God, part 3: Terrifying Power

While in college, I started attending a really progressive new church. The pastor there was incredibly charismatic – enthusiastic, eloquent, and very inspiring. I grew tremendously in the year or so I went there with Mom and Aunt. It brought us out of a relatively lax faith into something active and dynamic.

So inspired, I asked to meet with the pastor of the gigantic congregation, and was put on his calendar near the end of the summer. Moving my things back into the apartment I shared with my girls in college, I took a break and went to meet with Calvin one Thursday afternoon.

I was ushered in promptly, we shook hands, and I returned his grin. I, of course, had an agenda. I wanted to talk about my plans – thoughts of graduate school, questions about ending up alone, how to be sure I was leading a life of which God would approve.

He nodded as I went through my concerns, but said, “Tell me about your family.”

So I did, concluding by mentioning that I attended church with Mom.

He considered me, one elbow resting on the arm of a leather chair, chin in hand, legs crossed. Walnut bookcases surrounded us, and sunlight brightened the room that was filled with large, dark furniture.

“What about your dad and brother?”

“They don’t come.” I said, and he nodded.

“Do you think they believe in God?”

Suddenly I was dangerously near tears. I looked down and shrugged. This was supposed to be about me – I wasn’t comfortable talking about Dad and Brother. I had decided faith was something they’d have to work out with God on their own.

“We should pray about that. Will you pray with me?” He decided, and I nodded.

So we prayed. Asked God to consider Dad and Brother carefully, to work in their lives so they could see they needed a relationship with Him before it was too late.

Leaving with visions of the men in my family descending into the pits of hell, I shook it off, and got ready for senior year to begin.

Days later, I sat in my desk chair, while Rachel sat on my bed. It was the night before classes were going to start – a Monday night – and we were arguing lightly about some topic which now escapes me.

The phone rang, and when I picked it up, it was Brother’s girlfriend. I wrinkled my nose at Rachel – I didn’t like the girl.

“We’re at the hospital. Something’s wrong with your dad. He felt weird, so he took a shower, and Brother heard him throwing up. So he went to check and told your dad we were coming to the hospital.”

“Which hospital?”

“Your uncle’s here but your mom and aunt are at church, and we-“

“Which hospital?! Where is he?”

She told me, and I hung up. Rachel met me at the front door, keys in hand, eyes wide with fear.

“My dad, Rachel. My dad.”

We drove to the hospital in silence, getting lost briefly before she dropped me off at the door and went to park the car.

I walked in to see Brother at the desk, on the phone. Uncle stood next to him and met my gaze.

“Where is he?” I demanded of the admitting ER nurse. “I want to see my dad.”

A guy, not much older than I was, walked over. He was wearing a green tie.

“Do you want to see your father?” He asked gently, and I turned quickly to face him.

“Yes. Now. I want to see him now.”

On our walk to a curtained area, he touched my arm. I shook him off without really realizing it. “It’s pretty bad.” He warned me. “We can’t get his heart rhythm stabilized, so we’re still working. A cardiologist is on the way.”

Then I saw him.

“Oh, God, Daddy.” I murmured, rushing to his side and gripping his hand. There was equipment everywhere and his eyes were closed. They opened when I touched his hand, enclosing it in both of mine.

“Hi, princess.” He said, flushed from pain. “I’m not doing so good.”

I choked out a sob, then controlled it. I’m actually decent in a crisis situations. I get so upset over trivial issues so often that panic feels familiar. On some level, I’m able to feel it and still handle situations.

“I know, Daddy. You’ll be OK. They’re going to help you.” I was trying to soothe both of us.

“They keep putting aspirin under my tongue.” He told me. I watched tears form in his pale blue eyes, and closed my own for a moment. “They’re not helping. It still hurts.”

“Soon, Dad. They’ll make the pain stop soon.”

“It’s in my back.” He continued. “I thought I hurt it when I dropped the engine back in the car. It’s been hurting for days. But they say it’s my heart. They keep putting aspirin under my tongue, but it’s not helping.”

I nodded, slipping one hand from his to wipe the tears from his cheek closest to me. “You’re going to be fine.” I told him again, looking up as a doctor walked in. There was an orange stripe on his sneakers.

“Right.” He said briskly. “So we can’t get your heart under control with the meds we’re pushing. So we’re going to do an angioplasty.”

Dad’s hand tightened around mine, but I kept my focus on the doctor.

“Explain.” I said.

“We’ll make a small incision in the groin, then go up to the heart and open up the blocked artery. We’ll use a balloon to keep it open and you should be fine.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Dad said. “Katie! I don’t want that!”

“Do we have other options?” I asked the doctor, now holding my dad’s hand and shoulder.

He shook his head. “We can keep trying medication, but it’s not working. We have to do this now so we can avoid more damage. He’s not doing well.”

“Dad.” I said, meeting eyes I’d never before seen filled with terror. “Daddy, you have to do this. It’s the only way we can get through this. You can do it – I know you can.”

"Do you think?"

"You have to sign the papers now, Daddy."

He nodded, then signed the papers someone gave him. I remember thinking that it didn’t look like the signature he’d placed on my report cards when I was young.

The doctor left to prep and said Dad would be moved within minutes.

“I’m scared.” He said, still crying.

I nodded and tried to hold it together. “I know, Daddy. I’m scared too. So we’re going to pray now, and then we’ll be OK. You’re going to say a prayer with me, Dad, OK?”

So I bowed my head, touched my forehead to his, and we recited the Lord’s prayer. But we weren’t OK.

I looked away to wipe at my tears, and saw Brother at the edge of the curtain. I held out my hand for him and he came over.

“Hi.” Dad said, his eyes leaving mine for Brother’s. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“You’re going to be fine. This will all be over soon.” I said, hoping I was convincing someone.

“I love you, love both of you. Tell your mom. Someone should call work – the number’s in my wallet. They’ll have to find someone to do my job tomorrow. Tell them I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Do you know where my wallet is?”

“We’ll find it, Daddy. Don’t worry about it. We love you so much.” I told him, my head close to his. His skin was so hot – dark red and so hot.

“I love you too.” His eyes met mine briefly before the doctors returned and I lifted my head. I looked up at them, preparing to move out of the way, when Brother yelled.

“Dad? DAD?!” I looked back in time to watch his eyes roll back and one of the machines mimicked the screaming in my head.

Chaos – Orange Sneakers pounding on his chest, Green Tie pulling Brother and me from the room, watching from the hall as his body jumped from the shocks they delivered, until Green Tie took us to a small room. There was a cross on the wall.

I sat with Brother, not able to stop crying. I remembered, upon asking Mom why they’d forced a sibling on me, being told that Brother would be around if anything happened to her or Dad. So I wouldn’t be alone. Wrapped around each other, sobbing, I was grateful he was there.

I ordered Green Tie from the room when he arrived with more tissues, demanding status reports on Dad.

Mom arrived with Aunt, Rachel and Brother’s girlfriend followed them in while Uncle remained in the hall. Brother and I stayed locked together.

We moved shortly after, hearing that the staff of the Cath Lab had been heading home when Dad arrived. The chief of cardiology, conversely, had only just arrived for his shift. The timing, we were told, was perfect – the best doctor and the best staff were working on him.

I found his wallet, and called his boss as it neared 9PM. He wanted them to know he wouldn’t be there tomorrow, I told myself, unable to handle not calling.

Mom was asking questions, going over a diagram of a heart. Furious that she hadn’t been there, that I had to tell Dad to do this, that I had to tell him it was fine when I had no idea if that was true, I fumed.

“Why does it matter?” I finally demanded. “You’re not doing anything to help him! Does it really matter which artery is blocked?!”

“I need to know.” She responded quietly, and Aunt patted her comfortingly.

I saw Uncle standing outside in the warm, late August evening. I joined him, and when he turned to me, I cried like I haven’t before or since. I know loss – was 17 when Grandma died and it was a long, painful illness. But this was Daddy. And I was shattered.

They did well in the Cath Lab, and we got to see him in the ICU for brief moments, looking in from the doorway. Dad says he saw us, wanted Brother to tell them to take the tube out of his throat. The drugs had retroactive memory agents – Dad doesn’t remember much of being in the ER.

“I prayed with Katie. I don’t remember anything else.” He told Mom when she asked.

He was in the hospital for 8 days. His heart had stopped 7 times while they attempted to repair it, and he’d been having minor heart attacks for days before that. He nearly died – very nearly.

Two things changed upon his release from the hospital. He no longer smokes. And he now goes to church.