Yesterday was all about numbers. As my students will affirm, I am not overly fond of numbers. That’s why I get to be an English teacher and not a math teacher.
But yesterday, numbers ruled the day. There were some that I did not like very much … like numbers that suggest weeks, months and years. I much prefer hours and days.
These numbers were delivered by a matter-of-fact, unsmiling doctor. “Here’s my protocol,” he said, “I pray for the best, but prepare for the worst.” He gave me some straight forward thoughts about the future. I didn’t like the his scenarios, but then I thought about where we had been on March 9th.
Other numbers spoke of benchmarks, up and downs, a setback, and several small victories.
Some numbers revealed high blood sugars, but lower blood pressure … and blood cell counts to keep an eye on.
One more week in the hospital has grown to the possibility of two or three weeks. The heart strength number of 55% has never been talked about again. I was told that echo grams can be read differently by one tech to the next, but the one number doctors are confident with is 33%. I suppose this could feel like a setback, except that doctors continue to be optimistic about the continued strength of his heart … it’s still a miraculous improvement from 15% the night of his collapse. After all, they put him in a life vest today, rather than have to insert a defibrillator … definitely a better scenario than where we started.
More numbers:
Four times out of bed each day … “hiking” around the floor with a walker …
Upteen numbers of kicks and toe tap exercises …
A dozen … this estimates the number of times Mike set off the chair and bed alarms for trying to get up without assistance …. leading to countless times of being scolded. Plus there are the countless times he’s tried bribing those same nurses for more ice chips.
“A dozen” also came into play when we spent our evening at a table tray, re-learning Skipbo and counting out runs of 12 and discard piles of 4.
Sixteen ounces of a Jamba Juice Smoothie (his favorite tropical flavor) made it into the hospital room. No, it wasn’t contraband, but celebrates the fact that outside food is now allowed …as long as it is compatible with a cardio diet.
Infinite … the amount of gratitude we feel for persistent prayer and over all support. I’ve learned that on Sunday, the 15th, numerous churches prayed for us during their services. That Sunday was a definite turning point … it was the first day that we were certain that Mike could recognize each of us and was starting to come out of the coma. I hope that the good report of how far we’ve come gets back to each church.
Endless … that is the kind of prayer and faith I crave right now … not just for my family, but for all our families as we stand together, abandoned to God in our toughest challenges.
“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” I Cor. 4:18
Rashellbud 
I remember from my heart surgery that these days in the hospital can seem infinite in number. I remember, too, the set backs accompanied by amazing progress. Another thing I remember is when my cardiologist said, at a follow-up visit, that I would not need a defibrillator after all; such happiness! Though it may seem far away, the going home day will arrive eventually. Hang in there and keep shining the light of our Lord Jesus as you are continually upheld in prayer.
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Although Jane and I have not commented much on your posts, we do *read* each one and pray.
That 2 Cor. 4:16-18 passage has been precious, nourishing, life-giving, and comforting to us also over the years. I think for those who’s “outer self” weakness felt more, the inner self becomes more real, and so we do not lose heart, because our inner self is being renewed – day by day. Precious daily mercies, like manna, just what is needed for today.
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