I continue the Telling of this past year...
In May of 2023 we had our usual Church small group gathering and in the women's prayer gathering I unthinkingly blurted out (did I say I had no forethought of saying such a thing?!): "I think my prayer request is that God helps me to pay attention to taking care of my body. I'm overweight, and I don't exercise. Maybe you can pray God will help me be a better steward of this tent I dwell in." Seriously, this came out of nowhere. There is a whole long telling of why I hadn't and didn't and often don't take care of my body. But suffice to say, it was a random impulse that prompted me to ask for prayer around this.
Thing is, if you ask your friends to pray, they will. And if they pray, they may be prompted to be the answer to your prayers...inadvertently. In the fall of 2023 I had begun to volunteer serving a friend in need who had small children and needed support - with her fourth baby on the way, and her body broken in ways that didn't serve her, I felt called to step up. It sounds all noble and good of me, but looking back I can see God, Who knows the end from the beginning, was ahead of the game of life: He knew what I would be facing a year later, and we prepping my body for the tasks ahead. I remember being in my friend's home and getting on my hands and knees to pick up toys or help a toddler, or assist with mundane tasks, and thinking to myself, "Oh, I forgot what this was like! My knees aren't so limber anymore. I forgot the patience of tying a shoe, of wriggling on stubborn socks. I forgot how slow everything is."
After a season of months doing that, I came to my almost silly prayer request (ok, it's not silly, it's vulnerable, but they often feel one and the same). One of the group members said, "Hey, I just joined a gym! You should join with me and we can be workout buddies." In that moment I totally regretted mentioning my prayer request. I couldn't fathom taking time to get out the door, to the gym, with appropriate attire and launch myself into a world of strangers who are bent on fitness. Not only the hassle of gathering things and going out to do something I considered mildly torturous, but the thought of my pleasantly plump frame entering a sanctuary of muscle and sweat, caused a mild shudder of fear and potential embarrassment. Will they all stare at me like a beached whale, spread out on the stretching mat, next to my extremely eager and fit workout buddy? Would I look as ridiculous as I felt? Yes, probably. But oh well. Who am I to shrink in the face of potential embarrassment? I've lived through worse. A little exercise might be in order after all.
In June, July, and August, I faithfully went to the gym between 2 and 4 times a week. In a couple months I felt a distinct difference in my strength. I lost no weight, but gained muscle. I pushed through the lethargy (of which I have mountains), and Angela met me at the gym, her dedication and ever growing strength spurring on her confidence and my awe. I'm pudgy, but not weak, and from the outset was able to do at least 10 proper pushups. I was not fond of this endeavour. It felt counter-intuitive. Exercise is strange - it feels like you're not accomplishing anything. It is time spent moving around, doing harder and harder things, and for someone who lives in her head, it just felt so foreign. I had grown up being somewhat athletic, so I was not unfamiliar with the rigors that require sweat and grit.
It seems God prompts and prepares me for what is to come. This is the ultimate in Gentle Parenting. A Parent Who knows the coming trials and builds me to meet the tasks ahead. Not only in the physical realm, but in the emotional. A month before Timo's accident (July 13th), I had witnessed a motorcycle crash on the highway. I saw what happened before, during and after. I pulled over and called 911. I waited around a bit in case I needed to be a witness. I had to work through my own fears and shock and concern that someday I would face an accident that wounded Timo. I didn't know God was preparing me.
August 31st I wrote these few lines: Maybe worst day of my life. Normal things until 10 p.m. Then T. calls 'Come get me' - fell off bike - ambulance, helicopter, ER. All night. To Lurie. So terrified. A living nightmare for him and us.
Sept 1st: Day after accident - stayed up all night. Still living a nightmare. Watching, waiting, helping, meeting Drs, T. went in for surgery around 6 p.m. out after 9. Took hours to wake him up. So sad.
I want to say a word about paramedics, doctors, nurses, aides, surgeons, therapists. In those moments of waiting, watching, hoping, and praying, my heart swelled with gratitude for these amazing helpers. It is as if the wings of God stretched far and wide and He sent a little army of capable, thoughtful, kind, intelligent, efficient, knowing angels to work together to preserve whatever pieces of my son could be salvaged. Every step of the way I saw these servants care for my kid. I think of the years of effort it took them to be equipped in their respective fields. I know it came with great financial, emotional, relational, and personal sacrifice. But all that preparation brought them to the day when I would be standing next to them helpless, while they intervened to protect my boy. I can't say enough or describe the depths of my gratitude for those who choose to give themselves to critical, emergency medical care. And then the therapists who faithfully spend hours developing muscles and movements and assistive procedures to ensure the fullest capacity a body can find - these are heroes in the very cliche and not cliche sense of the word. I felt like I was falling helpless in a heap on the floor and there were these mighty warriors standing around me saying, "When you can't, I can, and I will." They stepped up to serve with their lives and I'm forever grateful.
In the hospital the first day, Timo began to talk. I don't know that he had shared his real inner thoughts or experiences with me in a few years. He was doing the typical teenage boy thing, and I had to live with that to some degree. If you try and coax, you run into walls. The human spirit is a strange thing indeed. His mind was playing over and over the accident. It was surreal to him as it was to us. He said that as he flew through the air, he knew his life was over in that instant. We joked that he'd always wanted to fly, just this was not the way to achieve his dreams. It's funny when you can laugh at death. And not funny too.
He told how when he hit the ground doing a vertical flip over his head, breaking both arms instantly, he was surprised to be alive. But he saw glaring lights coming at him full speed and knew in this instant, he was about to die - a second time. And that's when he had the presence of mind, somehow, to glance across two lanes and see the curb and grass. "If I can roll across those lanes, I'll be out of the traffic," he thought. And being totally unaware of his injuries and incapacities, he rolled full speed, with every ounce of strength and adrenaline, and hurled his body up over the curb and came to a stop in the grass.
By this time all the cars were stopping, pulling over, people in nearby apartments were coming to check on him. The guy who hit him stopped and he too must have been in shock. A police car was just passing by at that time and immediately whipped around to assist. With 2 broken arms, Timo pulled off his helmet, with his teeth, pulled off his gloves, with a lacerated finger, whipped out his phone and dialed my number. All of this seems so improbable and nearly impossible - if it hadn't happened I might not believe it.
He was in shock, and hit with a sudden thirst. The guy who hit him talked to him and all Timo could say is, "Water!" He asked the passersby and someone had a water bottle. They gave it to him and he drank. He would remember that drink for a few days. It was his last drink of water for a while. Apparently, when you might have to undergo surgery, they don't let you drink. Timo was so grateful for the guy who gave him water.
From the outset of the accident, I had told Sam to text our church small group and get them to pray. We didn't know what we were facing. We just asked them to pray. Then we asked family and friends and others to pray as well. People all over the world immediately took our concerns to our loving Father in heaven. Timo's life was being upheld on the utterances and cries of hundreds of people. And yet, as thankful as I am for the sheer numbers of people praying, I am convinced that the prayers of my own singular heart were precious, heard, and held by the God to Whom I pray. Those who join me in prayer carry my burden with me. But the heart of God carries it all - all of me - my prayers, cries, yearnings, fear. All of it. I land helpless in His lap and plead for His kind mercy to wash over me and my child.
September 2 (Saturday): Hannah's 12th birthday.
(How do you celebrate a daughter on a day you're reeling from nearly losing your son?)
At hospital: long night. All-nighter #2 - hardly any sleep. Helping Timo remember to breathe, - keep oxygen up, watching him in pain, so sad. so hard. Sam came so I can go home.
"My son is broken, Lord. Shattered. His whole body is wrecked. I can't fathom the pain of one broken bone, and every part of him has breaks and tears and wounds. Oh God, this is too much. For him. For me. Help, heal, hold me, hold him. Do something." My prayers were as broken as my heart.
After Timo's surgery, he had the same kind of reaction I have to general anaesthesia: a reluctance to breathe. He was in bed sleeping, and the monitor would start beeping. His oxygen saturations would start going down and the rate of breathing sometimes went down to zero. Between me and a nurse, we would have to shake him awake and tell him to breathe. By this time he was receiving pain meds with some willingness, though reserved about it. But because of his breathing issues, they had to withdraw pain meds because he needed to be alert enough to think to breathe. We take breathing for granted, until we stop doing it. It's amazing how our bodies just know to keep breathing all the time. But certain drugs can dull this natural effect, and then you have me up all night the second night in a row, praying, watching, with extreme fatigue and adrenaline highs and crashes. This second night was perhaps worse than the first for me.
The first night I was totally in shock and in a bit of a daze - almost a hazy floating feeling, like I'm watching my life through a small screen playing out before me. The second night I sat alone in the waiting room during surgery. A place of death - good news and bad news lands on people in this austere room. Surgeons greet parents and loved ones with either a smile and relief in their eyes or with sober reticence to bear difficult news. I sat and wondered which I might be.
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(after surgery)
The surgeon emerged with the best news possible. Before heading into surgery she told me that likely he would be wheelchair-bound for 6-8 weeks. With 4 fractures in his pelvis, standing or walking was nearly impossible. I had no idea what having a teenage son in a wheelchair might be like. But I wasn't able to think ahead. When she came out of surgery, with glowing eyes she said these amazing words, "It couldn't have gone any better. I tested his pelvis strength with his injuries while he was unconscious. I am approving him to begin weight-bearing tomorrow. He can begin to learn to stand and walk immediately."
I almost burst into tears right there and then, but I was still in my quiet shock-mode, and thanked her profusely for fixing my son. In my heart, I was thanking God for one ray of sunshine in these gloomy days. It seemed my boy would live. And he would function once again. This blessing seemed, and is, immense.
(heading to the helicopter)
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