Everything inside me was on hyper-alert as I sat in the hospital’s surgical waiting room. When someone stood to get a cup of coffee, my gaze reflexively followed them. When someone signed in or out at the waiting room desk, my head jerked up. When a name was called over the speaker, my mind did a double take to ensure it wasn’t mine. And every time a surgeon walked through the doors to confer with a family member, I started to rise, even though I knew it would still be hours before I would hear a word.
Surgery was required to resect a very rare form of abdominal cancer from my husband, and then what his surgeon referred to as a “shake and bake” procedure in which they removed all his vital organs, bathed them in a hot chemotherapy bath, re-inserted them in his body, and rotated his body to coat the inside of his body in the chemotherapy solution.
We had been warned the surgery could last up to 24 hours, and it wasn’t much shy of that before the surgeon walked through the doors, pulling the cap off his head and meeting my gaze. I searched his eyes, trying to ascertain what he would say before he ever uttered a word, trying to prepare myself for the worst. Warned that one in four patients die on the operating table, we approached the procedure with caution and seriousness. Now, I was left wondering if he was the one, or among the three.
“The surgery was about as successful as it could be. He will need to be in ICU for at least the next week, but this kind of surgery will take several months for him to recover before we can begin his chemotherapy regime. You can go in and see him now for a few minutes, and then the nurses will announce when you can go in for about ten minutes every six hours. I’d suggest you go home and rest.”
Suddenly I couldn’t think. I thought of nothing and everything all at once. He survived—at least for the time being. Thank you, God. But now what? I had to see him for it to be real. I had waited the better part of 24 hours to see him, to touch him, to talk to him.
The nurse led me into his ICU room but had not prepared me for what I would experience. Waiting in the surgical waiting room, I had lost all sense of time. I was too nervous to eat, and I couldn’t sleep, afraid I would miss the surgeon and his report. So I was surprised when a stream of sunlight came through the pinhole in the window blinds. Daylight. It was daylight. He had survived another day. The last time I saw him, we held hands, we prayed, we praised God for a competent medical team. And then I watched as they wheeled him out of the room and I was left holding his belongings.
The various beeps and whirs of machines monitoring his vital signs jerked me back to the present. But there was no preparing me for what I saw next. For whatever reason, my eyes were drawn to the floor. The hospital floor was a sharp bleached white floor, but I gasped as I saw a large pool of his blood growing larger by the moment against the stark white tile of the floor. In shock I looked up to see the body of my husband, nearly unrecognizable. He seemed small compared to the bed. Pale. Covered in wires and tubes.
“Oh God, no. Please no. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been through so much. Don’t make him go through any more…” I sobbed, as I sank down to my knees beside his bed.
Within moments a nurse came and escorted me out to an ICU waiting room chair where I would basically live for the next 10 days, save for 10 minutes every six hours when I was permitted to see him, hold his hand, pray with him.
My tears and my prayers continued. “God, he didn’t do anything to deserve this. He’s been through so much already. Please don’t let him die. And please don’t let him hurt any more. Please let me take this pain and torture for him…”
As I prayed, I sensed God whisper to my heart, “That’s what My Son did. He took the pain and torture that would have been yours and went through it on the cross for you. He shed His blood for you, so you didn’t have to. It’s what love does.”
In that moment, the blood that I’d seen on the floor, I now pictured as the blood at the foot of the cross. It was His sacrifice. He didn’t deserve to be tortured, or to die. He did it willingly, as a gift. It’s what love does.
Do you know His love?
Because of Him and His love, #HopePrevails!
You can also find out more about the book, “Hope Prevails: Insights From a Doctor’s Personal Journey Through Depression” below.
A short brief about Hope Prevails.
Insights from a Doctor’s Personal Journey through Depression
Dr. Michelle Bengtson
Speaking from personal and professional experience, a neuropsychologist unpacks what depression is, shows how it affects us spiritually, and offers hope for living the abundant life.
Neuropsychologist Offers Hope to Those Struggling with Depression
-By 2020, depression will be our greatest epidemic worldwide
- An estimated 350 million people worldwide suffer from some form of depression
- As with the bestselling My Stroke of Insight, the author experienced the same condition she treats
- Helpful features include personal stories, biblical truths, prayers, and music recommendations
In Hope Prevails, Dr. Bengtson writes with deep compassion and empathy, blending her extensive training and faith, to offer readers a hope that is grounded in God’s love and grace. She helps readers understand what depression is, how it affects them spiritually, and what, by God’s grace, it cannot do. The result is a treatment plan that addresses the whole person—not just chemical imbalances in the brain.
For those who struggle with depression and those that want to help them, Hope Prevails offers real hope for the future.
Hope Prevails is available now wherever books are sold. To find out more, see: http://drmichellebengtson.com/hope-prevails-book/.
(If you have a question you’d like Dr. B to answer, contact her here now. Your name and identity will be kept confidential.)