surgery – Jerry Lout ⚬ Writer ⚬ Speaker ⚬ Mobilizer

There is no surprise more magical than the surprise of being loved. It is God’s finger on man’s shoulder.

This reflection attributed to Playwright Charles Morgan, brings a soul-warming smile this day.

I was not smiling those several weeks back at Christmastime upon learning my twenty-seven-year-old grandson was being wheeled off to surgery. T.J. would soon be left without a colon. The culprit – advanced Crohn’s Disease.

The procedure complete, T.J.’s body then faced a string of bewildering, daunting and very worrisome hurdles. The hospital’s I.C.U., his new address. Seven weeks into the journey, T.J. and his (rock star companion) wife Ashley are breathing a bit more easily. This week’s physician report thankfully signals a turn for the better.*

The expressions of love directed toward T.J. and to our whole family certainly did not come as a full surprise. Many readers of this column can relate.

A number of those praying and caring supporters cheering us on are people already near and dear in our lives. Still, the parade of well-wishers, friends and acquaintances, shoring up our feeble faith through their voices and their unrelenting praying seemed at times super-human. Indeed , the Divine element is irrefutable – his strong presence.

Our brother-in-Christ and past co-laborer Pastor Wangombe in Africa – adds his voice to many of our international student friends, past and present, “It is war; and in all these things we are more than conquerors through Christ our Lord”.

South Asia friend, Raj, chimes in, “Amen, rock on TJ and team. PTL”!

Smiles, indeed.

*further update: T.J. is out of hospital. With family, gaining strength

My bride-to-be nearly drowned. She was young at the time, just hours old.

“Mr and Mrs. Barnes, the risks are high. To our knowledge no baby has made it through long-term. But the surgery is the only chance your little girl has.”

Earl and Mary had little time to think it over. A surgical team gathered and a T. E. Fistula repair was scheduled. The life of Alice Ann Barnes – her full body weight shy of five pounds – hung in the balance.

T.E. stood for Tracheosophageol. Sadly, the baby’s esophagus and trachea were defective at birth. Designed to transport her mother’s milk into her stomach, Ann’s esophagus mingled with her air-tube. Thus, any nutrition-rich fluids were sent to her lungs, not her stomach. In 1949 the field of medicine had its limits. Without corrective surgery, death by drowning or malnutrition would likely result.

Anesthetics were administered, their effects carefully watched. The surgeon’s knife found entrance into little Ann’s back. The procedure was underway.

Hours passed as anxious parents waited.

“Her vitals are steady.” Intensive care nurses – hours into post-op – kept a close watch on little Ann. Some likely prayed.

December, 1967. The former pediatrics patient – poised, lovely in her white gown – moved along the church sanctuary’s center aisle and to her waiting groom.

***

Our courtship, Ann’s and mine, had largely played out by long distance – spanning twelve hundred miles and two-and-a-half years. First by old-fashioned letters. Then with my Oklahoma-to-Montana phone calls.

The marriage wasn’t arranged by third-party players, but neither did we magically fall in love. We grew toward one another through the modest media of stationery paper and ballpoint ink, radial-dial phones with long-distance lines transporting two distinctly different accents – one from just south of Canada, the other a stone’s throw from Texas.

We had survived, each of us, our childhood crises of health. To one day embark, united, on a journey unlike any we could have dreamed.

An arranged marriage, one might say. By providence.

Tag: surgery

Family Ties

Arrangement