My First Love

   She stood on the creek bank terrified.  She was unable to push past the fear, even though it was what she wanted most.  She was shier than anyone truly knew.  And to have all eyes on her was almost more than she could take.  She had loved to dance, and dance she did, but this was different.  She would have immediate acceptance or immediate rejection based on this performance. 

  And so, it had come to this:  an impromptu rehearsal of the big event.  And yet, her feet would not move.  She was embarrassed.  The people that looked on were the people that she knew the best, her family.  If she could not get past this performance, how would she ever face the one that truly counted?  She had never done this before.  Maybe she should have never signed up to do it. 

  Her thoughts were interrupted with the encouraging cheers of her family.  She saw her mom smiling and prompting her to go.  She saw her brothers watching, as well.  Her heart was pounding, and she had just about given in to the fear.  And then, from the edge of the woods and into the middle of the sandy stage, her dad bounced.  “Hey, Gang!  My name is Davis! And I’m going to do a cheer called ‘Two Bits!”  As he shouted, he had his hands balled into perfect cheerleader fists. (NO thumbs showing!)  As she looked on, amused, he went through the whole routine.  Little by little the fear began to melt away and what had seemed un-doable became doable.  If he could do it, she could do it!

  You were my first love.  You embodied all the qualities of the perfect man.  Big and strong, you were possessive of two arms in which I found safety.  You were funny and witty, and able to quickly elicit my laughter.  I thought you were so handsome!  I often thought of you as my ‘John Wayne’, tough with an unmistakable tenderness. Above all, you showered me with love every day.  You were a first impression of what my Heavenly Father was like, you were my Daddy.

   You continue to be wise counsel.  You taught me the importance of noble character.  You have displayed honor in your own life and encouraged me to follow suit.  You are my cheerleader, and my encourager.  You were the spiritual leader in our family and humble of heart.  You speak your mind with clarity, even though, you are quick to admit that you don’t have all the answers.  You are kind and patient and a wealth of wisdom. 

  We promoted you from “Daddy” to “Pappy” with the births of Seth, Ashley, Zane, Megan, and Wil.  Your mentoring has continued on with them.  I have had the pleasure of watching my own children sit at your feet, as toddlers, hanging on your every word.  I watch them now, as young men, do the same thing. 

  I often think back on that day on the creek bank.  I wanted to be a cheerleader, but was too afraid to even practice in front of family, much less, the student body.  By your actions, Daddy, you challenged me to reach for a goal that seemed impossible.  That same scenario has played out several times in my life, and each time you have been there to cheer me on.  I am so thankful that God chose you to be my Dad.

Happy Birthday, Pap!  I love you.

Chucky

The Problem with Being a Lab Rat

   The problem with being a lab rat is that you never know what is going to happen to you.  Signing on to be a part of a drug trial, to test experimental medications, can be a regular barrel of monkeys.  Over time, there have been several unpleasant side-effects that I have had to deal with, including losing most of my hair and losing the clotting factors in my blood.  But, one such side effect that I was not ready to deal with was a hospital room mate.

   I had been admitted to the hospital because my blood would not clot.  The trial drug that I was testing had an unexpected effect of enhancing the blood thinning medication that I regularly took.  I was admitted for blood transfusions and to make sure that I had not begun to bleed internally.  Unfortunately, I felt perfectly fine.  I was stuck…in an overcrowded hospital….with no private rooms available. I was given the option of staying in the emergency room another night, in hopes that one would come available.  But, my husband quickly jumped in and insisted that I needed my rest in a room on the floor.

  To begin with and needless to say, I did not want to be there.  But, my condition was serious enough that my doctor recently told me it was a God-thing that my brain had not started to bleed.  So, I had to do what I had to do, and that meant rooming with Karen.  (I did NOT change her name, because she had NO innocence to protect.)   Karen was nice enough, I suppose.  We exchanged pleasantries as we got to know one another.  She was in for suspected heart issues.  She was a good bit older than me and had a few more children than I.  Little did I know how intimately I would get to know them…all.   Everything was fine until my husband had to leave. 

   He had never left me in the hospital before…forever by my side…always there…until then.  I remember tearing up like a kid being left at camp for the first time.  If he could only read my mind…and then…what?  I know he didn’t!  Yes, he did!!  His eyes never left mine as he gently nodded toward my roommate and giggled before turning and walking out the door.  On second thought, it was probably a good thing that he could NOT read my mind.

   Karen was hooked up to several thousand dollars’ worth of cardiac monitoring equipment that she periodically knocked, pulled, or otherwise dropped on the floor. The next few nights were a blur of being jolted awake in the night with the clattering of equipment, the smell of cold – one day old, two day old, and finally three day old- fried catfish that she would sit on the side of the bed and gnaw in the middle of the night, and the loud talking.  Ah yes, I remember it still. 

   But in order to truly understand the nights, you must understand the days.  The days started with phone calls, in a quiet - sickly voice, to friends and family to let them know that she was in the hospital and to share with them that the food was bad and that she could sure use and order of (insert your favorite fast food here, and don’t forget the catfish).  The following day would begin with a call back to aforementioned friends and family for the purpose of reaming them out.  “Why you ain’t come to see me?”  Even though, daily, her side of the room, as well as mine, was full of her family members with which she intermittenly fought.  Daily, my husband would return – well rested and chipper and acting as though he knew a really funny joke of which I was a part.   Was vowing revenge a sin in this instance?  Even so, as evening came around I noticed that he was way too eager to leave again.

   Oh and that brings us back to the nights…now where was I?  I remember…the loud talking.  The nights were punctuated with several bouts of, “Oh Lord Jesus, I got the gas!”  followed by more gnawing on leftovers.  Finally, after several nights, I had taken all I could and I agreed out loud, “Yes, Lord Jesus, she does!”  The next morning my husband found me walking laps in the hallway, “I am being released today,” I told him.   He was surprised that the doctor had made it in so early.  I told him I had not seen the doctor yet, but that I was going home TODAY.  If my brain had not already been about to bleed, it was now.  Sure enough, with much arm twisting I was released and happy to go home.  I had never been so glad to leave someplace, in all my life. 

  Although I can laugh about it now, I remember it as a nightmare.  I have not forgotten those few days, and guess I never will.  I have not let my husband forget them either…

There Is No Such Thing As Luck : Conclusion

   The fifteen minute ambulance ride was a pitiful affair.  I cried the whole way to the hospital while the driver tried his best to make small talk.  A short x-ray later and we were moved to a different ambulance and sent to Hermann Memorial at Medical Center-Houston.  A pediatric neurosurgeon was on standby awaiting our arrival. 

   I spent the next hour praying and looking back to check on my sweet eight year-old baby.  He looked so small and so incredibly vulnerable.  If a heart could burst, mine would have been in a million pieces.  My mind could not and would not conceive of what the future might hold.  My fervent prayer was that he would be spared and I would be strong enough to handle come what may.

  Unsure of what to expect when the emergency room doors opened, we were a little unnerved to be met, first, by a camera crew with cameras rolling.  Our story had come over the radio and had caught the attention of the crew filming TLC’s “Trauma: Life in the ER”.   After an initial assessment, Wil was sent for a cat-scan and further x-rays.

   A short time later the surgeon arrived with film in hand and asked me to step into the hallway.  As we began to head toward the x-ray light box he said, “Can I just tell you how very lucky he is?”  As he talked he shoved the film under the clip and immediately I was captured by the picture of my son’s skull.  From the crown of his head to the bottom of the skull was a jagged crack forming a backward “J”.  Although a portion of the bone had been crushed inward, the doctor hesitated to do surgery right away. Because the wound was closed, he had bled inside the skull.  Even so, the doctor wanted to monitor him for a few days to see if the bleeding would stop naturally. 

   Several days later we were released to go home and convalesce.  The best part of the ordeal according to Wil was that he got to miss the last three weeks of school.  For me, the best part was bringing home an on- the- mend second grader.  Shortly after returning home, we were surprised by a knock at the door.  The EMT’s that had come to our house the day of the accident, returned to check on him.  They talked to Wil and wished him well.  I thanked them for helping not only a wounded child, but a scared, desperate mom.  As they were leaving, the one that had driven, nodded toward Wil and said, “I honestly didn’t know if he was going to make it.”     

   He was home from college the other day.  Having recently turned twenty, he has grown into a fine young man.  A semi-horseshoe indention in his skull serves as a beautiful reminder of God’s awesome power and mercy.  Although God always deals in second chances, we know, there is no such thing as luck.

Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come.  Psalm 71:18

There Is No Such Thing As Luck

“Mom?”  His tone seemed unhurried, but serious.  “I think Wil is hurt.”  Those were the words that interrupted our “school morning” routine.  After breakfast, they had gone outside to wait for the bus that would pick them up at the end of our driveway.  Today, something had gone terribly wrong.

  Getting outside a little early had always been a bonus for them.  They used the extra minutes to play, what boys play, before school. This day had been like so many others and yet I knew immediately that something was not right.  With a jolt to the heart I realized that I heard nothing.  No screaming, no crying, no threats – nothing.

   I dropped what I was doing and immediately ran for the front door.  As I stepped off our porch, I saw him.  He sat on the driveway clutching the back of his head.  I reached him before his brother said, “He fell from the rim of the basketball goal.”  I reached out to him and found with a sickening touch that the back of his head was mushy.   Without a thought to further injury I scooped him up into my arms and carried him inside.  I ordered his brother to make sure he did not fall asleep while I called for an ambulance.  I rushed to the phone and called, all the while praying that he would be okay.  Thankfully there was a fire station situated in our neighborhood.

  As I returned to the livingroom and held him, time slowed to a crawl.  I was aware that head injury victims could go from lucid to unconscious quickly, as the brain began to swell.  Terror congealed in my veins and turned my heart into an icy lump.  Finding it difficult to breathe and even more difficult to speak, I began to talk to him.  If these were to be his last conscious moments, I wanted to fill the time with everything I wanted him to know.  I told him how much his dad and I had wanted him, how much we loved him, how proud we were of him, and how he fulfilled our hopes.  He lay limp in my arms as the first responders arrived.  I handed his small body over to them and watched as they began to work with him…