Brenda was speechless. She couldn’t find rational thoughts, much less words.
“So he’s going to have to stay in the hospital for weeks? Maybe months?” David asked in a shaky voice.
“That’s right,” Harry said. “It’s the only option.”
“I don’t believe this.” Brenda got up and walked across the room. “How could this happen? Just a few weeks ago, he was so healthy. How could one little virus do this?”
Neither of the doctors had any answers.
“Are you prepared to stay with him while he’s here?” Dr. Robinson asked gently.
Brenda shook her brain out of its reverie. “Uh…yes, of course.”
“What about your other children?” Harry asked.
“They’ll be fine. I have to stay here with him.”
David nodded. “One of us will be with him at all times.”
“Doctor, are you sure he’ll make it?” Brenda asked. “I mean, until a heart becomes available? Could he the before it happens?”
“Eighty percent of our critical patients on Heart Mate survive the wait for the transplant.”
“Eighty percent?” she asked, astounded. “That means twenty percent don’t?”
Harry hesitated, then replied simply, “He’s in very good hands, Brenda.”
She leaned back hard in her chair, unable to drag her mind away from the odds.
“We’ll need to put him in the cardiac unit, rather than the children’s hospital,” Dr. Robinson went on, “so it could be a challenge to keep him occupied.”
“Why there?” David asked. “Wouldn’t he be better off with other children?”
“Emotionally and mentally, maybe. But they’re not equipped to handle this kind of thing over there. Our transplant teams are located near the cardiac unit, and we really need to have him there so he can get the best of care.”
“He’s just a little boy,” Brenda whispered again.
“A very sick little boy,” Dr. Robinson said.
Brenda went into David’s arms and buried her face against his chest. He held her tightly and looked over her head to the doctors. “What now?” David asked.
“Well, now we need to admit him and get him on the Heart Mate. Then we start the series of tests that will tell us what we need to know.”
“But right now, before we do anything else,” Harry said, “there’s something I’d like to do. If you don’t mind, I’d like to pray with you.”
David shot him a surprised look. Brenda knew he’d never met a doctor who prayed with his patients. He didn’t argue, probably figuring that anything they tried was better than nothing. He held Brenda tightly as Harry quietly, simply, asked God to see them through this crisis.
As soon as they’d finished praying, David let her go. He got up, slid his hands into his pockets, and faced off with the doctors again. “I have to ask you a question that’ll probably seem pretty callous,” he said. “But it has to be considered.”
“What?”
“How much is all this going to cost?”
Dr. Robinson exchanged looks with Harry again.
“Because I don’t have very good health insurance,” David said. “We still haven’t paid what we owe from the last time Joseph was here. And I don’t want somebody in the hospital credit department finding that out and cutting off Joseph’s care halfway through this. I’m a self-employed cabinetmaker. We have all the insurance I can afford, but it won’t pay everything.”
“Most policies cover heart transplants now,” Harry said.
“If ours does, it’ll still only pay seventy percent,” David said. “We’ve got to pay thirty, plus a two-thousand-dollar deductible. How much are we talking?” He looked from one doctor to the other, his eyes glistening with tears. “Look, I’m just saying that I need to know ahead of time so I can work my tail off to earn it. I’m going to provide what my boy needs. I’m not going to let him the because of money.”
“It can cost between fifty-seven thousand and a hundred ten thousand,” Harry said. “It all depends on how long he has to be here before the heart is available, what has to be done in the interim, and how well his recovery goes.”
David did the math in his head. “So, including the deductible, we’re talking anywhere from nineteen thousand to thirty-five thousand, out of pocket. Possibly more.” He looked at his feet. “Well, we can’t get a second mortgage, because we already have one. But maybe if we sold the house…”
“Before you consider that, you need to talk to social services. There are programs that can help,” Harry said.
David shook his head. “I want any decisions about Joseph’s care to be made on the basis of his medical needs—not on the basis of cost. If social services was involved, I’d be afraid of that.”
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Harry said. “It doesn’t work that way.”
David wasn’t convinced. “I’m willing to pay whatever it takes. I just need to be able to plan on it.”
“Well, a lot depends on how long the wait is,” Harry said. “Look, if I have to pay the bills myself, David, Joseph is going to get his transplant. We’ll raise the money. Don’t worry about that. You have enough to think about.”
Brenda wiped her eyes, praying silently that Harry’s open, unashamed prayer—and his willingness to act on those prayers—would affect David. That faith-in-action was something David had rarely, if ever, seen in Christendom; it was just the opposite of the abuses that had soured him to the whole institution.
She was grateful to Harry for another reason, too: His promise to see this through gave her strength, reminding her that God was working.
But she wasn’t sure that her faith was much stronger than David’s. Not when her child’s life hung in the balance.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Three
As David watched over Joseph, who slept soundly in his hospital room, Brenda went to the chapel to have a word with God. Kneeling at the altar at the front of the room, she gave in to the heartbreak and despair closing over her. But as earnestly as she prayed, those prayers didn’t feel as if they connected.
What is it, God? she asked fervently. Is there some sin in my life that’s keeping You from hearing me? She had confessed everything she could think of—even the despair that, she feared, demonstrated a lack of faith. But she did have faith. She knew that God would do His will in her family. She just didn’t think that will was going to coincide with hers. Desperately, angrily, she pleaded for mercy, for healing, for God to align His will more closely with hers.
Then she chastised herself for such a selfish prayer. Would it make God turn away and quit listening altogether?
When the door opened, Brenda turned and saw Sylvia coming toward her. She got up to give the older woman a hug, unable to hide the despair on her face.
“David said you’d be here,” Sylvia said.
They sat down on the front pew, and Sylvia gave Brenda a handkerchief. Thankfully, Brenda blew her nose and wiped her face.
“Brenda, I know how hard this must be for you,” Sylvia said. “You must just be a wreck.”
“I am,” Brenda admitted.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Brenda shrugged. “You can explain some things to me, maybe.” She could see on Sylvia’s face that she knew some of the questions she had. That she had struggled with the answers herself.
“The elders prayed over him at church,” Brenda said, her eyes glistening with tears. “We prayed for healing, and it didn’t come.”
“I know,” Sylvia said. She touched her shoulder, squeezed it, and wiped her own eyes with her other hand.
“I did that against David’s will. He has this…this thing…against church. It goes back to his childhood. He warned me not to do it, because he thought it would traumatize Joseph. But I did it anyway, without telling him. I thought it was the right thing to do, and what David didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. I think that’s what messed things all up, my doing it against David’
s will. God didn’t honor it.”
“Oh, honey.” Sylvia made her look up at her. “God wouldn’t punish you for following his own instructions. That’s not what’s wrong. Brenda, God’s not a genie in a bottle. He doesn’t answer prayers on demand. If God chooses not to heal Joseph, it must be for some other reason than that. I’m sure you prayed about it before you asked for the elders to pray for Joseph. I’m sure you thought it was one of those times when you have to serve God before your husband.”
“I did. I thought that, Sylvia.”
“Our prayers aren’t buttons we push to get the results we want, Brenda. It’s all tied into God’s will. We don’t see the whole picture, but He does.”
Brenda looked up at Sylvia, her eyes pleading. “Sylvia, why does the Bible say that the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well? Why does it say that?”
“Brenda, have you ever known God’s Word not to be truth?”
She didn’t even have to think about that. “No, never.”
“So that passage must be truth.”
“Then why didn’t it happen?” Brenda asked. “Why wasn’t he healed?”
“Because God’s timing isn’t our timing, Brenda. Maybe He plans to heal him through this heart transplant. Maybe He just needs for you to trust in Him a little longer.”
“I have to,” she said. “He’s the only one with any power to change things.”
“That’s true,” Sylvia said. “And it would bring real glory to Him if He cured Joseph.”
“But see, that’s just it.” Brenda got to her feet and went to the altar, then turned back to Sylvia. “What keeps going through my mind is that sometimes death brings glory to God. Sometimes people are won to Christ through someone else’s death, and I’m so afraid that’s how He’s going to use Joseph.” Her voice squeaked with the words, and she broke down and covered her face with both hands.
Sylvia pulled Brenda into her arms. She dropped her forehead against Brenda’s neck and held her for a long time. Through her grief, Brenda gradually realized that she was breaking Sylvia’s heart, too. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She stepped back and tried to pull herself together. She looked up at the stained glass window with the dove representing the Holy Spirit, flying down from heaven.
“My mother died of breast cancer years ago,” Sylvia said. “What God taught me through that death is that God gives wonderful blessings to us, sometimes in the form of people we love. And we have to hold those blessings in open hands, willing to let Him take them back if He chooses. We can’t hold them in clenched fists, Brenda, because they’re not ours. None of what we have is ours.”
Brenda tore her eyes from the window. “I know that’s true,” she choked out. “I have to be willing to give my blessings back, whenever He comes to take them. But I’m just not there yet.”
Sylvia wiped her own tears and shook her head dolefully. “Neither am I. I’ve been praying that He’ll teach me, with my own kids, and they’re not even sick. They’re happy and healthy—just not with me. I feel so ashamed.”
“Don’t feel ashamed. We both love our children. For me, you can pray that I’ll know for sure that God is watching over Joseph. And that everything that happens, happens because God is guiding it, that there’s a reason, and that it’ll work for good. I know those things in my head, Sylvia, but please pray that I’ll embrace them in my heart. And pray for David.”
Sylvia nodded, promising that she would.
“You know, there have been days—before Joseph got sick—when I’ve prayed so earnestly for David that I’ve told God if He had to take my life to save David’s soul, I was willing. But I never volunteered Joseph’s life. And I didn’t expect Him to take it.”
“What if that is what He has to do to bring David to Christ? What if that is God’s way?”
Brenda sank back down. “I know how Jesus felt in Gethsemane. ‘Let this cup pass from me.’” She covered her face and sobbed quietly for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked at her friend again. “Oh, Sylvia, pray that this is not the cup I have to drink.”
Sylvia hugged her fiercely again. “Can I pray for you now?”
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
Sylvia began to pray.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Four
Tory fed Rachel, Leah, and Daniel at her house that night, an event Brittany and Spencer considered the highlight of their week. They thought it was a party, but the Dodd children knew better. They had seen their little brother lose consciousness on the floor of the Adventure Museum, and it hadn’t been the first time. Watching the ambulance carry him away had been traumatic for all of them. Now Tory hoped she could keep their minds off his condition until they heard from their parents.
But when Sylvia came over and asked her to step out on the front porch, she knew that the news was not good. “Brenda’s been really busy and preoccupied with Joseph, so she hasn’t had the chance to call,” Sylvia said, keeping her voice low. “But she asked me to come tell you what they found out.”
Tory waited.
“They told Brenda and David that Joseph needs a heart transplant or he’ll die.”
Tory felt the blood draining from her face. Slowly she reached for the chain on the swing and felt her way down. “Heart transplant?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Poor Brenda.” The words came on a rush of breath.
“You said it.” Sylvia sat down next to her, and the swing began to creak with their forward and backward motion. “They’ve admitted Joseph to the hospital. He’ll have to stay there until a heart’s available.”
“How long will that be?”
“We don’t know. It could be days, weeks, months…”
“And Joseph will have to be there all that time?”
“That’s right. His heart’s only functioning at fifteen percent. They have to keep him stabilized.”
“So what’s she going to do? I mean, with the other kids?”
“I’ll help as much as I can. But that’s not the most pressing problem right now. The biggest problem, according to Harry, is the money.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they’re self-employed, so their health insurance isn’t very good. They’re going to have to come up with at least thirty percent. A heart transplant is very expensive.”
“What will they do?”
“I’m not sure. David told Harry a second mortgage is out—they already have one. He’s thinking about selling the house.”
“What?” Tory exclaimed. “They can’t! Don’t they have social services or something to help people who can’t pay?”
Sylvia hesitated before answering. “David refused to contact social services. He had some stubborn idea that Joseph’s care would be inferior if the hospital knew of his financial condition. He’s determined to raise the money himself. But I don’t think he can, and I’m like you—if he has to sell the house to do it, I don’t want him to. But their share of the expenses could easily be more than David makes in a year.” Sylvia met Tory’s eyes. “So I’m going to do my best to help raise the money, before he has to sell the house. But I’ll need help.”
“Of course. Barry and I will do what we can. We don’t have much extra, but—”
“I’m not asking for money from you,” Sylvia said, “but I need some ideas. Ways to get the community involved. People would help if they knew. My church, your church, her church…”
“Of course. Surely people will help.”
Spencer burst through the front door. “Mommy, Britty got out the gummy bears and she won’t give me some. And there ain’t enough for all of us.”
“Aren’t enough,” Tory corrected. “Spencer, go back in there and tell her I don’t want her to have any sugar before bedtime.”
“But it ain’t sugar. It’s just gummy bears!”
“Tell her not to give them out till I come back in.” She got up, and Sylvia followed her to the door.
“I shoul
d take the Dodd kids home,” Sylvia said. “They need to sleep in their own beds.”
“Are you sure?” Tory asked. “I’d be happy to watch them.”
“No, it would really make me feel better to do something.” Sylvia sighed. “And heaven knows I don’t have anything better to do. Harry’ll come over and help out when he gets home. Besides, they’re good kids. They won’t be a problem.”
“All right. Are you going to tell them about Joseph?”
“No,” Sylvia told her. “I’ll let David do that when he gets home.”
Tory’s pale eyes settled on the Dodds’ house. “How are Brenda and David taking it?”
Sylvia struggled for words. “It’s hard. Really hard. They’re taking it like we would, if Joseph was ours.”
“This will be tough on the whole family.”
Sylvia nodded. “We’ll just have to help.” She glanced at the house directly across from the Dodds’. “Look, before I take the kids home, I think I’ll run over to Cathy’s and tell her what happened. I know she’ll want to know, and maybe she’ll have some ideas.”
Tory nodded mutely and watched Sylvia cross the cul-de-sac.
CHAPTER
Twenty-Five
Cathy sat at her computer in the dining room, typing in addresses for every home she’d been able to find in the school district. Since the school board had refused to give her names and addresses of all the families in the district, she had spent the previous two weekends driving down every street in the area and recording the addresses. She would do a blitz mailing—send a letter to every taxpayer in the district, addressed to “Parents of School Children.” It wouldn’t apply to every resident, but at least she would know she was reaching nearly all the parents that way.
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