My oh my, what a week it’s been! On Wednesday a wasp stung my husband near his right eye while he was trying to clear out the insect’s nest (some of you may have read about it on FB). He’s been stung before. No big deal. He continued the yardwork, cleaned up his tools, and deflated our grandkids’ plastic pool. Five minutes later, he suddenly grew lightheaded. He walked into our house, told me that he felt very dizzy, sat on a loveseat, and immediately fell into unconsciousness.
The next three minutes seemed surreal. As our visiting 2-year-old grandson and 3- year-old granddaughter watched, our 24-year-old daughter dialed 911 while I tried to revive Gene. No luck. He slumped on the seat, his breathing labored. Perspiration soaked his body. Suddenly he opened his eyes, slurred a few words, and lapsed back into his unconscious state. That’s when his breathing stopped. I cried out to God for help. I don’t even remember what I said, but I know it was short. And desperate. Something like, “God—help!!!” Gene started breathing again, albeit very shallow.
“Lay him on the floor,” instructed the 911 operator. Easier said than done. Gene was dead weight, plus he had two cracked ribs—the result of slamming into a wave while tubing on a local lake last weekend. I couldn’t drag him to the floor if I tried, and I was afraid of causing more damage to his ribs, but I gave it my best effort.
That’s when hubby woke again. This time his eyes focused. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I should have turned his question around: “What are you doing?” but I held my tongue and continued trying to do as I was told. “Trying to put you on the floor,” I said.
His face registered confusion. “Why?”
“Because the 911 operator said so. You stopped breathing. Now work with me, would ya?”
Gene’s mental faculties cleared quickly. He knew he’d missed something somewhere: If he’d stopped breathing, and if his daughter was talking with 911, then he’d best listen and obey.
Minutes later, a fire engine with four uniformed men arrived. Next came the ambulance with two paramedics. After a quick assessment of Gene’s vitals, they loaded him into the ambulance and drove him to the hospital. There the staff ran a battery of tests, gave him Benedryl by IV, and scheduled him for a Cat scan on Thursday. His reaction, combined with headaches he’d been having lately, made the ER doc want to rule out the possibility of an aneurism.
Yesterday we spent the afternoon at the hospital again, this time for the scans. Results came back as normal, for which we’re very thankful. Next week Gene will undergo another test, this time to rule out a cardiac event.
Wednesday’s scene has replayed itself countless times in my mind. Those three minutes terrified me. I could scarcely believe that my husband might die suddenly and before my eyes. After the initial trauma subsided, however, we were faced with the possibility of an aneurism. The hospital requisition read, “URGENT.” We knew the doctor meant business.
The prospect of something sinister lurking in hubby’s brain unsettled me, but at least I had a few hours to process the possibility. In all honesty, I can say that I felt deep peace. Many people were praying, and I’m sure that had a lot to do with it. But I also know that the peace came from applying the truth that I’ve been teaching for several years.
Psalm 56:3,4 says, “But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you, I praise God for what he has promised. I trust in God, so why should I be afraid?” When crisis comes, we need not fear. What has God promised? That He will never leave or forsake us. No matter what life brings, His presence remains.
If you were one of those who prayed for Gene and I this week, I owe you a HUGE thanks. We’re grateful for your love and concern. To all who read this blog, have a great weekend. Keep putting your trust in the Lord and praising Him for what He has promised. If you have a minute or two, take time to ponder those promises.