Saved His Life

"You did the right thing. The AED saved his life," the nurse who talks like Moira told us when we first arrived yesterday morning.

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I hate watching the news, especially CP24, but it's one of the only channels that are ever on the TV at my in-laws. 

CP24. A lame Hallmark movie. Or a random Filipino vlogger. 

After what felt like the longest drive from the hospital to home, I managed to catch some of the news when we got home. They were talking about Damar Hamlin's cardiac arrest and the benefit of having AEDs in public spaces. 

Triggered.

Up until that point, I'd only replayed the muggy memories of Sunday in my head. You know how in Inception, the more you play a memory the more distorted it is? (I looked it up - memory distortion. It's a thing! So sad) That's how I've felt. 

A woman on the TV demonstrated how to use an AED.

The voice. Beeps. Wires and patches. 

It felt like I was back at church on Sunday. I tried to look away from the TV screen. I didn't want to hear the sound of the shock. I'd tried so hard to forget that sound.

Thankfully, they didn't include the shocking part in this news segment.

It's so weird how coincidental it is, that Pa would have a cardiac arrest at the same time some big-time athlete would, giving people reasons to talk about AEDs, CPR and all of that on public television. It's a reminder of how big and small the world is at the same time. 

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Today was my first "hopeful" day. I don't think I truly felt hopeful until this morning, and even as I'm writing that I worry that I'm just going to jinx this whole situation. But who am I kidding? I don't have that kind of power. 

I decided to join a work Zoom call, our team's first one of the year. I'll never take it for granted that I work with a Christian organization that encourages us to pray and talk openly about Jesus. Hearing my teammates pray for Pa and our family, feeling their genuine care through my computer screen, it felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Ah. So this is what community is for.

My husband and I are supposed to go on a cruise in a couple of weeks. Up until Sunday afternoon, I was so excited. The plan was that after our cruise, we'd drive up from Miami to Orlando to join my teammates for a leaders' retreat. 

When my supervisor said he'd be willing to reschedule the retreat just so I could join, I melted. I don't know how to explain it. It felt like all this tension and hardness in my heart just melted away. One by one, my teammates spoke with so much compassion. They were burdened for me. They were willing to do the same, even offering to meet here in the GTA so my husband and I could be closer to Pa. 

"Sorry," is all I could think to say. If we worked in an office, I would have hugged each of them.  

I'm so grateful and now hopeful, too.

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Pa is getting an ICD tomorrow. An implantable cardioverter defibrillator. It will help wake his heart up if it ever stops again and keep it at a healthy rate. That's my Sparksnotes version of my husband's very thorough and well-researched explanation. 

My hope has never been in a device or a procedure. They gave him two stents this week and, as reliable as the ones he's had for the last several years have been, even those can't save him. But, God, I hope this thing will work. I hope this is it. Please, shield his heart from more damage, God.

I don't remember writing about hope much these last few days. It's nice to have. Even if only for a little while.

"How are you doing?" a coworker asked me over Slack. 

"Today I'm feeling okay," I said. "Trying to enjoy the okayness while it lasts, however long that will be."

I don't know how long this hopefulness will stick. It's always been somewhere in there, buried beneath my pessimism and worst case scenario preparation, and only now it's come up to the surface. 

It's welcome to stay as long as it wants. I need to remind myself that negative outcomes are just as likely as positive ones. Pa has experienced medical staff fighting to keep him alive. Their job is to literally keep their patients healthy. Of course they're going to do their best. Imagine if they didn't. Man, if it were me, that would eat me alive knowing I could have done more for someone's life, like their actual ability to continue living.

The AED saved his life on Sunday. People saved his life on Sunday. My dear friends saved Pa's life on Sunday. Every day this week, nurses have saved Pa's life. This ICD, we know, has the ability to do the same and we hope it will. 

Overall I'm feeling grateful. This dark cloud of pessimism is going to roll in soon and rain on my 'hope parade'. Anxiety will be back tomorrow - well, let's be real. It'll fight to take over me tonight. 

God, I pray for rest. Calm my anxiety. Protect Pa's heart and mind. Help him to feel grounded in you. Prepare his heart for tomorrow's procedure. Prepare ours, too. We look to you, God. You order our steps. You're in charge of the results. All you ask is that we trust you and surrender.