hour in an Urgent Care. We waited even longer to get more chest x-rays. Then a doctor finally saw me. He said that my x-rays showed a great amount of fluid surrounding my left lung, and that he’d already called for an ambulance to transport me back to the hospital. I looked at him with disbelief and a feeling of hatred for what he was doing to me. I couldn’t go back to the hospital!! I began to panic. My breathing labored, I began to cry and telling Brandon that I couldn’t go back. I was sad for myself, but really panicked at what another hospital stay might do to my children. Brandon called my parents to tell them what was going on. I was taken to a back room, where I was placed on a gurney (sound familiar yet?) and given an IV for dehydration. They also started me back on the antibiotic for pneumonia. To aid my breathing, oxygen tubes were placed under my nose. In that moment, Brandon stepped back into the curtained room and announced that in just 2.5 hours my mom would be in Phoenix. It seemed impossible that in that short amount of time, my mom could be packed, to the airport, board a plane, and actually be in my hometown. It was then that the relaxed breathing began. I knew that my kids would be cared for, that Brandon’s burdens would be lightened, and that I could just focus on getting well. My dear visiting teacher Pam was glad to assist in picking up my mom from the airport and getting her to my house. My dear friend Diana, had had my kids since school was out, had fed them dinner and lovingly cared for them until bedtime. She tucked them in to bed at my house, and Pam’s daughter stayed at my home until my beautiful mother walked through the door to take over. We were ever so grateful for my friend and Relief Society President Kara who went above and beyond in giving us her frequent flyer rewards in order to get my mom to Phoenix on such short notice. What a blessing!
I could feel the divine hand of Deity stepping in and making miracles happen, and I became calm and peaceful and was actually looking forward to a return to the hospital, where I knew they could make me comfortable, and help me to really heal. The ambulance arrived, and I was loaded onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of the vehicle. Really, there is nothing fun about an ambulance ride. It was quite surreal, and I hope to never have to do it again. Brandon followed us to the hospital. The only good thing about the ambulance ride, is that you get to avoid the waiting room of the ER and go through the special “glass doors” straight into the ER itself. I was transferred to a hospital gurney which was situated in the hallway, where I stayed for the next two hours. (Sounding familiar again?) I was administered an EKG in that hallway. Wow, nothing uncomfortable about having a really cute doctor adhere little sticky patches onto your naked body, under a gown, while your husband sits watching. Nope. Not uncomfortable at all! Eventually I was given my own little curtained room where I was sure I would only be for a couple of hours. Boy was I wrong!
After only an hour in this little curtained area, Brandon and I couldn’t help but begin our quotations of Brian Regan (comedian) once the nurse asked what my pain level was. It was just too easy to say it was about an 8. I was immediately given Morphine for my discomfort. Wow, did that feel good! An episode of “Intervention” flashed through my brain, and for a second I could understand what an addict must feel when that warm rush flows through your body, taking away any existing pain. Again, my appetite returned and I was ravenous. Brandon left to get me Chik-Fil-A which was minutes away, and minutes from closing. I was so happy to shove chicken pieces into my mouth, followed by waffle fries and tart lemonade. My tummy was happy, I was pain free. Brandon, in seeing my comfort decided to go home and get some sleep.
At 11:00 p.m. I was told that I’d be sleeping in this little partitioned area all night. YIKES! The lights were bright, the noise was merciless, and my feet hung off the gurney, making it impossible to sleep at all. I heard every siren, every whine, every cry, and Brian Regan again came into my mind. This ER did indeed sound like a haunted ward with people trying to out-do each other in the moaning department. Next door, I heard a woman say “I need to throw up”, and then the slap of the vomit as it hit the tiled floor. Then I heard the sliding doors open, and I could hear a woman screaming, “please help me! Please help me! The pain. The pain. Please help me!” She must’ve repeated this for at least 40 minutes. Again Brian Regan, “Quit your moaning! We’re all in pain here!” I later heard one nurse ask another, “can we help that woman with her pain?” to which the other responded, “no, she needs a spinal tap.” YIKES! I was happy to not be her. I was happy that every 2 hours I got more Morphine and I was pain free for a moment. I laid back on the gurney and shut my eyes. I could sleep for about 10 minutes at a time before some new emergency would wake me. At 1:30 a.m. I had my blood drawn. At 2:30, transport came to get me and take me for a Cat Scan. Nothing like getting a good night’s sleep huh?
When I finally made it back to my curtained area, the mystery patients on either side were quiet, and it seemed I might actually get a little sleep. Bright lights and all, I pulled the thin covers up under my chin and actually slept for a couple of hours. Then I was awakened by the voices of nurses. My neighbor was an old man, and although I couldn’t see him, I could tell by the way he talked that he had no teeth. The nurses were saying, “Robert, wake up. Robert we need to draw some blood.” He didn’t respond, so I guess they figured they could just go ahead. Then the profanities began. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Robert calm down. We’re just drawing some blood”. “Bull Sh@*! You’re trying to saw my *&$#&#@! arms off! You sons of bi*#&@#*!” At this point, I’m not sure if I was deliriously tired, or completely high on drugs, but I began silently laughing so hard that I thought that my lungs might surely burst. The most interesting part of the night came when I heard a woman explaining that she had overdosed and needed them to save her life. She named a concoction of drugs that floored me, and she begged for them to save her life. WOW! Can we say “messed up”?
The next morning at 5:00 a.m., the nurse threw back the curtain and asked, “how’d you sleep?” to which I responded, “I didn’t. You guys sure had an interesting night.” She pursed her lips very tight and said, “one of the worst nights I’ve seen in 15 years” to which I said, “glad I could be here for it!”
Brandon arrived with my mom. I was never so happy to see their faces. Their visit was cathartic to say the least. At 11:00 my mom left to go home to be with Emery when she arrived home. Brandon stayed close by. My Bishop arrived, and made me laugh harder than was comfortable. I begged him to stop. He had brought 4 large boxes of fresh bakery cookies to use as bribery for good help during my stay. I thought that was ingenious. The lung specialist, Dr. Bayasi came to see me. He told me I needed a procedure called a Thoracentesis. It wasn’t without its risks, but he promised if I signed the consent, he wouldn’t leave the hospital that day until it had been performed on me.
At around 1:00 in the afternoon, I was finally taken to a private room. Again. This time, just 3 doors down from where I was the week before. I was given great care. The nurses doted on me. I was given whatever I needed. I was kept very comfortable, but each movement was labored and my breathing was short and shallow and caused great discomfort in my chest. Changing positions on the bed, and getting up to use the bathroom were tremendously hard on my breathing. At times I thought I was having heart attacks again. We were told that Dr. Bayasi would perform the procedure in between 2:00 and 3:00. But 4:00 came and went and we heard nothing. By dinner time, I had worsened. I wanted no food. Pain killers weren’t doing their job anymore. I was in great pain and getting worse by the second. At 7:00 I was sure that Dr. Bayasi had gone home for the night. I told Brandon that if I survived the night, that I needed to write letters to the children in the morning. I was panicked that I would have to spend an entire night feeling this kind of pain. It didn’t help that with all the fluids running through my IV, that I was needing to use the bathroom several times an hour. Each time I had to get off the bed, Brandon would help me to the toilet. Each time I would cry from the pain, and my breathing became all the more labored. I couldn’t get a deep breath, and the sharp stabbing pains in my left side were debilitating. Our nurse was having no luck getting through to Ultrasound, which was required for the procedure. She was a quiet Asian nurse who kept saying, “I call down there, but they are very bissy. I don’t even know where Dr. Bayasi eese. He usually works in ICU.” It was now 8:30. Any hope I once had was now gone. Brandon disappeared. I assumed he went to find some answers or hunt down Dr. Bayasi himself. I later found out that Brandon had gone to the parking lot to a remote location and had called his parents. He broke down to them, and told them “I think I might lose my wife tonight”. They spent the next little while crying very hard together over the phone. When they ended the call, my in-laws dropped to their knees and began praying and pleading for my life. My mom at that moment was kneeling at my ottoman in my home, and pleading for the life of her daughter. My dad was home in Salt Lake praying for me as well. Brandon came back to the room, the pillar of strength and showed absolutely no weakness at all.
Then an angel appeared. No, not a real one you silly! Our nurse ended her shift, and a little male nurse took her place. His name was Rommel and he was from India. He was darling and had a mouth full of bright white teeth. Brandon pled our case and told him that he just had to find Dr. Bayasi and get Ultrasound to respond to our case. Within 15 minutes Rommel came waltzing into the room as if it wasn’t a big deal and said, “I hope you’re ready. Dr. Bayasi and Ultrasound will be here within 15 minutes to do your procedure. They don’t have an available O.R. so Dr. Bayasi will do it here in the room.” This nurse might as well have been bearing his testimony because my heart filled with peace, and I was instantly calm. When Rommel left the room, Brandon and I prayed together that the procedure would go well, and that no complications would arise. We were calm and assured that everything would work out fine.
Like Rommel promised, 15 minutes later the Ultrasound tech arrived with her cart and started the process. Just like getting an epidural, I sat hunched over on the bed. In walked Dr. Bayasi. Most people might be put off by someone so confident, but his confidence reassured me and I knew I was safe in his hands. The Ultrasound showed that my lung was already collapsed so there was no danger of him puncturing my lung with the large needle. Dr. Bayasi found two ribs through which to enter, and marked it with an X. He then administered a local to numb the site. He then inserted a large needle and tube through my left side into my chest cavity. The liquid began to drain from around my lung. I inhaled deep gulps of the air for the first time in days. The pain from the re-inflation of my lung was excruciating. I was given more Morphine, but the burning continued as each breath got deeper and deeper. I crushed Brandon’s hands, but held his glare. I began to cry from the pain. Dr. Bayasi announced that the procedure was over because no more liquid was coming out. We were absolutely shocked when we were shown the container holding 1.2 liters of fluid that had just been sucked from my body. I had Brandon snap a picture for fear that no one would ever believe it if I told them. The picture was immediately sent to anxious parents and other loved ones. By 9:30, the procedure was done, my room was cleared out from doctors, and Brandon and I sat in disbelief at the miracle that had just taken place. Tears were shed. (Rommel went home with to large boxes of cookies!)
My comfort level increased. I slept quite well, and I felt the healing taking place the next day. My appetite increased, and I was able to eat even hospital food. Homemade soup from my sister-in-law Arian was a welcome treat, and her food was gobbled up with much delight. I was kept in the hospital for another 2 days, while they tested the fluid for bacteria, and to keep antibiotics running through my body to continue healing my pneumonia. I was on a cocktail of medicine, that caused me to wake up with major night sweats, and a couple of times a night I had to call for a nurse to change my bedding, and I had to change into dry pajamas. Thankfully my mom and dear friend Diana had both purchased darling new pj’s for me, so dry jammies were never a question.
For obvious reasons, this second stay in the hospital had taken its toll on me. I missed home. I missed being of value. I missed everyday tasks. I missed my bed. I missed being up and about. But most of all, I missed my kids. Friday I called my mom and demanded that they all come to my hospital room and have a movie night with me. So they did. We ate snacks, and watched a cute movie from my hospital bed. It was so good to see them, hear their laughter, and feel their little hands wrap around me in loving hugs. What medicine! I got unhooked from my IV so I could walk them to the elevator that night. I was so sad as I watched the door close. When the door closed all the way, I heard Emmie break into loud sobs. (I later learned that she cried uncontrollably all the way home, and couldn’t easily calm herself to go to sleep.) That broke my heart! I made the long walk back to my room, where I slept on my side for the first time in a 3 weeks.
The next morning, Dr. Bayasi walked in the room at 9:00 a.m. and announced that the fluid drawn from my chest was bacteria free, my chest x-rays showed that the pneumonia was gone, and that I was ready to go home. My heart felt exhilarated!! I was going home. Some may say that it was the medicine and the doctors. For me, the ultimate healer was seeing my kids just the night before.
My entire Hurst family had fasted for my quick recovery just the day before I went home from the hospital. My mother-in-law called and had my name put on every temple prayer roll at every Temple in Utah. I had a Priesthood blessing from my dad and brother-in-law, a Priesthood blessing from Brandon and previous bishop, a blessing from Brandon and my current bishop. I was told that an aunt went and did a temple session and dedicated her service to my healing. I received text after text after text from friends and family saying that they were praying hard for me. I checked my Facebook account regularly from my IPAD and was astounded at the old friends and acquaintances who said they were praying for me. My ward members sent emails, and cards, and called Brandon to say that they had been praying so hard for my recovery. For anyone who says that prayer doesn’t work is just full of…………MORPHINE!!
I am happy to say that since that last night in the hospital, I have not had pain medication. Not even an Ibuprofen or Tylenol. I am pain free. My recuperation has been miraculous. I am taking it easy. I spend my days in my pajamas, so that it’s easy to stay home. I take naps when I get the least bit tired, and eat any time I want. I’m trying desperately to put back on the 10 lbs. that I lost during my sickness. I am motivated to get 100% better. I have a mom who checks in on me to make sure I’m not overdoing it. I have friends who continue to offer and bring food. I have a husband who continues to serve me, does the grocery shopping and hard housework, but allows me to do small things so that I’ll feel useful.
Besides the lesson on faith and prayer, I have learned how much I’m loved. I never thought that I would be the subject of such exerted faith. I never knew that I would be on the receiving end of something so trying. It is humbling to be so loved and humbling to have received so much service. I hope to recover completely and quickly so that I can begin giving service again.
I am thankful for so many things, that it’s hard to mention them all. I’m grateful for prayer. I’m grateful for the Priesthood. I’m grateful for amazing friends. I’m grateful for Relief Society. I’m grateful for my mom. I’m grateful for ALL the family members who prayed so hard for me, especially the little kids. I’m grateful for Temple prayer rolls. I’m grateful for food. I’m grateful for medicine. I’m grateful for Dr. Bayasi. I’m grateful for medical technology. I’m grateful for my amazingly supportive and loving husband. I’m grateful for 3 sweet and perfect children. I’m grateful for an amazing bishop. I’m grateful for flowers, cards, food, pajamas, and chocolate shakes. I’m grateful for two Priests who brought the sacrament to my house after I’d missed it for 4 weeks. I’m grateful for protein shakes. I’m grateful for being pain-free. I’m grateful for an appetite. I’m grateful for a full night’s sleep. I’m grateful for my comfy bed. I’m grateful to be able to get to do normal things again. I’m grateful for siblings. I’m grateful for walks in my neighborhood. I’m grateful for loving phone calls from my dad. I’m grateful for Arizona’s sunshine and blue skies. I’m grateful I’m still here. I’m grateful for Jesus. I’m grateful for God. I’m grateful for miracles.
Me and mom at the park on President's Day
Our family on President's Day (just 2 days after being released from the hospital)
My rockstar doctor, Dr. Bayasi who saved my life
