Unless it was your birthday, not many of you will recall exactly where you were on the evening of Oct. 2. It wasn't a holiday. No unusual weather pattern created a crisis. It was just an ordinary old Monday, the beginning of a work week for most. For me, however, the events of Oct. 2, 2006, changed the way I live my life.
My husband, Darrell, and I were on a Mediterranean cruise fulfilling a lifetime dream with over 50 wonderful friends from our Virginia Beach church. It had been in the works for almost two years and it was turning out to be everything we imagined—and more. It was day 10 of a beautiful experience in the Med with only two more days remaining. We had spent a lovely day in Florence, Italy, and then topped it off with an afternoon visit to that famous leaning tower in Pisa.
Following a little bite to eat, we relaxed in the showroom enjoying the talents of one of the numerous outstanding shipboard performers. Later, as we lay down to sleep, we were eagerly anticipating our next port of call—Nice, France.
The pain jolted me awake. Being normally a very level-headed person, I tried to pass off the severe pain in my right shoulder and descending into my arm as the result of something I had done that day. But shortly before 1 a.m. when the pain intensified and I became frightened, I awakened Darrell.
At first, he, too, tried to explain away my discomfort; perhaps I had simply slept wrong. Although I had not wanted to even consider it, I could no longer ignore the signs of a heart attack. I remembered our doctor son's stern admonishment: “If you ever feel severe shoulder, arm or chest pain, proceed quickly to an emergency room.” He explained that time is of the essence. After what seemed like an eternity but in reality was probably not more than 15 minutes, Darrell summoned a doctor.
The next five hours of my life ended my dream vacation and sent me on a road I would never choose to travel.
A wonderfully caring shipboard nurse and two efficient doctors from Ecuador began a frantic fight to save my life. As I reeled in unbelievable pain and looked up blindly into the overhead lights, I saw little but heard much. I was hoping it was an out of body experience—preferably someone else's and not mine—as these three caregivers talked about the major heart attack with which they were dealing. They urged Darrell, who had been standing by feeling helpless, to return to the cabin and pack since we needed to leave the ship.
But where were we going? We were underway to Nice. At least twice they called the captain urging him to make all possible speed. They spoke of airlifting me to a hospital by helicopter as a possibility. I won't even try to describe the pain because I'm not sure I could ever put it into words.
In addition to the “talking heads” conversing around me, there was an intense dialogue swirling around inside me. Detached thoughts burst unexpectedly but not surprisingly into my head—thoughts such as, “Jesus, I love you”; “Oh God, it's not my time!”; “Why me?” (Ah, but why not me, since I had abused my body by overeating my entire life); “Does it really end this way?”; “Will my six children (the three I birthed and the three amazing spouses God chose for each) know how much I've adored them?”; “Will my two grandsons ever comprehend the immeasurable love this grandmother has for them?”; “Was I truly saved and covered by the precious blood of my Christ to be able to enter that glorious beyond?”
I kept trying to work deals with God. I wanted to tell Darrell how much I loved him one more time. “What about my “D-Mil,” with whom I promised to grow old together?” “Who will look after Jackie (my beloved wheel-chair-bound shut-in friend from church who counted on me)?” “What about my YaYa's with whom I shared so many adventures?” “Was that all there was?” My mind raced.
I remember thinking, “Wait, those talking heads above me are trying something.” They called a cardiologist in Cleveland to find out how they could improve my chances. This unknown Ohio angel suggested a course of action which may well have saved my life. Again, they called the captain admonishing him to keep things moving.
“God, are you in this place? Are you directing the hands of these non-English speaking physicians?” For the life of me, I have no idea what they did, but whatever it was, it came in two stages. The first I knew, they indicated to me that they were beginning the first step. “Okay, I'm hanging on. Keep it coming, folks!” I remember someone saying next they would try another part of something. I was coming and going, but I realized that the pain began to subside. “Oh God, you are still in the miracle-working business. Thank you, Jesus.”
However temporary it might be, I began to visualize my hour glass refilling.
“Who are these burly characters at my feet? You want to transport me on that little red slab? Wait, I'm on my dream vacation, remember?”
Aware that I was being jostled uncomfortably from ocean liner to small boat, I feared they might drop me overboard. The captain appeared in the little opening in the side of the ship waved good-bye. “Where am I going?” I was violently sick to my stomach and unfortunately could not withhold its contents. Nobody cared. “God, are you in this boat with me?” “Where's Darrell?” I needed to know my husband was with me.
Suddenly, the lights went out. I do not know what happened over the next several hours. I can speculate I was sedated but for all I knew, it was over.
Tuesday, Oct. 3, began very late in the day for me. “God, do any of these people speak English?” From somewhere Darrell found me and the warmth of his hand reminded me we were in this together. “Poor Darrell, he looks rode hard and put up wet.”
“You're going to be okay,” said he and I knew it was wishful thinking on his part.
We learned that in a few days they would do a heart catheterization to get a clearer picture. Until then, however, a delay was required to allow my heart muscle time to recover. “God, I need Thee every hour.” For his own well-being, Darrell needed rest. “Don't leave me!” A kind nurse with limited English guided him to a nearby hotel. “Thank you, Lord, for working that out. No, please don't give up on me here. I'll do better from now on. My children may still need me in their lives.” Even though I'd done my best and given each one strong wings to fly, was it enough for all times? My grandbabies had become my life these days. “Will they see me again?” “I love you, Darrell. Rest well.”
The temperature in the room rose and I began to sweat profusely. People gathered at the foot of my bed looking concerned. “God, I sense something is about to happen and I need you to go before them and prepare for whatever.” I was told I could not wait any longer for the procedure because “it” was happening again. “Handle it, God! Please keep my heart strong enough to endure the angioplasty exam. Please! Someone call Darrell. Make sure my babies and grandbabies know how very much I love them.” “Jesus loves me, this I know ….”
Thankfully, God began to place people in my path who could communicate with me. The doctor who performed the heart cath shared the good news that the blockage was clearing, all thanks to the medical crew from the ship. They did exactly what needed to be done to clear the artery. It was a major infarction but the artery was open. I needed more rest for the heart muscle to recover before they go back in to make possible repairs.
And now, the real recovery began. All night Tuesday I was fully aware of what was about to happen and was fearful due to the constant hovering of medical people and the multiple tests I endured. But during this anxious time, I was able to draw near to the feet of Jesus as never before and he began to work a new miracle in me. I adopted a new theme song: “Take Thou my heart, cleanse every part. Holy Spirit, breathe on me.” God began a true dialogue with me once I fully surrendered control to him.
How many times in the past had I tried to “let go and let God”? It worked for a little while, but then I would get back on my high horse and take charge. It needed to be all or nothing this time. “I get it, God.” He assured me that I would be going back to Virginia. He reminded me that I'd be his from now on in an effort to use this experience to reach out to others. I would have work to do once I was strong enough. “Bring it on, Jesus. I'm your hands and feet and mouthpiece, if you desire.” An amazing peace and contentment flooded my soul.
Did I recover immediately and hop a plane to my beloved homeland? Was the pain gone forever? No, there were more lessons to be learned for this less-than-patient control-freak. There were two more “episodes” with my heart and numerous false hopes for returning home. Eventually, it took nine days in intensive care. As difficult as this was turning out to be, it was God's timetable, not mine or even Darrell's. Will my heart fully recover? Am I given another 20 years? That is not for me to know. I know I have a home in Gloryland that outshines the sun. Whether it's my present gloryland here on earth surrounded by the most fantastic family and friends or the glorious riches beyond this realm where he has already prepared a place for me, I have peace. I am totally okay with this.
I was given opportunities over my extended “French Riviera holiday” to see goodness in so many. The French nurses and doctors warmed up to me and made extraordinary efforts to assist me through words and gestures. We Americans don't have a lock on good guys and French people most definitely are so much more than representatives of a government that won't march off to war with us. Every morning I was awakened at 4 a.m. to worship and praise my Lord. I sang. I quoted Scripture. I fervently prayed. And I always closed with singing God Bless America in the dark stillness of my solitary room. I now can echo “God bless France” and all those other beautiful Mediterranean countries as well. People are good everywhere in his creation. I am thankful to have diverse experiences which justify making this statement.
God has blessed me with the most amazing family and friends. I promise to never take that for granted. My children called daily and rode the roller coaster of emotions with me as we anticipated good news and the prospect of a flight home, only to have our hopes dashed against “one step forward and two steps back” reality. “When God says it's time to be reunited, let's go,” the new me said in surrender. Finally, the doctors agreed that I was strong enough to go home. As I sat astride my hospital bed on my last night in France, I turned over all my yesterdays to my God, who loves me enough to want to allow me to begin again.
Now, after several weeks during which I have regained some of my strength and stamina, being surrounded by family and close friends, I believe he wants me to get it right—finally.
“Take thou my heart, cleanse every part. Holy Spirit, breathe on me.”
“To God be the glory, great things he has done!”
Helen Foster is a member of Kings Grant Baptist Church in Virginia Beach. Her husband, Darrell, is a former president of the Baptist General Association of Virginia.