Keanan is in isolation in ICU. They’re worried he might be contagious.
Vince
Dear Vince,
I’m trying to pray. It’s agony being so far away when he needs me. Send an email every hour. Please.
Chelsea
Dear Chelsea,
Things got a bit dicey earlier. A CT scan showed a pocket of fluid behind his lungs. He now has a tube in his chest to drain it. Please pray his fever will break. It’s 105º and Dr. vL is still trying to figure out exactly what he’s got.
Vince
Dear Vince,
I am pacing the house between emails. Please write oftener. Praying constantly. Trying to trust God, but this is the hardest test in my life.
Chelsea
Dear Chelsea,
Every time they bring Keanan out of sedation to make sure he’s doing okay, he tries to talk. I think he’s asking for you, but he can’t talk around the tube in his throat.
The doctors say more lab results should be back today. Dr. vL has had little sleep in the past three days. Neither have any of us, but he’s the one who needs to think critically.
Pray for him. Pray for Keanan. Pray for all of us. I’m praying for you, too.
Vince
Dear Vince,
Tell Keanan I love him and I am on my way.
Chelsea
Chapter 31
Chelsea shoved things in a travel bag.
Clothes. Long skirts. Tops with sleeves. No point in upsetting whatever local customs were with her shorts and tank tops. Hard to even imagine it being summer in Johannesburg. Harder still to imagine she was going there.
To Africa, of all places. So much for saying never.
Tickets. Mom was on it. Chelsea shuddered to think of the cost without catching a sale.
The fundraiser tomorrow. She’d have to hope she’d done a good enough job pulling everything together. Better call Greta and see if she could manage the remainder. Greta. Had she heard from her husband?
Chelsea tapped through the call, put her cell on speaker, and tossed it on the bed.
Keanan.
Him going to Africa and dying was not on the agenda. She buried her face in her hands as the phone rang over and over. The call went to voice-mail. Chelsea snatched up her phone and asked Greta to call her asap. Threw the phone back at the bed.
She crumpled to her knees. Oh, God. Please save Keanan. Don’t let him die.
“Chelsea? Sweetie?” Fern.
Chelsea could barely summon the energy to slump the rest of the way to the floor and look up at Keanan’s mother, framed in the bedroom doorway.
In a few strides, Fern crossed the room and knelt beside her, gathering her in her arms. “Oh, Chelsea.”
She’d kept the tears at bay for several hours, but no more. She grabbed Fern and clung to her while deep sobs wracked them both. As the tears eased, Fern began to pray aloud — fervently and passionately — for her son.
Some of the panic and fear began to ease. Vince had been right. Fighting God on this wasn’t worth it. If her faith gave in at the first sign of trouble, it wasn’t real faith. First sign of trouble? Keanan might die! No. She’d trust God. She would. She’d be calm and hold on.
Chelsea took a long deep breath and managed to release it without shuddering. Again. Again.
Her phone rang and she swiped it on. “Chelsea here.”
“This is Greta. Anders says you are heading to Pretoria.” The phone was still on speaker.
“Yes. As soon as I can get a flight.”
“Do not worry about the event tomorrow. I will make sure it runs smoothly. It will give me something to concentrate on while I pray for Anders and your Keanan.”
Fern leaned toward the phone. “This is Fernanda, Keanan’s mother. I’ll help you, Greta. I’ve come over from Salem to help Chelsea.”
“Thank you. How are you holding up?”
“Clinging to God for my only son. I pray God will restore his health.”
“Where two or three are gathered together in prayer, Jesus promised to be in our midst.”
Chelsea’s mind shot back to the last Sunday in Idaho, when half the church gathered around Keanan to pray for his mission. Sierra had been keeping the church in the loop the past few days. Many more than two or three were gathered in Jesus’ name in Idaho. The Portland church’s prayer team was also on overtime.
“Chelsea? We need to get to the airport. Your flight leaves in three hours.” Mom stood in the doorway.
“Keep in touch, Chelsea,” came Greta’s voice from the phone. “We will not cease praying.”
“Thank you. Thank you for everything. And thank God your husband was right there.”
“Yes. Through it all, God is good. Hold onto that.” The line went dead.
Chelsea stared at her half-packed bag. “What else do I need?”
“Charging cords,” said Fern. “A camera so you can send us photos. Your Bible.”
Chelsea grabbed her purse and pulled out the pack of index cards Keanan had given her. The precious words of God’s love to her. She was going to need those.
Mom folded clothes and put them into the carryon. “I think you’ve got everything.”
“I’ve forwarded the emails from Vince, so you have his email address. Please get him the details of my flights.”
Mom nodded. “I’ve got it. One last time, Chelsea Marie. Are you sure about this trip?”
Chelsea raised her chin and looked her mother in the eye. “I have to do it.”
“You’ll be switching planes in JFK. Alone.”
“I know. I’m not a child.”
“I didn’t say you were, but you’ll always be my baby girl. I wish I could come with you.”
Fern pulled Chelsea and her mom into a hug. “I do, too. If only I hadn’t let my passport lapse.”
Chelsea took in a deep breath. “I have to go. Not just because Keanan needs to know I love him, but because sometimes we have to act our faith. If this is a test for me, and Keanan’s life is at stake, I can’t not obey.”
“That’s not how God works, sweetie.”
“We don’t know that. He asked Abraham to sacrifice Isaac. God needs to see that I love Him enough to face my fears and do what I know is right.” Her voice faltered. “Without knowing the outcome.”
“Then let’s head for the airport.” Mom turned to Fern. “Would you like to come along for the ride?”
“Please. I appreciate that.”
* * *
The red-eye to New York. A few hours to fight her way to the other section of the airport for her flight to Johannesburg. Nearly fifteen hours in the air, trying to sleep, and reading through the index cards over and over every time she was awake. She’d laminated them her first day in Portland, before they wore right out. Thankfully the man next to her had his headphones on the entire trip. She didn’t want to talk anyway.
It was morning local time. What was that back in Portland? Late evening Saturday? Somehow the event at home had happened without her while she was somewhere over the Atlantic. It didn’t even matter.
Chelsea grabbed her carryon and her huge purse and headed for the inner sanctum of the airport. No checked luggage, so nothing could be lost, and no time would be wasted while Vince waited for her. It still seemed to take forever to clear customs.
Vince. She didn’t even know what the man looked like. She scanned the waiting crowd to see a balding Caucasian man starting toward her.
“Chelsea?”
“Yes. You must be Vince.”
“I found photos of you on Keanan’s laptop. I hope you don’t mind.”
There couldn’t be anything too incriminating. “No problem. How is he?”
Vince reached for her carryon. “The truck is out this way. Let’s go.”
She scurried after him, trying to squelch the worry that soared once again.
A few minutes later he tossed her bag into the back of a battered jeep. She jerked open the passenger door only to discover th
e steering wheel. She backed up a step.
“Other side,” said Vince. “South Africans drive on the left.”
She’d wasted precious seconds. Chelsea jogged around the vehicle and hopped into the other side. It felt so wrong. Backwards. Upside down, like her entire life.
She hadn’t imagined Africa like this. South Africa, she amended. This looked like a regular modern city, at least until they pulled up to a traffic light and young black children ran toward her window, holding out their hands.
Vince flicked her a few coins, and she stared at him, aghast. “You want me to give this to them?”
“Sure, why not? Jesus took care of the poor and needy.”
She rolled the window down and distributed the coins as the light turned green. The jeep surged forward, and the children dashed for the curb. At the next intersection a black man held up a sign: I would rather die of hunger than steal. Was he a drug addict conning, as would likely be the case back home?
Vince handed her money, and she passed it out the window to the man’s grateful smile. It wasn’t her place to judge here. Guilt smote her. It wasn’t her place at home, either.
Chelsea eyed Vince. “Tell me about Keanan. I’ve been out of touch for almost two days getting here.” Surely if things were worse, he’d have said so. Wouldn’t he?
“He’s mostly stable. He’s been up and down all week. That’s all I know. Dr. van Leeuwen will be able to tell you more. They think Keanan has some mutated superbug.”
She latched onto the word stable. That was good. Up, talking, and laughing about the scare he’d given them would be even better. Rubbing it in that he’d gotten her to Africa after all. “They’re closer to a diagnosis,” she ventured.
Vince nodded curtly. “We can only pray that is true.”
Why was the man so pessimistic? Maybe it was just his personality. “Is there something else you should tell me before I see him?”
“You’ll have to talk to Dr. van Leeuwen about seeing Keanan.”
She swiveled in the seat to see him more clearly. “But I’ve come all this way. Of course he will let me in.”
Vince bit his lip and shot her a glance. “That’ll be up to him, I guess. He’ll do what’s best for his patient.”
How could this man possibly think that she might not be able to see her beloved? Hold his hand? Whisper I love you in his ear? Thankfully it was the doctor who would decide, not Vince.
Less than an hour later the vehicle jolted to a stop in a parking lot near a gigantic red overhang in front of two square buildings.
“Come on.” Vince jumped out of the truck and threw her carryon into the cab.
As soon as she’d shut the passenger door, he locked it down and led the way across the lot, Chelsea all but jogging at his heels. “Vince! Tell me what the panic is. Please.”
He paused in the shadow by the door. “Very few people survive superbugs, Chelsea. Keanan is not out of the woods yet. Let’s go find Dr. van Leeuwen.”
* * *
An hour later Chelsea entered the isolation room, scrubbed and swathed in a mask and gown. She was braced for anything.
At least, that’s what she thought until she saw Keanan reduced to a long thin lump on a white bed. The bit of his bloated face she could see held little more color than the sheets. Hoses and lines connected him to gadgets and pumps from various parts of his body.
If it hadn’t been for Dr. van Leeuwen beside her, she might have wobbled right off her sensible shoes.
“Please remember the sedation is for his own good. He’s not in a natural coma,” the doctor said. “It’s much easier for him to rest and get well if he isn’t fighting the tubes and lines. We’re hoping and praying there will be no additional infection. So far so good.”
Sounded like something she should be glad about, but it was hard to muster up happy thoughts when he truly looked a mere breath away from eternity.
“The tube you see in his mouth is to help him breathe. Vince says he explained that to you?”
She nodded.
He pointed at Keanan’s chest. “This tube is draining excess fluid from behind his lungs. He’s looking a bit less bloated now.”
Less? Hard to imagine what more would’ve looked like. She took another unsteady step toward the bed.
“Right now we’re running a broad spectrum antibiotic through the IV. As soon as we get a diagnosis, we can zero in more accurately, but it’s too dangerous to experiment.” Dr. van Leeuwen shook his head, lost in thought. “We’ll reduce one of the sedatives today and see how he does. You might be able to talk to him, but even then he won’t be able to reply beyond a hand squeeze or gesture. We can’t risk removing the ventilator. He’s not strong enough to breathe for himself.”
“Okay.” She sucked in air. The room tilted slightly, as though she wasn’t strong enough to breathe, either. No. She had this. God had this.
The doctor spoke to one of the nurses in the room, who adjusted a machine.
“You may sit here for a time.” He indicated a chair on Keanan’s right. “Don’t touch anything but his hand. If there are any changes, we’ll know and be at his side in just a split second. Trust me. We are not leaving him unattended, ever. If one nurse needs to use the washroom, another sits in.”
That was more worrisome than comforting. Chelsea sagged onto the chair. She must be a sight, having been in the same clothes for two days and nights with only a few snatches of sleep. She reached for Keanan’s hand.
“I’m here, sweetheart. It’s Chelsea.”
No response, but then she’d been told not to expect one.
“You got your way. I’m here in Africa. Good thing I had a passport, right?”
Yeah. That was so not funny.
“I need to tell you how much I appreciate the note cards you made me. I’ve read them a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. I needed that many reminders this week of God’s love.” She let out a shaky laugh. “Good thing I laminated them, or we couldn’t have disinfected them to bring them in your room. I don’t mind telling you I’ve had my doubts about God’s love, but hey, I’m here. I’m hanging on. I believe.”
She stroked his limp hand. Would she ever feel those fingers running through her hair again? Be clasped tightly in his arms? Would those puffy lips ever caress her own?
Please God. Restore Keanan. You know he has so much more to do for You.
“Here, let me read some of them to you. Maybe they’ll give you strength now as they’ve done for me.” She fumbled in her pocket for the pack and focused on the one on top. “Here’s Zephaniah 3:17. Remember writing this one out for me? The Eternal your God is standing right here among you, and He is the champion who will rescue you.” She paused to swallow the lump in her throat. Keanan needed that champion. Desperately. She blinked back the tears so she could read the rest of the words. “He will joyfully celebrate over you. He will rest in His love for you. He will joyfully sing because of you like a new husband.”
The kind of husband she’d dreamed Keanan could be for her. That’s what God was to both of them. A champion for both. Celebrating over both. Resting in His love for both.
She took another wavering breath and focused on his closed eyes. “Keanan, I love you, but God loves you so much more. I need you to know that I’m here. That people are praying for you. That God is your champion.”
Man, she was bad at this kind of talk. If only he’d open his eyes and acknowledge her presence. She could pour out her heart even if he couldn’t talk past that vent in his mouth, if only he could hear her. Understand. Love her with his eyes. His fingers.
Had he shifted slightly? Were those eyelids trying to open?
The doctor had mentioned lowering the sedation. Would that have an immediate effect?
The door behind her opened and the nurse reappeared. Whatever he said was lost in the heavy accent.
Chelsea shook her head.
The nurse pointed at Keanan, whose eyelids were definitely fluttering.
She
surged to her feet and leaned a little closer, careful not to touch any of the tubes and lines connecting him to the machines.
“Keanan? It’s me, Chelsea. I’m here for you.”
His eyes latched onto hers for a split second before they closed again.
For now, it was enough.
Chapter 32
Dr. van Leeuwen rested his hand on Chelsea’s shoulder, and she jerked upright in the waiting room. They’d sent her out while they bathed Keanan’s fevered skin. “Do you have a place you can go and rest? Vince said the team is staying at the mission home not too far from here.”
Vince. Where was he? Chelsea tried to pull her thoughts into some sort of coherency. She glanced at her watch, but with all the time zones she’d covered, it didn’t tell her anything helpful.
“We’ll be taking Keanan down for another CT scan in about half an hour.” Dr. van Leeuwen pulled a chair close to Chelsea and sat down. His dark gray eyes looked at her with compassion. “I admit I am concerned about his progress. In my field I’m considered something of an expert. I am also a Christian and do not believe in coincidences. I believe that God put me here, at this time, to save Keanan’s life. You need to know this could have happened to him anywhere. In Galena Landing, you may not have been able to get him to a larger hospital in time.”
Chelsea rubbed her hands up and down her suddenly chilled arms. “This isn’t some African disease?”
“Unlikely. We know now it is a gram-negative bug — a superbug — but the treatment isn’t the same for all. We don’t dare give him the wrong medications.” The doctor looked away then back to Chelsea. “His chances are much better if we simply let the machines do their work while we await results. At least we know now that he isn’t contagious. That’s something.”
“Why is it taking so long?” Chelsea couldn’t help the words. Didn’t doctors know everything?
Plum Upside Down (A Farm Fresh Romance Book 5) Page 23
