The worst torture I have experienced in my life was meeting with doctors in Nice. Every time I felt my heart pounding and the darkness fall over my whole being. I felt sick wishing for one thing only - to crumble down under the pressures of life, or at least to be medically-induced into coma so I can sleep through this nightmare and wake up when he is better... Monday, June 11, was the worst yet.
Just the previous weekend conversing with my husband's body and massaging his senseless extremities was gradually turning into a more exciting routine. Scott woke up and was able to nod and blink to our questions, was able to move his legs and faintly squeeze my hand. My spirits were boosted and I was dreaming of taking him home, telling him about this crazy scary story about him barely making it, about his long nap on life support, and about the fright he gave me. So, after he recognized us and tried to talk to us; after the doctors checked brain swelling off the worry list; after I managed to eat a good celebratory lunch; and after Steve and Kathy booked their tickets back to the States, the Monday happened. 40 C fever, shaking, coughing up blood, O2 back to 100%, and the worst of all –
I go in during visiting hours and a young doc says I cannot see him now, I must wait outside until our translator is here. Picking around him I am mortified to see the door to his room shut and through the glass I see several people in masks and full gear hovering over my Scottie.
“Is he ok?” I ask in a weak voice.
“I can’t tell you anything now... When your translator is here, ok? You must wait outside..” was his hurried reply.
I was officially in panic. Stepping out of the ICU I try to explain Kathy and Stephen what's going on (which is hard, since I don't really know WHAT is going on.) Choking on my words I give up and start wandering away shaking with tears and immense fear. Is that it then? Is that it, he is dying right there right now and the doctor is just afraid to tell me about it in his broken English?! He is waiting for a translator so she can deliver the news to me in a more dignified manner. Oh, how I don't want this news! How I want to drown in my grief so I don't have to explain anything to anyone!
Suddenly someone grabs and holds me tight. Really, it could be anyone, I was not aware of stuff around me anymore. But it was my mother-in-law, once so foreign and unfamiliar, now the closest person I had. Her soft shoulder was so much more comforting than a silent cold hospital wall that I was so familiar with by now. I begged her not to leave me. More than anything else, I realized, I needed a living breathing human being next to me to hold me afloat and to make hopeful assumptions about things no matter how bad they look.
Karen soon arrived. Straight from the train station. (She goes to work in Monaco by train.) This woman has become a sister to me over the past two weeks. I don’t exclude that we might have been a burden for her family. But when I think about it, in given circumstances, there was no better place for us to be. Not only the Lafittes refused to take money for our staying with them, every night they welcomed us back from the hospital with supper, and during nonvisiting hours they showed us around town. They were so sincerely involved into the events of our life that I just watched them with admiration and learned a whole lot about charity. Every night Frederick would say a heartfelt prayer for Scott, for us, and for our children in his beautiful French English. He was called to be a Bishop in Nice only 3 weeks ago. Before him, the bishop was from Monaco. I can't stop but marvel how God thought it all through, it's truly amazing, if you actually pay attention to the details. It seems as if God had prepared the right people in Nice to help us meet our trials and pull through. Karen said, that as soon as Fred had been called a bishop, they prayed for the opportunities to serve. You can say that we were the answer to their prayers being the first crisis in the area. But they have undoubtedly become a blessing and an answer to my call for help.
So now, despite the doctor often times repeating that the situation is très grave (very serious), I feel braver with Karen by my side. Her alto voice sounds so confident and reassuring, her embrace is warm and strong. She translated that Scott's CRP number that shows the inflammation level, went up to 300 (normal is 7.) The pneumonia infection they’ve been treating did not respond to the first round of antibiotics and was back being more resistant than before. His temperature is so high that they are worried about damaging his recovering organs. His kidneys are not acting very well, so they ran a dialysis to help rid his body of toxins and give his kidneys a little break.
The war is still on. I better not celebrate just yet. The hard part is that the enemy is ever so microscopic and deceitful. I’d rather face an ugly troll.
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