The Edge of Hope.

The persistence of faith, in the presence of despair.

There are many stories from the hospital that I still carry with me, stories of grief, of loss, and of hope manifesting in the unlikeliest of places.

At first glance, grief and hope may seem impossible companions, yet if I have learned anything from my tenure in healthcare, it is that hope can spring forth anywhere, often most abundantly amid doubt and pain.

This is one of those stories.

Details altered accordingly to comply with HIPAA regulations.

“Am I dying?”

Her words pressed against the chill, hanging in the air like a ghost. Her gaze drilled through my eyes in yearning, holding onto my every breath and quiver. I hesitated, not knowing the extent of her bleeding, blood pooling in the delicate spaces around her brain, pressing inward, building silent pressure that threatened her life.

The Emergency Department was buzzing. Every room held another story of sadness, grief, and despair. The lobby was full, the staff shuffling room to room in rapid procession, surgical masks and nitrile gloves littering the floor. My pager had gone off a quarter past five, followed soon by the overhead announcement of a Level I stroke enroute. I had just finished up dinner when she was rushed in to the bay, every section of her body fastened tightly to the gurney wheeled in by two EMS workers, who quickly began giving report to the attending nurse and physician.

She sat upright, a look of pure terror in her face as she studied the room and saw the array of medical equipment and needles carefully stationed upon the counter, waiting for her. An EMS with a full sleeve of tats and a brow full of sweat brushed by me in the doorway as he wheeled out the bed. “Husband is enroute. Not sure how this one is going to go. Good luck.”

As a Chaplain of a 500-bed hospital, each night was profoundly unique. Clocking in meant clocking out of my perceptively familiar world and conceding to the microcosm of the hospital, an ecosystem of unpredictable, unsurmountable highs and crushing lows standing tall within the heart of the city.

Life beyond these walls persisted all the same, meandering to-and-fro on daily commutes and rituals, unperturbed by any other reality that was truly only a breath away should misfortune interrupt the schedule. It really was a world between worlds, invisible to all but those who had seen within.

Fifteen minutes passed and soon an older man in a bright orange coat and glasses limped into the room holding a cane, a dusty workman’s cap perched upon his head. His eyes were wrinkled and puffy over a stony face, a face that didn’t crack often. He walked right by me and two nurses talking in the doorway, not seeing anything but his wife who now sat upright in bed. Cables ran in every direction from both her arms and chest, yet he approached nonetheless and took her hand, his cane falling to the floor.

An eternity passed between their eyes, head on head, crying softly together in unison.

The hospital care team honored their privacy, monitoring the hallway awaiting the individual that would come to take her to the CT scan where we would all know the extent of her bleeding. Once they had, we finally knew what we were dealing with.

“Ma,am,” the doctor began, a look of steady urgency in his posture. “You have what we call a subarachnoid hemorrhage, evidenced by a ruptured cerebral aneurysm.” He gathered himself. “In other words, you have an active and very dangerous brain bleed. It’s quite lucky that you are still awake and alert like you are. We must have caught it early.

“We are going to do everything in our power right now to resolve the bleeding and prevent any further damage within your cranial space. Until then, we are going to monitor your vitals closely to ensure you will be stable enough for a procedure in the next few hours. We will check back very soon.”

And off he went, his white coat whipping behind him as he turned the corner and vanished from sight. The husband continued to stand hunched over the bed, his brow pressed softly into her temple, processing the news. There was a hush that fell curiously, unnaturally into the room screaming with unspoken thoughts and silent prayers.

I learned that it had been just another Friday night of pizza and movies, the two of them snuggled warmly on the couch enjoying the ritual they had cherished every week since they had gotten married over fifty years ago. Suddenly there was a gasp and a flash of heat pulsating in her temples that made her fall forward, clutching onto her head as though it were a ticking time bomb. Her husband didn’t take any chances and called 911.

Here they remained before me, their lives turned traumatically upside down in a matter of thirty minutes. We waited and I continued to pray, yearning for hope, or a good word to say to ease the weight.

No words ever came.

The husband reached for the bedrail and, using it for support, stood straight. “You never would think it could happen to you or come after the person you love with your whole heart,” He sighed heavily. “But even still, the Lord is my shepherd. He will guide us.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

Photo by Zoran Kokanovic on Unsplash

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The next morning there was sunlight rays and warmth, piercing the accumulation of hoarfrost etched upon the ICU window that weaved and reached like icy spiderwebs. She lay still there, now medically intubated and sedated, a soft glow from one of the rays illuminating her face. Her husband slumped in the vinyl chair dragged up next to her bed, his cap draped cattywampus over the side of his head not resting on his arm.

He hadn’t slept all night. That part was obvious.

I turned to the attending nurse, standing at a desk charting right outside of the room. “Well, how’d it go?” I asked.

“About as good as expected. The doctor didn’t mention anything to the contrary,” he reported. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Though between us, her vitals look pretty all over the place. She’s hypotensive and her neurological exam keeps worsening. They’re seeing signs of increased intracranial pressure, and even her labs are pointing toward systemic decline. I notified the doctor and he noted that even if she survives this, she will likely have very permanent ramifications. And that’s if she pulls through at all.”

“How’s the husband taking all this?” I peeked back into the room just as his head slipped off the hand that was holding him and he startled upright before slowly drifting back to sleep.

“That’s the craziest part. Even when we had the consult with palliative care and he was told the extent of her injury, he seemed calm, collected. Even through tears, he stood up and shook our hands, each of us, and asked if he could pray for everyone on the team. I’ve never had anyone do anything like that before.”

A smile crossed my lips. “He had referenced scripture to me when I met with him last night. I think their faith is great, their hope, greater.”

“I just hope he can comprehend that she might actually die, not just wake up and be back to normal.”

I thanked the nurse for his care, whispered a silent prayer, and stepped into the room. The husband squinted up at me, his hand draped over her bed clutching her hand. “I can come back later,” I said. “I don’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to check in to see how you both are doing.”

“No no, please stay,” he stood up. “I’m glad you’re here. My Abigail did exceptional through the procedure, but even still I’m not so sure she is going to pull through. Doc says it’s all up in the air right now. Ain’t that the truth about life… it’s all up in the air, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very true,” I stated. “But I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine what you must be going through.”

“You know something? The Lord granted us fifty-five years of marriage. Fifty-five good years of laughter and adventure and love. For that, I’m thankful to the Lord. It is by His grace that we have been able to enjoy life for this long.

“He carried us through every high and every low, kept me safe in my army deployments and in her birthing four children. Gave us a place here that we could call a home and raise a family. I don’t doubt for a second that the Lord will carry us through whatever comes next.”

“That’s beautiful,” something in my voice caught. “And incredibly God-inspired. Can I pray with you?”

I prayed and then he prayed over me too. The whole time, tears flooded our eyes and for an instant, I thought I caught a glimpse of Christ Himself weeping in our midst.

Abigail did not survive.

It was two days later that they called it and began the extubation process. The grief was palpable, but not despondent. Something else lingered there too.

Hope.

When she took her final breath, the husband, with head and heart raised, eyed me, solemn. “Chaplain, can we sing the hymn, It Is Well with My Soul? She’d like that. Then I may kindly request a few minutes to be alone with her, till we meet again.”

Photo by Gilles DETOT on Unsplash

When peace like a river, attendeth my way
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul

It is well
With my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate
And hath shed His own blood for my soul

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul

My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, o my soul!

It is well (it is well)
With my soul (with my soul)
It is well, it is well with my soul