Our Miraculous Easter Weekend

I thought my days of using this blog were long gone, but I need a space today to share my feelings. My feelings of gratitude are too great to keep them bottled inside. I'm struggling to write anything that does justice to what I have felt and experienced this Easter, bear with me.

To give you some crucial background information: In a fight with cervical cancer this year, my mom has undergone a hysterectomy, long months of nasty chemotherapy, and half of the required five weeks of radiation. Though this has left her bed ridden for months at a time,  in the past few weeks we have seen a full recovery of her normal habits. She has even started going on relatively long walks with my dad in the past few weeks. She was scheduled to have a heart surgery this fall after she had time to recover from the cancer treatments.

Late Thursday night/Friday morning my mom woke up to use the restroom. My dad accompanied her as she still feels very weak at times. When they returned to bed, my mom told my dad that she felt dizzy. She then began saying, "Help me, help me". My dad turned on the light to see what the problem was. Though her eyes remained open, her body first began convulsing and then became unresponsive. He checked for vital signs and could tell she was still breathing. He immediately called the ambulance.

She was taken first to the Preston, Idaho hospital, then to Logan Regional Hospital in Logan, UT and then life-flighted to University of Utah Hospital in Salt Lake City, UT. She arrived there Friday morning.

Meanwhile, I was at home cleaning and preparing for a trip to their house for our Easter weekend. My phone was turned off and I had no idea that my mom was in danger (not unusual for me if you know my phone habits). Ammon talked to my dad briefly at work and as soon as he could (around 11:30) rushed home to tell me the news. I called my siblings and got the full story, he took the rest of the day off and we rushed down to be at the hospital. Before we arrived at the University of Utah we got another call that after hearing my dad's story and looking at her body's response, the doctors believed she had had a massive heart attack.

My brother, Mark, who was nearest to the hospital met the life-flight helicopter when it arrived at the University of Utah. My dad quickly packed for a hospital stay and drove down to Salt Lake to meet them. Mark was able to talk to my mom for a few minutes before they whisked him away. He said that her eyes remained closed, but anytime he said anything she squeezed his hand like she could understand.

By the time Ammon and I arrived in the waiting room and talked with my dad and brother, they had already met with a team of surgeons and given consent for a major emergency heart operation to clear the blockage from the supposed heart attack. My dad informed me that there was up to a 60% chance that she would not survive the surgery due to the procedures that would have to take place in combination with her weakened condition from the cancer treatments. Waiting for word from that surgery was the darkest hour for me.

At the end of the surgery, we talked with several different surgeons, the first explained that they went in to clear the blockage from the heart attack and found none. She apparently hadn't had a heart attack, which meant the surgery became a lot less risky. They hit a tight valve (her original heart problem she was scheduled for surgery in the fall to correct) with a surgical balloon five times. They didn't dare do anymore as the stress from the procedure can cause a stroke. This loosened up her valve a little and meant her heart was able to function around 10-15%. The normal heart functions around 60-70%. The left side of her heart is very weak, they think as a result from the chemotherapy treatments.

Another doctor told us the plan. Though she hadn't had a heart attack, because of the low level functioning of her heart she had congestive heart failure. Her lungs were filled with fluid, and it was difficult for her to get blood to her organs. First they would be putting her on intravenous medications that would help her heart pump. The next goal would be to get her body to respond well enough to switch to oral medications that would then start to mend her weak heart.

Visiting hours were over by that point and we left to sleep for the night. When I called the next morning my dad said my mom was very alert and somewhat knew what was going on. They had a billion tubes connected to her, but what she didn't like was the vent down her throat that was helping her breathe. (As a premature baby I had had this same vent and hated it so much I eventually pulled it out myself.) My mom had the same idea so they had to restrain her arms all night to prevent her from taking anything out.

I knew that my mom was recovered enough to regain her normal personality when my dad described her frustration about the vent and her glares at the doctors and nurses who wouldn't take it out immediately. :)
We drove back to the hospital and I got to go in and talk to her --a huge blessing that I was afraid I would not ever get again during the surgery the night before.  She couldn't talk because of the breathing vent at first and so she wrote her responses on a piece of paper. The very first thing she wrote was "I love you all." After a short time being there, the doctors finally agreed to take the vent out of her throat and she did well enough they could leave it out. She became much happier and could talk with us.

Throughout Saturday and Sunday morning she had small signs of progression during our visits, but overall not enough to ease the worries of the doctors. By Sunday night we got the word that they needed to operate immediately. She was not getting enough blood to her vital organs.If we didn't operate there was a 0% chance she would live, if we did there was a 70% chance. There was no argument from us.(We found out later from the surgeon that by the time she arrived at the operating table she was nearly gone, if the surgery hadn't of taken place that night we would have lost her.)

We stayed in the hospital until around 11:00 last night waiting for the results. The surgery started around five o'clock at night and we would get calls every two hours with updates that really didn't tell us anything, like "it's going just about as good as can be expected." Finally when the surgeon came out, it was good news. The surgery was done, a new valve is in place and her heart is enjoying the increased pumping ability. Everything went lots better than he expected. Now hopefully onto the recovery phase, she will most likely be in the ICU for around another three weeks.

Despite the craziness of this weekend we still maintained a little normalcy when we were away from the hospital. At my in-laws house (They were kind enough to watch Logan and provide us with beds and food through this whole ordeal.) we still dyed and found eggs, the Easter bunny arrived, and we watched some uplifting Easter videos.

One of the videos really stuck out to me. It was a message by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. He talks about the timetable of Christ's last days and his resurrection. I couldn't help but compare it with our schedule this weekend. All this drama began on Thursday night, the day when the celebration of passover begins. Friday, my most difficult day, was the day that Christ atoned for our sins and was crucified. And Sunday, when my mom's recent miraculous surgery took place was the day of our Savior rising again, and being perfected, returned to His Father.

I have felt close to my Heavenly Father and Savior many times in my life, but this weekend I felt a greater dependence on Them and acceptance of Their will more than ever before. I know that my mom is in their hands. Elder Holland talks about the extreme loneliness that Christ went through in those last days leading up to his death. Though surrounded by family, friends, and the prayers and support of so many people this weekend I also felt that extreme loneliness many times. I am so grateful for our Savior Jesus Christ, that he knows our hearts, and has experienced all the pain and afflictions we will ever face. In my loneliest moments I received strength from Him.

I want to send out a huge thank you to my family. Thank you to my dad and brothers for banding together and being so strong this weekend. Thank you for your examples and your worthiness to hold the priesthood and exercise it.

 Hero isn't an adequate word to describe my dad. I love him so much. This has been harder on him than on any of us and he helped the rest of us through it all. Every doctor and nurse who came anywhere near my mom got nothing but heartfelt thanks from him no matter the news they were bringing. One of the first things he said when I first arrived at the hospital was "I know that Heavenly Father has a plan for her. I just don't know which one it is yet. But either whether she makes it or not, He knows best."

Thank you to everyone  for all the prayers on our behalf. Please keep them coming.