It's Friday morning at our house.
Fifteen times...
Can that be right?
I know I heard it fifteen times...
That familiar whoosh and quick inhale of air that marks my asthmatic husband using his rescue inhaler.
I can tell when I look into his eyes that I heard correctly.
His pupils are dilated, I can see the pulse in the artery running down his right temple...
He's scared.
But when I ask him about it he says, "I think I'm okay.... I just can't get a full breath."
And so we begin the dance of knowing how to read his facial expressions and how to listen to his respiration rather than the tight words he struggles to get out...
He insists that we go ahead and follow through with the music that we are scheduled to play at the 55+ Senior retreat at Warm Beach Camp.
I know better than to try and force him otherwise.
He uses the inhaler a handful of times on the way...
His cough has been consistent for several days, a yearly head cold?
It's always so hard to tell with asthma...
I'm amazed that we get through our last song, but we both were praying that we would...
We gather our things, drop our mom off at home, and head straight to Urgent Care.
His breathing sounds thicker... harder...
He uses the inhaler several more times before we arrive....
Once there they rush us right into a room and start a breathing treatment...
The first of two.
They don't help much at all.
I sit in the plastic chair in the exam room holding my purse, he's on the table holding the breathing treatment tube...
His blood pressure and heart rate is in a range that warrants the barrage of questions from the nurse about chest pain, pressure, squeezing....
I listen for his answers more intently than she does.
No.
No pain, no pressure, no squeezing.
Well, at least there's no immediate cardiac issue.
But he still can't breathe.
The medically analytical part of my mind is scanning like wild for possible insight.
I come up with nothing.
The emotional part of me is on pause as I try to stay absolutely calm while the doctor asks about past intubation for asthma...
I've seen people on a vent.
I try not to think about it.
I look at my husband and I feel like I am a thousand miles away behind 3 foot Plexiglas.
I'm not used to not being able to help.
There's nothing I can do except remain calm and reassuring... and pray.
So I do those things with all I have.
I shoot the occasional text to two dear sister-friends that are praying with us every step.
And we wait.
I can tell that the doctor is doing what she believes is best.
And usually the breathing treatments work.
But not this time.
They administer steroids, (the side-effects made the asthma worse), and we wait some more.
We are told we will be discharged, our instructions are to take the meds as prescribed and head to the ER if he spirals downward again.
He's still not breathing much better.
Weird thoughts fly through my head...
Like...
The garage is a disaster... I can't possibly take care of it alone.
The lawn tractor is still broken, how am I going to figure out how to put the new part on?
Why did I nag him so much about posture?
I should have smiled more.
Why did I ever complain about anything?
He is the nicest person I've ever known...
Have I loved him with all my heart like I promised on our wedding day?
Why did I doubt, or fear, or worry?
I should have put him first all the time.....
I am so selfish, and ungrateful, and over committed...
Oh God please let him breathe.
Let him live.
Help us....
And you know, He is.
Rick's breathing has gone from a 3.5 on a scale from 1-10 (with 10 being normal breathing) to a 7.5 currently.
He's gotten more sleep the last two nights.
The antibiotic that's on board is addressing the infection that was causing the asthma to be so awful.
And the rescue inhaler is working.
This experience has shaken me to the core. Us to the core.
I have spent hours in repentance and tears, and then thanking the Lord over and over and over for another chance with new mercies to be more of the wife he has called me to be.
My husband is my greatest treasure on this Earth. No human has ever loved me and cared for me like he has.
He has embraced me at my most fragile and loved my children and I beyond what I could ever have imagined.
I wouldn't wish to repeat Friday ever again, but I am so grateful that the Lord uses even the most terrifying moments of our lives to bring about good.
When I married Rick I had no idea what love was. Real love. Sacrificial love that gives and doesn't think about reciprocity.
I have learned so much about who God is and how He loves me through the fierce devotion and gentle love of this man I am humbled to call my husband.
He is precious to me beyond what I could ever express.
Thank you Lord for your mercy toward us.
Let me never forget it.
Fifteen times...
Can that be right?
I know I heard it fifteen times...
That familiar whoosh and quick inhale of air that marks my asthmatic husband using his rescue inhaler.
I can tell when I look into his eyes that I heard correctly.
His pupils are dilated, I can see the pulse in the artery running down his right temple...
He's scared.
But when I ask him about it he says, "I think I'm okay.... I just can't get a full breath."
And so we begin the dance of knowing how to read his facial expressions and how to listen to his respiration rather than the tight words he struggles to get out...
He insists that we go ahead and follow through with the music that we are scheduled to play at the 55+ Senior retreat at Warm Beach Camp.
I know better than to try and force him otherwise.
He uses the inhaler a handful of times on the way...
His cough has been consistent for several days, a yearly head cold?
It's always so hard to tell with asthma...
I'm amazed that we get through our last song, but we both were praying that we would...
We gather our things, drop our mom off at home, and head straight to Urgent Care.
His breathing sounds thicker... harder...
He uses the inhaler several more times before we arrive....
Once there they rush us right into a room and start a breathing treatment...
The first of two.
They don't help much at all.
I sit in the plastic chair in the exam room holding my purse, he's on the table holding the breathing treatment tube...
His blood pressure and heart rate is in a range that warrants the barrage of questions from the nurse about chest pain, pressure, squeezing....
I listen for his answers more intently than she does.
No.
No pain, no pressure, no squeezing.
Well, at least there's no immediate cardiac issue.
But he still can't breathe.
The medically analytical part of my mind is scanning like wild for possible insight.
I come up with nothing.
The emotional part of me is on pause as I try to stay absolutely calm while the doctor asks about past intubation for asthma...
I've seen people on a vent.
I try not to think about it.
I look at my husband and I feel like I am a thousand miles away behind 3 foot Plexiglas.
I'm not used to not being able to help.
There's nothing I can do except remain calm and reassuring... and pray.
So I do those things with all I have.
I shoot the occasional text to two dear sister-friends that are praying with us every step.
And we wait.
I can tell that the doctor is doing what she believes is best.
And usually the breathing treatments work.
But not this time.
They administer steroids, (the side-effects made the asthma worse), and we wait some more.
We are told we will be discharged, our instructions are to take the meds as prescribed and head to the ER if he spirals downward again.
He's still not breathing much better.
Weird thoughts fly through my head...
Like...
The garage is a disaster... I can't possibly take care of it alone.
The lawn tractor is still broken, how am I going to figure out how to put the new part on?
Why did I nag him so much about posture?
I should have smiled more.
Why did I ever complain about anything?
He is the nicest person I've ever known...
Have I loved him with all my heart like I promised on our wedding day?
Why did I doubt, or fear, or worry?
I should have put him first all the time.....
I am so selfish, and ungrateful, and over committed...
Oh God please let him breathe.
Let him live.
Help us....
And you know, He is.
Rick's breathing has gone from a 3.5 on a scale from 1-10 (with 10 being normal breathing) to a 7.5 currently.
He's gotten more sleep the last two nights.
The antibiotic that's on board is addressing the infection that was causing the asthma to be so awful.
And the rescue inhaler is working.
This experience has shaken me to the core. Us to the core.
I have spent hours in repentance and tears, and then thanking the Lord over and over and over for another chance with new mercies to be more of the wife he has called me to be.
My husband is my greatest treasure on this Earth. No human has ever loved me and cared for me like he has.
He has embraced me at my most fragile and loved my children and I beyond what I could ever have imagined.
I wouldn't wish to repeat Friday ever again, but I am so grateful that the Lord uses even the most terrifying moments of our lives to bring about good.
When I married Rick I had no idea what love was. Real love. Sacrificial love that gives and doesn't think about reciprocity.
I have learned so much about who God is and how He loves me through the fierce devotion and gentle love of this man I am humbled to call my husband.
He is precious to me beyond what I could ever express.
Thank you Lord for your mercy toward us.
Let me never forget it.
