Promises Kept
As the saga of nearly losing my husband and facing his severe brain injury continued, God kept His promise by providing in remarkable ways.
God will provide. God will be glorified. These were the gifted words that sprang to my mind when I discovered something was terribly wrong with my husband, and they continued to play on repeat in the days and even months that followed. Here’s the next installment of our story, and another example of God’s miraculous provision.
Ray remained in St. Vincent’s Hospital for several weeks after the heart attack and subsequent brain injury. I joyfully witnessed his first words, which quickly progressed to singing along to a favorite Tom Petty song. Ray’s ability to recall the lyrics, the beat, the tune was better music to my ears than any song the rock giant himself had ever played.
The day Ray “came to” and began speaking, the doctor asked him his name and his wife’s name. I was thrilled when he answered correctly!
Then she asked how many children he had.
“Two.”
“Noooo,” the doctor smiled and shook her head.
“Three?” Ray questioned.
“You have five children, Ray,” the doctor said, laughing at his wide-eyed surprise.
The same practice netted the same result the next day. On the third day, however, Ray remembered this: He had a lot of kids.
“Do you remember how many children you have?” the doc tested once again.
Ray thought for a moment before responding with a fair degree of aplomb, “Nine.”
Something had clicked, at least!
After about three weeks, Ray was transferred by ambulance to the Rehabilitation Hospital of Indiana, where he would stay for nearly two months. We celebrated our oldest son’s twelfth birthday beneath that hospital’s central rotunda. On Christmas Eve, Ray sat in a wheelchair, our four-year-old daughter perched on his lap, and read The Night Before Christmas aloud to the kids. The following day, we marked the holiday in the hospital’s conference room, the Merry Christmas! scrolled across the white board the only decoration in the otherwise stark space.
There was a pattern of three steps forward and two step back, but Ray was learning and getting better every day. Early on, we were warned by doctors that he might never walk or talk again, and we had faced the possibility that he might live out the rest of his days in an assisted living facility. Thus, every milestone brought celebration and great relief.
By the end of January, however, Ray’s progress had slowed and the insurance company would no longer pay for the intensive rehab hospital. With five children including an infant at home, the doctors, therapists, and I had agreed the best and safest option was to move Ray into an interim facility—assisted living—where he could continue to receive the care he needed until he was ready to come home.
The major problem was that Ray didn’t remember he couldn’t walk unaided, which made him a major fall risk. Left for even a moment, he would set his walker to the side, stand from his wheelchair, and take a few steps—only to fall flat on his face. We’d learned this the hard way, leading to a traumatic brain injury in addition to the anoxic brain injury suffered from the heart attack.
Experts in this area, his care team at the rehab hospital kept Ray safe by buckling him into his wheel chair with an impenetrable Posey lap belt. For extra safety, he was assigned 24/7 “sitters”—staff people whose sole responsibility was to stay close to Ray, never turning their backs on him or moving more than a few feet away.
In Indiana, however, assisted care facilities are not allowed to use restraints on their patients. Thus, before he could be admitted to his transitional home, Ray had to make it 24 hours without the lap Posey. With no other option, the hospital removed the restraint but kept the sitter, who frequently reminded him he couldn’t stand, then helped him back into his chair when he stood anyways.
The plan was to do this for a couple of days and gradually wean the sitter away. However, a strange medical event, perhaps a seizure, sent Ray back to St. Vincent’s Hospital before the process was complete. After another night at St. V’s, it was time to move him straight to the retirement home.
Having enlisted the support of my mom for the move, we arrived at the facility to discover that Ray’s room would be located along a lengthy corridor, at least half a dozen doors away from the nurse’s station. He would be alone in the room, with no bed alarm and no bed rails. Bed alarms and rails, I now learned, were considered a form of restraint, and thus not allowed.
Ray would fall within five minutes of me leaving him, I realized sickeningly. He’d be back at the hospital in no time with still another brain injury.
I couldn’t leave him, and that meant either finding someone to take our kids so I could be at the facility 24/7, or bringing Ray home and figuring out the rest.
I opted for the latter. No wheelchair. No walker. No chair for the shower. None of his meds. All on a Friday night when I couldn’t access any of these necessities until Monday morning.
But, of course, God provides.
During Ray’s stay at the Rehab Hospital, I’d happened to meet my dad’s very distant cousin, whose husband had suffered a stroke the year before. My dad hadn’t seen her in decades, and I hadn’t known she existed. Given our relation and somewhat similar circumstances, we had developed a rapport.
I called her. She had a wheelchair. She had a walker. She had a shower chair. Oh, and her husband? Now nearly fully recovered, he was a doctor, and he wrote the scripts for Ray’s much-needed meds. We had everything we needed to get us through the weekend.
Not only that, the kids were staying with my friend Erin (may she rest in peace) that night, so I had a little time to get my bearings and figure things out without the added strain of five children to care for.
In the moment, I was too caught up in the sudden shift of plans to fully appreciate the remarkable Providence of it all. Everything we needed was just a phone call away. My dad used his truck to pick up the supplies from his cousin while I heated a dinner provided by our fantastic community.
Looking back, I recognize that having Ray home was likely far better than having him at a facility. Difficult, of course. But a blessing, too, as it created a sense of normalcy and the kids were able to grow more familiar with this new version of their dad. They even began to play a role in his recovery. Our four-year-old, for example, became an improvised lap Posey. Any time I had to leave the room, I would have her sit on Daddy’s lap. She loved the cuddle time, and the ploy worked like a charm to keep Ray seated! The boys would play gentle games of catch with their dad, and Ray was able to join us on outings including Mass, our weekly family gatherings, and even a Super Bowl party with friends.
The ways in which God works will never cease to amaze me. Every time we begin to stress, we must remember:
He will provide. He will be glorified.
He has kept His promise to me and keeps His promises to all of us, and we must return love for love and good for good for giving Him all the glory.
How has God provided for you today? How will you glorify him?
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Bless you, Stephanie, for your faith, strength, and fortitude in keeping your heart open to God's Grace and accepting it in helping you through the difficult time in life.
Your family looks amazingly awesome! Your life legacy in one to be greatly honored. Kudo's to you.
✨️🕊🙏🎉✨️