The Vessels...

...the Hands and Feet of Christ.

In addition to witnessing God's healing hand repeatedly over the past few days, we've witnessed a willingness by so many to be used by Him, for his goodness!

This is another one of those post that I'm writing for me to remember things that we experienced in those scary times. If you chose to read it, I hope it blesses you; if not, I hope you will continue to pray for our family and these precious men and women who served us!

When we arrived at this hospital, all that was going through my head (besides these people have got to get me better and fast!) was where on the earth are they taking me? We're in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee at the Fort Sanders Sevierville Medical Center. Where? I know. They rolled me into the ER, and I had not a clue what kind of care I would get! Would they have the proper equipment? Would they know how to fix me?

If the paramedics were any indication of the quality of care I was going to receive, then I was in good hands. Andrew and Aaron are cousins. Andrew was the one who couldn't find my pulse but didn't panic. He held my hand as I sat on the bathroom floor throwing up. He kept me talking even though I didn't want to. They put me in a medic chair to carry me up the stairs. Andrew carefully got me onto the gurney, started my IV, checked with the OB on an anti-nausea drug I could take. He stayed with me until the ER nurse could come in. And later that morning, he found Paul in the middle of my surgery, when he was all alone in the OR waiting room. He sat with Paul through my surgery and prayed with him. This complete stranger brought such comfort, allowing himself to be used as His hands.

My first ER nurse, Will, had more energy than Addie! He went 90 miles an hours. But he was the one who stayed after his shift had ended to get me ready for surgery. He changed my IV bag after IV bag (which was apparently a total of 8 before surgery, with one going in each arm). He pumped me full of anti-nausea medicine and antibiotics for surgery, just in case. He told me that he was ready for my fingers and toes to not be purple! He came and visited me in the ICU after my surgery.

Then there was Dr. H. He was my first ER doctor. He was so patient and gentle. He ordered the tests, consulted with several other doctors, including the next ER doctor on call and my doctor from home. He called in the team of doctors. He held my hand before they took me out of the ER to surgery. I could see tears in his eyes. He came to see me early the next morning in the ICU and brought me a personal note and a beautiful wooden angel.

Dr. B was the next ER doctor that came on. He has 7 children. He had this calming voice, reassuring yet realistic. He always winked at me when I'd glance over to get his reaction of what was going on. Paul asked him if I was going to be ok. Calmly but reasonable he replied, "Sir, we are going to do everything we can for her."

Dr. P is the Chief of Staff. I didn't find this out until later. He's also the best surgeon on the planet in my eyes. He's the one who demanded the 2nd surgical team come in to save my life. He's quick and sharp yet steady and calm. He's a surgeon. He drained my belly of blood, checked my stomach, intestines, kidneys and liver. He cut me open and sewed/stapled me back up.

Dr. P's brother is a CRNA (certified registered nurse anesthetist). He was in an emergency c-section, where Dr. P paged him, texted him, and called him (something he apparently never does all 3 of). He wanted him in the OR for me. He got him in there, and he watched my levels. He made sure the medicine they gave me would not harm my babies. He made sure I got through the surgery. He offered his home for Paul to come take a shower or stay in.

And then Dr. A. I really think she's an angel without wings. She stood by my bed and would talk gently to me. Giving me the possibilities of what she might have to do. Reminding me that I was in good hands. Carefully monitoring all of my babies, even the one that almost took my life. When she smiled, her eyes would light up. Before she did the ultrasound to check to see if the twins were even still alive, she prayed with us. She prayed for God's comfort, for His presence. And she rejoiced with us when we saw those kicking, wiggling, babies with amazing heartbeats. She prayed with us agian, thanking our amazing God for shielding these babies from harm.

Dot was the nurse in ultrasounds/radiation. She rubbed my feet and figured out how to prop my hips up without pain shooting through my body. She squeezed my hand and told me I was doing a good job. She called our babies little peanuts and marveled at how perfect they were! She came and visited me before I went into surgery, rubbing my back as I was getting sick. She came back to the ICU after my surgery, held my hand, and told me how happy she was for all of us! And she came to our room, the night before we were discharged, to wish us the best.

Denise was my ICU nurse. She is actually Andrew, the paramedics, wife. She finally found a pain med and dose that would ease my pain. She was so patient. She gave me a bath and brushed my hair out (which is a feat in of itself!). She got me ice cup after ice cup. She heated my first meal, grits, and found me some butter and a spoon. She talked with Paul, reassuring him that things would be alright. She walked us out when we were discharged, and we left her with the beautiful purple flowers Diane and her family sent me. She was another angel without wings.

What I love about each of these doctors and nurses is their confidence in their colleagues. Each one reassured me about the other. Each one had something positive to say about the next one. They saw the fear in my eyes of the unknown and worked to calm me. I firmly believe that God put them at that hospital that morning. They added to the peace that He gave me. They recognized not only their gifts but that our God, the Greatest Physician, was the ultimate one in control. That glorified Him with us, which made me respect them all the more.

They were the hands and feet of Christ.