The day began to end. As the afternoon sun finished pouring its shine through the window, a shadow, growing from the outside wall, slowly mopped the light away. It made the room appear dark and full of gloom, so I closed the curtains and switched on an extra light. I tried to squelch my growing uneasiness with thoughts about our children at home. I wondered what they were doing and how Jack was adjusting without me. I told myself my fears were in my head and I was only imagining Kevin getting worse. I gritted my teeth and whispered that Kevin would get better if I believed hard enough. So I willed him to heal, not recognizing whose will my faith was pursuing.
Kevin began to sleep for longer periods. Sarah became visibly more agitated. She no longer attempted to hide the frustration in her voice. She began to murmur things under her breath that I could not hear. I tried to encourage her, to tell her Kevin was improving, but I knew he was not.
Finally Sarah turned from the monitor and faced me “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shelby, but I called Dr. Valdadoss. Your husband needs to be in the ICU. I can’t give him the care he needs, and I don’t want to take responsibility for him. Dr. Valdadoss is transferring him to the ICU as soon as they prepare a bed.” She walked brusquely from the room without looking back at Kevin or me.
My head began to spin as Dr. Valdadoss appeared and a new group of nurses, equipment and talk murmured around Kevin. A nurse named Kalyn asked me to leave while they prepared my husband for the transfer. She told me they would call me after Kevin was settled into the ICU.
I felt numb and moved in a daze. Feeling powerless, I voiced no opposition. I was out of his room without realizing I had walked out. Through the door I heard Kalyn tell Dr. Valdadoss that she could not insert another IV. Kevin’s veins had collapsed.
As I groped my way to the ICU waiting room, I tried to grasp what was happening. Kevin was supposed to have food poisoning. He was simply supposed to recover. “It can’t be more than that!” I gritted my teeth and slumped down into an armchair, leaning against its burly cushions. The beige walls of the room surrounded me like a net waiting for prey, the hazy watercolors hanging on each side like bait attracting helpless people who could do nothing but bide their time. I kicked the carpet.
“I won’t be caught by circumstances, and I won’t sit helpless in any waiting room!” I jumped from my chair and paced the nearest hallway.
My shoes slapped each shiny tile as I marched down hall after hall. Thoughts in my head began to spin like a brightly painted top—faster and faster like a blur of confused colors that would not stop or slow to allow clarity. I tried to pray but could not; the words were trapped in the whirl of spinning thoughts. I knew God was there, but I could not focus enough to find Him. All my years of prayer and meditation escaped me. Even the strength I thought I had within myself was stripped away. My will was not enough. I could not make myself think, and I could not grasp what to do. I whirled helplessly in circumstances I could not control.
I craved a place where I could be alone to sort my whirling thoughts. I felt desperate for a closet, a private place where I could force my spinning thoughts into focus, but I could not find it. Nurses and doctors scurried through endlessly long halls. Waiting rooms held listless people and chattering televisions. Corners were crowded with newspaper stands and soda machines. I could not find an unlocked closet. I could not find a solitary place to find what I so desperately lacked.
My pace quickened to the point that I was almost running. I was nearly frantic in my need to find the help that was beyond me. I found a women’s bathroom and rushed inside, locking the door behind me. I leaned panting against it. Instantly a picture of Jaden from two days before flashed through my heart. I saw our curly-haired four-year-old sitting on the bathroom sink watching his daddy shave, his chubby fingers timidly touching the white foam on Kevin’s face. My tears burst unchecked as I slumped against the white door. I understood for the first time that our son might not see his daddy shave again.
I cried out with tears pouring down my cheeks. “Please, Lord,” I pleaded. “Don’t take my husband. You took my mother when I was five. Don’t take my children’s daddy, too! Don’t let him die!”
I wilted against the door, clinging to the shiny brass handle for support.
“Oh, Jesus, I don’t know what to do!” I wailed. “I can’t even think. Everything’s all confused!”
My shoulders shook with the intensity of my tears. “Help me, Lord! Help me! I need You,” I cried. “I need You!”
The unmistakable words of 2 Corinthians 12:9 broke clearly through my spinning mind: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness” (nkjv).
A blanket of incredible peace began to gently envelop me, folding me inside, wrapping me in the strength that comes only through Jesus Christ. I felt like I had been picked up and was being held close in His arms. My thoughts began to focus as His strength wrapped around me. I leaned on Him with all there was of me. My sobs spent themselves, and my need began to be satiated. I could feel His presence. I savored His strength rising within me, and I knew I was not alone. The Savior was with me.
Another Scripture filled my mind, girding me like a brace. “All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28, nkjv). This was my ticket to trust Christ in all circumstances, and I grasped it with both hands like a child clutching a prize. I acknowledged Christ as Lord over every circumstance, and I anchored myself in Him. I knew that if Kevin died, God would bring good out of it and would carry me through every minute.
The peace in that moment was overwhelming. I felt calm and completely secure. I splashed cool water on my face at the sink, hardly noticing the red, swollen eyes reflected in the mirror or my blouse soaked with tears. I had come face-to-face with my human insufficiency, and I also had come face-to-face with the unlimited sufficiency of Christ. I recognized that I could never be enough because I had never been created to be enough, and He could never be limited. I was not caught by circumstances. I was caught in the arms of Christ. I felt focused and equipped to face what lay ahead. I walked out of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind me, ready to wait.
I was called to Kevin’s bedside fifteen minutes later. He stirred when I took his hand. He opened his eyes to my face but immediately sank back into unconsciousness. Tubes and machines stood around him in sterile plastic wraps. Kevin’s monitor, displaying new readings I did not understand, flashed rhythmically to the nurses’ desk with his every breath. I sat quietly beside him, pouring my heart out to God. Armed by Christ, I prayed as a warrior fighting for Kevin’s life.
Kevin’s ICU nurse, Winnie, was a plump, blue-eyed woman with graying hair and a white uniform. Between the busyness of checking and connecting IV tubes, she chatted.
“Have you been in Richmond long?” She injected a vial into Kevin’s IV.
I smiled wryly. “We got here last night.”
“Do you have any children?” She added a new IV bag.
“Three,” I replied. “A six-year-old girl, a four-year-old boy and a one-year-old boy.”
Winnie paused from her work to look at me. Her light blue eyes squinted as she studied me. They were misty when she turned them away. She quietly left the room with her clipboard hanging limply at her side.
A little before ten o’clock, I was called from the ICU. The nurses’ desk announced that I had visitors in the waiting room. I left reluctantly. I did not want to leave Kevin’s side but I knew that the visitors could not enter the ICU.
I was greeted by three directors from the International Mission Board: the personnel director, the candidate director and the medical director. They were still wearing their suits and ties from the evening program. They hugged me in turn.
“Hello, Audra. How are you doing?” Dr. Atkinson, the personnel director, asked. He motioned me to a chair. “Is there anything we can get for you?”
I shook my head.
Dr. Williams, the medical dire
ctor, asked, “Have you eaten dinner? Can we order a food tray or bring you something from outside?”
Again I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
“Is there somebody we can call for you?” asked Dr. Riddle, the candidate director. “Does your family know how to reach you?”
“I’m okay,” I assured them. “I’ve talked with our families, and they have the numbers to the ICU.” I paused. “Everybody’s in shock. We’re all trying to figure out what happened.”
I turned to Dr. Williams, a physician. He had been communicating with Kevin’s doctor throughout the day. I had been told very little and had not seen Dr. Valdadoss since Kevin had been transferred to the ICU. I had been providing more answers to physicians than they had been giving to me. I asked Dr. Williams to explain Kevin’s condition.
Dr. Williams cleared his throat. Choosing his words carefully, he gently described the seriousness of Kevin’s illness. He explained that the lab tests had been inconclusive and that Kevin’s disease was unknown, so the medical team was giving him a series of strong antibiotics in an attempt to cover several possibilities. Complicating matters, Kevin’s blood platelets had fallen too low to continue more tests.
“Audra.” Dr Williams cleared his throat again. “Kevin’s body is shutting down. He’s in septic shock and in DIC—organ failure, overcome by the apparent infection.”
The men were grim-faced as Dr. Williams spoke. But their words were kind as they reassured me of their support. We joined hands and prayed for Kevin. The three men also prayed for me and our children at home.
I stood to return to the ICU. “God will bring good out of this,” I told them. “He promised. No matter what happens, He will bring good for those who love Him, according to His purpose.”
I stood resolutely before them, watching them slowly nod in agreement. Their eyes were moist as they looked at me. They promised their help in handling any details that might arise.
Dr. Riddle gave me his business card, writing telephone numbers on the back. “You can reach us at these numbers during the night. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”
By midnight many friends and family members had called. Everyone struggled to comprehend what had happened. It seemed inconceivable. Kevin had always been healthy. No one understood how he could become gravely ill so suddenly. Those who telephoned called others into prayer. Friends and churches across the nation began to pray through the night on Kevin’s behalf.
I continued to watch Kevin drift in and out of consciousness. His eyes would search for me when they opened, but I felt that at times Kevin did not recognize me. A surgeon inserted a Swan-Ganz catheter into his neck, and new readings emerged on his monitor. His body began to toss restlessly, jerking from one side to the other. Although he was opening his eyes more frequently, he seemed to be unaware of what he was doing. He did not seem to know that his body was tossing, nor did he seem able to control it. My attempts to soothe him failed.
“Mrs. Shelby, you have a phone call.” The intercom buzzed from the nurses’ station.
I pulled myself from Kevin’s bedside to take the call at the nurses’ desk. It was Dr. Valdadoss.
“Mrs. Shelby,” he began. “Your husband is very sick. Has he taken any medications over the last few days? Has he been exposed to any illnesses that you know of?”
These were questions the doctor had asked before. Again I explained that before we left home Kevin had been fighting the onset of a cold. He had taken a decongestant, but that was the only medication I could remember. Again I explained that as a pharmaceutical sales rep he was frequently in and out of doctors’ offices and could have been exposed to numerous illnesses. Again I said that Kevin had always been healthy.
Dr. Valdadoss struggled for words. He spoke disjointedly, pausing several times. He seemed to be searching for words, or not wanting to say the words he found.
“Mrs. Shelby, Kevin is very sick.” He cleared his throat. “A healthy, fit man stronger and younger than Kevin would not be able to survive this kind of illness. Kevin doesn’t have as much to fight with.”
The doctor paused for a long couple of seconds. “Mrs. Shelby, we are doing everything we can. I will talk to you again in the morning.” He clicked off the line.
I hung up the phone, puzzling over Dr. Valdadoss’s words, trying to understand what he meant. And then I did. He was telling me my husband was going to die. Kevin had continued to deteriorate, and no one could determine the cause. He had received the strongest doses of the best medicines science could provide, but it wasn’t enough. Kevin was not responding to treatment.
I sat down in the chair inside Kevin’s room, no longer able to hold his hand because of the jerking of his body. His eyes opened but they no longer saw me. I strengthened my heart’s grip on the Lord and cried out anew for Him to intervene and spare my husband’s life.
At 3:30 in the morning, Winnie came to the door. “Mrs. Shelby, I’m sorry, but it’s time for the shift change. You’ll have to leave the ICU while the new shift does patient evaluations.”
Winnie waited apologetically. “Get a soda from the machine and stretch your legs a bit. You haven’t been out for a while—it’ll do you good.”
She gently nudged me out. “We’ll call you if anything changes. It won’t be for long.” She walked with me to the ICU entrance and softly closed the door behind me.
I wandered through the quiet halls, praying as I walked. There was no activity in the ebbing of the night. A solitary man in a burgundy jumpsuit swabbed a mop back and forth across the floor of the silent corridor. Dim night-lights made dark waiting rooms appear gray and shrouded with shadows. They were still and quiet, silenced by departed visitors.
Remembering the peace God had given me earlier in the day, I looked for the bathroom where I had prayed. I wanted to return to it, but I had found it by wandering countless hallways. Now I could not find my way back. I searched two corridors and hesitated. I did not want to waste time or get farther from the ICU.
“Lord, where is it?” I stomped my foot in frustration. “It has to be here somewhere.” I started to pivot when I noticed a brown door directly in front of me. It was labeled “Chapel” in big gold letters.
I chuckled. “Thanks, Lord.”
The room was small and quiet, lined with yellow padded pews that faced a mahogany altar. A simple brass cross stood in the center of a linen altar cloth. Behind it was a stained-glass window illuminated with light. Feeling like I had been handed a gift, I walked quietly to the front and sat down.
I poured my heart out to God, pleading with Him to intervene. “Lord Jesus, all authority has been given to You. I ask in Your name that You spare Kevin’s life.”
With my face lifted upward, I prayed passionately and openly, free from human eyes, thinking of nothing except my husband and my need to have him spared. I could envision Kevin’s jerking body, and my tears began to flow. My eyes were focused on the white ceiling as I cried my prayer upward.
Suddenly the ceiling began to change. It became like a flowing white curtain. I felt like I was standing at the footstool of Christ, like I was at His feet and He was standing just above the curtain in a place I could not see.
His words came clearly. “I have heard your prayer.”
I stopped praying and blinked at the ceiling above me, not trusting my tear-filled eyes. In the fog of fatigue I was confused over what I had heard. Had I imagined the curtain that was no longer visible? Had I heard the voice of God, or was I imagining it? I sat still for a few moments, hesitant to believe and reluctant to leave, then I rose slowly from the pew.
“Lord, if You said You heard my prayer, I believe You. I know You can heal Kevin.”
I made my way back to Kevin’s room. I returned to my bedside vigil, praying as Kevin’s body continued to toss from side to side. But as I watched, a change began to come over him. The tossing of his body began to slow. Eventually it stopped, and the jerking eased into an occasional turn to one side. Kevin settled
into an almost passive sleep. I noticed on the monitor that his blood pressure rose slightly.
Cyndy, Kevin’s morning nurse, noticed the change. She stood watching from the foot of his bed. A puzzled smile teased her mouth as she put her hand in the pocket of her paisley uniform.
“He is settling down,” she announced. “I think he is doing better.” She sounded surprised.
She walked to me and gently put her hand on my shoulder. “Mrs. Shelby, this would be a good time for you to get some rest. It will be okay if you leave him for a little while. He really is doing better.”
She massaged my shoulders. “You need some sleep, honey. We’ll get you if anything changes. I’ll send a pillow and blanket to the waiting room. Go on, honey,” she urged.
I watched Kevin, his body settling peacefully on the bed. I looked into Cyndy’s kind, hazel eyes. I had slept less than three of the past 48 hours, and the strain of the day had taken its toll. But instead of feeling fatigued, I felt exhilarated.
“Thank you, Cyndy. Thank you!” I threw my arms around her neck, ecstatic that she confirmed what I saw happening. Kevin was better. The Lord had healed him.
On the afternoon of our eighth day at the hospital, Kevin was moved from the ICU to a private room for discharge the following day. I returned that evening to the hotel room that the International Mission Board had provided. I entered my dark room and tossed the car keys onto the desk. I started to close the drapes but stopped myself, caught by the bright light pouring from a nearby street lamp. It spilled through the window over the bed to the floor, marking a path like a river of light cutting through the darkness to guide me. I thought of Jesus pouring His light through the darkness of the previous days to light my way through them, and I knelt in that stream of light, tears flooding my cheeks. “Thank You, Jesus, for shining down on me,” I wept. “Thank You for healing Kevin and letting us return home together to our children.”
Behind the Veils of Yemen Page 3
