My second of three leiomyosarcoma cancer surgeries deep in my abdomen was scheduled for December 30, 2005, at St. Mary’s Hospital in Rochester.
Burt drove, and the usually conversation-filled car was one of quiet contemplation this time as we drove the 85 miles to the hospital. I looked out the car window at the snow-covered ground and thought: Would I rather be tempted by Satan or tried by the Lord? For sure, I thought, I would rather be in the hands of God than in the crosshairs of Satan. I thought of the many cards I had received, and the myriad of prayers said on my behalf. One card in particular came to mind – the words “Every journey begins with one step” were superimposed over the word ‘hope.’ And yet, waves of anxiety and near panic often traded places with peace and hope.
Burt sensed my uneasiness and squeezed my hand. “Lord, be with my wife to strengthen her, to protect her, and to uplift her,” he prayed.
We arrived at the hospital two hours prior to surgery, and we were escorted to pre-op. I was very grateful Burt could stay with me until surgery, and I knew our daughters and a host of friends and family were praying for me. I felt encouraged, and at the same time, I looked forward to surgery being over.
Surgery lasted nine hours and was more complicated than originally anticipated. I had lost six units of blood and had to be transfused.
By the next evening, I had developed a large blood clot in my upper left leg. My leg was wrapped in towels, and I was taken to surgery to have an IVC filter placed at the base of my aorta to prevent the clot from going to my heart or lungs. I was given shots of heparin to dissolve the clot. However, my blood got too thin, and I had to be given Vitamin K. Twice I had to be given platelets and more blood to get my hemoglobin up.
On the fifth night after surgery while still in ICU, I awoke around 1:30am. I listened to and loathed the sound of the suction machine plugged into the wall that pumped extra fluids from my incision. The pump to keep circulation in my leg compressed and released, compressed and released. I looked at all the IV tubes that hung like a tangled mass – drip, drip, drip.
A strange depression began to creep over me – slowly and subtly at first. How strange, I thought, that I did not try to stop the downward spiral that brought me to a dark place I had never known to exist. It was as though I had analyzed my situation and accepted the fateful outcome. I was tumbling into emotional despair. I had lost all hope. Much later, I learned that hopelessness discounts God’s ability to work in our lives – and that is a dangerous place to be.
I thought about Burt – nothing. I thought about our daughters and families – only detachment as though they were strangers. I felt totally estranged from those who always put a smile on my face and joy in my heart.
Even thinking about God did not matter. I could not pray. I did not care enough to pray. It would have taken too much energy to fight the enemy and to cry out to Jesus than I had, because I had no strength or will for either, and so I sank in the mire of depression and despair.
The enemy’s lie had entered my mind in a whisper in the night.
A nurse entered my room. “Are you all right, Mrs. Kroon?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled.
“Would you like something to help you sleep?”
“No,” I said, simply.
She stopped in to check on me several times throughout the night. She was pleasant enough and seemed to want to stay, but I only answered what she asked, and then watched her exit into the softly lit hallway.
I told the nurse on one of her visits that if I did not die in the hospital, I would go home and let hospice do whatever they do for people who are at end of life. She raised her eyebrows slightly, nodded, and rubbed my hand in a way that said she understood.
Early in the morning, the surgical team arrived on the their rounds. After asking how I was doing, I spoke matter-of-factly to the surgeon, and relayed my intention to go home. Unbeknownst to me at the time, however, was that the night nurse had told Dr. Dozois I had given up all hope and had sunk into deep despair.
“Do you know what we are going to do?” Without waiting for my reply, he continued, “We are going to move you to a real hospital room with a window. We’re going to get you some real food, and we’re going to get you up and out of bed today.”
It was a good thing he had enough enthusiasm for both of us since I did not share in his optimism one iota. I could have been a poster child for Proverbs 13:12 – “Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life.”
Within two hours, I was looking out a window on the first floor of St. Mary’s Hospital. I saw people and cars and buses. I noticed the slushy streets on that clear January morning. The coffee shop across the street bustled withs people as they entered and exited carrying paper cups of coffee and sacks of bagels. I could almost smell the aroma of fresh roasted coffee fresh baked bagels.
The sound of the suction pump and the leg compression pump retreated into muffled silence. Hope began to trickle into my soul like the melting snow of winter seeps into the soil in early spring.
A food tray was brought in and placed on my movable serving table. The nurse propped up my pillow and turned the tray towards me. She lifted the cover and there sat the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. Orange jello!
The words of Matthew 28:20 came to mind – “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”
“Thank You, Jesus, that for the third time, you called me out of the darkness – physical, spiritual, and emotional and into your marvelous light. Thank you that even though I was not aware of You in my despair, You never abandoned me. You are faithful and I praise you with immense joy in my heart. Your joy, Lord, is my strength. And thank You for jello.”
That was 17 years ago, and today, I am still here. I am still standing. God is good! I have learned that every valley has a mountaintop, and every mountaintop has a valley. All are orchestrated by the all-wise God of the universe who is intimately involved in the affairs of mankind.
In thinking back of the three distinct times God has called me out of darkness, and it seems to me that God makes trials as easy as possible but as difficult as necessary to accomplish His purpose in us. When we reach a point when we say, “I can’t do this anymore,” He is faithful and sends strength and encouragement. Isaiah 41:10 says it like this: “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”
A few of some familiar lessons I learned through personal experience on my mist here on earth include:
* He who began a good work in us will bring it to completion. The Father is greater than all and
no one will be able to snatch us out of His hand.
* God calls us out of darkness. Jesus came to seek and to save the lost.
* God is faithful and will never leave us or forsake us. The Holy Spirit indwells us forever.
* Those He calls, He equips. God is a very present help indeed.
In sharing my story, it is my desire that you see the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit at work in your own life, and to be comforted that God is sovereign in all things. He can be trusted. He should be worshipped. He will be praised because He is Lord.
The attributes that were displayed to me in a most recognizable way are His: majesty, holiness, sovereignty, love, grace, mercy, faithfulness, power, compassion, comfort, and in everything that He allows is for a purpose much greater than I could ever imagine in preparation for us to live with Him in eternity.
If you were to write your story, what attributes of God do you see? Share your story!