August 24, 2018
Day 7 post transplant
Day 7 post transplant
Around 2:30AM, I heard ice clinking against the sides of her stainless steel drink tumbler. In the two weeks we've been roommates, I've never known her to get up for ice in the wee hours of the morning. While we are redefining normal every day and have done so since her diagnosis, I knew this was anything but normal. Sick to her stomach, plus a fever of 101.1, also not normal. Over the next hour, a series of phone calls were made...one to the on-call service, the doctor on duty calling me to confirm the details he had received, his call to The Unit's charge nurse to make sure there was an available bed and then his final call informing me that everything was a go...and that's what we were to do...GO. By 4:00AM, we were rolling through the doors of The Unit and letting go of our hopes of staying clear of "in-patient" status for the duration of this process.
The next eight hours passed in a flurry of activity. The medical staff moved with confidence in what was a well practiced piece of choreography. Her body was waging war with an immune system that could barely stand on it's own two legs. The fever was quickly subdued by T*lenol, liter after liter of fluid, and the kind of antibiotics that can only be administered intravenously. The AFib that was in full blown tantrum when we arrived was finally under control, thanks be to God for working through the capable hands of her day shift team.
My mind was waging war with my Inner Critic...that voice that can be heard no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Lyrics from various songs flew through my head as my heart tried to silence The Inner Critic. "A mighty fortress is our God...still I will praise you...when peace like a river attendeth my way...our God will not be moved...He will bear you up on eagles' wings." On the front end of this process, we were thoroughly educated about the risks. The chance of serious infection was well communicated. Fever was plainly identified as the primary reason for readmission during the first fourteen days post transplant. Repeatedly, I was reassured that this was nothing of our doing. No matter...the voice of my Critic raged. When blood cultures returned showing a particularly nasty bacterial infection that likes to hang out in central lines...like the one in her chest...the volume of The Inner Critic's raging increased. Confusing statements from a member of the treatment team didn't help. What was meant as a joke cut me to the core and added fuel to The Critic's fire.
On Day 13, she was released. Back in our apartment, hearing The Critic's voice wasn't quite as easy as we reestablished our routine. The key to silencing the criticism was something I heard on the radio. How arrogant am I to think that there is anything that I can do to mess up God's plan for this situation? He is either completely sovereign or he's not. He's either totally in control or he's not. Where am I placing my hope? Am I pinning it on the healing or The Healer? Is my hope "in Christ alone" or not? Am I trusting the truth that says I am enough because I am a child of God? Am I squandering precious time trying to prove my worth using worldly standards?
Perspective shifted. Inner Critic silenced.
Blessedly silenced.
The next eight hours passed in a flurry of activity. The medical staff moved with confidence in what was a well practiced piece of choreography. Her body was waging war with an immune system that could barely stand on it's own two legs. The fever was quickly subdued by T*lenol, liter after liter of fluid, and the kind of antibiotics that can only be administered intravenously. The AFib that was in full blown tantrum when we arrived was finally under control, thanks be to God for working through the capable hands of her day shift team.
My mind was waging war with my Inner Critic...that voice that can be heard no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Lyrics from various songs flew through my head as my heart tried to silence The Inner Critic. "A mighty fortress is our God...still I will praise you...when peace like a river attendeth my way...our God will not be moved...He will bear you up on eagles' wings." On the front end of this process, we were thoroughly educated about the risks. The chance of serious infection was well communicated. Fever was plainly identified as the primary reason for readmission during the first fourteen days post transplant. Repeatedly, I was reassured that this was nothing of our doing. No matter...the voice of my Critic raged. When blood cultures returned showing a particularly nasty bacterial infection that likes to hang out in central lines...like the one in her chest...the volume of The Inner Critic's raging increased. Confusing statements from a member of the treatment team didn't help. What was meant as a joke cut me to the core and added fuel to The Critic's fire.
On Day 13, she was released. Back in our apartment, hearing The Critic's voice wasn't quite as easy as we reestablished our routine. The key to silencing the criticism was something I heard on the radio. How arrogant am I to think that there is anything that I can do to mess up God's plan for this situation? He is either completely sovereign or he's not. He's either totally in control or he's not. Where am I placing my hope? Am I pinning it on the healing or The Healer? Is my hope "in Christ alone" or not? Am I trusting the truth that says I am enough because I am a child of God? Am I squandering precious time trying to prove my worth using worldly standards?
Perspective shifted. Inner Critic silenced.
Blessedly silenced.
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