Pin It My dear husband had a heart attack. I can't even believe it as I am writing it.
I'm not going to try to dress things up, or find just the right way to say it. Plain and simple, on Monday evening at dinner time, while the chicken was roasting, he told me he thought I needed to drive him to the hospital. Thank God I didn't. Thank God I called 911. I thank God at every bend of this road that we're on, that we made the decisions that we've made so far on how to handle the unrecognized bomb that was quietly going off in our midst. Those decisions seem to me to have been God-directed.
I don't have the time or the energy to recount all the details right now. This week has been a whirl of driving to the hospital, and coming back home exhausted. Of prayers, and tears. Of hopes that soared, and hopes that crashed to the ground, and hopes that then clawed their way back up to the top of the rim of the pit into which they'd just been kicked.
I don't know how all this is going to turn out.
Tonight, Wednesday night, he's sleeping in his hospital bed, thanks to the fine folks who developed Ambien, and I'm about to go and see if they might offer me a little help as well. We have one more day to wait for the effects of the blood thinning drug Plavix to wear off, so that on Friday, the doctors can slice and reroute his "widow maker" artery with his mammary artery, and come up with a working facsimile of a major blood vessel, so that he can reclaim the life that came terribly close to slipping away from him on Monday evening.
We'll take all the prayers you've got.
I absolutely believe that God DIDN'T allow him to slip away on Monday evening BECAUSE there are good works, and lots of them, for my Big Bison still to do in his life. But we covet your prayers for a successful surgery.
Friends and family have come to stay with us and help us here in the Boonies, and they and my great big dogs stand watch over the house. Your help and support and most of all, your prayers mean more to me than I can say.