(Circa August – mid-December, 2002)
Bill was born in North Hollywood, California on December 20, 1944 (during the waning days of WWII). His father was too old to be drafted and because he worked as a supervisor at Lockheed Aircraft in Burbank, California he was more valuable to the war effort there than in the military. He had an older sister and his mother worked at home, taking care of the household … a very typical family for that era.
In the early 50’s his parents felt that there was something lacking in their life and they realized that God might be the thing to fill that gap. So they began going to church. (Bill wasn’t too happy about it at first because he would have rather stayed at home to watch his favorite television show: “Mr. Wizard”.) But it was at church that his spiritual foundation began. Church became the focal point of their family and their relationship with the Lord gradually grew deep and strong.
As Bill grew into teenage-hood he became very involved in the church youth group and it was there that he met me. (See previous blog posts in “Season of A Teenager in Love”.) Together we went to youth group on Sunday mornings and evenings, Wednesday nights, numerous youth group outings and summer and winter camps every year. As our relationship grew, we knew that having Jesus as the foundation of our marriage was essential so together we placed our lives and our future into His hands.
Our life together went along fairly smoothly – until we moved to Flagstaff. It was there that Bill’s faith was stretched farther than it had ever been stretched before. He had to rely on Jesus for everything – from building his business, to providing for his family and to raising his children wisely. And he discovered that yes, God was faithful in every way.
But now, on August 23, 2002 Bill began to face the ordeal of his life – one that would change everything in his life forever. That foundation would be put to its ultimate test.
It was a Friday evening, August 23, 2002. I had decided to work from home that day, gratefully escaping the normal office hubbub so I could finally get some work done on a project. Bill had been busily working in his wood shop, building cabinets for our kitchen remodel. A monsoon storm had just cleared the sky, freshening the mountain air with its pungent scent of a summer rain. Shannon was preparing the house to welcome the junior high girls from church for a slumber party and Bill and I were planning to spend a hopefully quiet evening upstairs in our room, far away from the party downstairs. It had been a lovely day.
Bill, covered with sawdust, climbed the stairs to take a shower. He had been feeling rather ill for a while and his discomfort was getting worse and worse. Instead of a shower, he decided to take a hot bath, hoping it would help him feel better. But after soaking for a while in the bathtub, his pain became nearly unbearable. He crawled out of the tub and begged me to call 911. (Ummm, he did manage to get some clothes on…just sayin’…)
The ambulance parked in front of our house, its bright rotating lights illuminating the night sky, signaling trouble. The paramedics ascended our stairs, evaluated Bill and helped him downstairs and into the ambulance. The junior high girls bewilderedly gazed on the scene and our neighbors emerged from their houses to watch the action.
I slipped into the cab next to the driver, mortified by all the attention, yet fascinated by all the buttons and lights and levers in the ambulance cab. Bill, in the back, was writhing and crying out in pain. To be honest, I have a serious lack of empathy, which led me to complain to the paramedic, “He doesn’t know what pain is. He should try having a baby. He’s such a wuss!” But his crying out continued as we raced to the hospital, sirens screaming, lights flashing.
Once safely in an emergency room bed the doctors began evaluating him. After ruling out heart issues, they consented to begin giving him morphine. He was in such pain they were giving it to him every 10 to 15 minutes. Eventually they determined that he had gallstone pancreatitis and, much to my chagrin, I learned that pancreatitis can cause some of the worst pain anyone can have. Then I felt so bad for calling him a “wuss”. His pain really was legitimate and was certainly worse than childbirth. I repented.
By 3:00 in the morning he was admitted to the hospital and I went home for a few hours of fitful sleep. By 6:30 am I returned to the hospital and talked to the doctor. He had never seen such a bad case of pancreatitis. Bill’s pancreas had literally exploded and it’s a miracle that he was still alive, having about a 10% chance of survival.
Gallstone pancreatitis is caused by a gallstone that gets lodged in the bile duct, causing bile to back up and literally eat up the pancreas. Bill’s pancreas had been about 60% eaten up and if another gallstone were to be released, it could kill him. He needed gall bladder surgery asap. It was a simple procedure and he recovered from that quickly. However, in order for his pancreas to heal, he was not allowed to eat or drink anything by mouth – he wasn’t even allowed to suck on ice chips. This was the case for weeks.
A few days later, Shannon and I were eating dinner in the hospital cafeteria. Walking toward us was our family doctor who warmly greeted us. He sat down at our table to chat and we began to tell him about what happened to Bill. Then I proceeded to tell him about my appalling lack of empathy and how I called Bill a wuss and how I was so mortified with having the ambulance in front of the house and all the neighbors and junior high girls watching us.
Our doctor’s characteristic humor kicking in, replied, “Well, you could have told your neighbors that the paramedics were on a scavenger hunt and the last thing on their list was a wuss.”
Laughter is a wonderful, healing thing and that is what we did. We laughed until we cried and our stomachs hurt. I wanted to tell Bill about our encounter but I decided that … well, maybe it just wasn’t the right time yet, while he was still writhing in pain. (I’ve learned that timing is everything, if you know what I mean.) However, when Bill finally started to feel a little better I did tell him and he did get a kick out of it.
It’s amazing how interdependent the parts of our body are on one another (quite a picture of our spiritual life). One tiny gallstone caused Bill to lose about 60% of his pancreas. His liver and kidneys were in very bad shape. A few weeks later a relapse set his heart into atrial flutter and arrhythmia.
I won’t go into all the gory details, but between August and early December he had 3 separate stays in the hospital, totaling 28 days, several in ICU. He had ultra sounds, MRI’s, numerous CT scans and a cardio-vert. He suffered dehydration from 2 huge “pseudo-cysts” pushing against his stomach. He had surgery to drain the cysts and had a bag attached to his abdomen for over 4 months until they could do a surgery to plug up the “fistula” and drain the cyst into his stomach. (Draining the bag into the toilet or cleaning up the bed when it leaked was my job … I’ll never forget the stench.)
The good news is that he lost 75 pounds, although I wouldn’t recommend this “diet” to anyone!
… and this was only the bare beginning … We could never have fathomed what lay in store for us. But we had to take each gut-punch one at a time – and keep trusting God to get us through.
Isaiah 41:10 says, “Fear not for I am with you; be not dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
And that’s just what he did. I can’t lie. We were afraid. We were discouraged. We felt like we were sinking. And we discovered that it was okay to feel that way. Our self-created façade of “strength” had been stripped away. We had to be honest with God and with other people. We couldn’t handle it.
But then we discovered that GOD could handle it for us. And we discovered that our foundation was solid and strong. Bill never entertained questions like: “why me?” or “why is God punishing me?” No, because of his strong foundation, from the depths of his being he knows that no matter what, God loves him and that whatever happens in his life God will use it for his purpose – and his purpose is always good.
But this saga certainly didn’t end in December, 2002. There’s so . much . more. Stay tuned…