Things unsaid

On the way to the hospital, pain was a constant companion that stole my breath and silenced me. Many things rattled around in my head but could not find a voice. Six years ago we had decided to trust God with our family planning. With repentant hearts and blind trust we determined to neither try to conceive nor prevent the conception of any child that God would give us. Since then we have carried and surrendered 10 children to the will of our Father. As I lay on my left side in the passenger seat of our Jeep Cherokee with blood spilling into my belly, Peace cradled my broken body.

We knew when we left the doctor's office that we were in trouble. Women still die from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. The fact that it had been two days since the rupture, two days of internal bleeding only complicated matters. However, the pre-eminent thought pounding with each beat of my heart was this: "If I died for trusting God...well, okay." That was it. Simple. Blissful. Trust. Is there any better way to die than in surrender to the One who died for me? I think not.

Leaving my husband in the hallway as I was wheeled into surgery, I wanted to say something significant. It did not escape either of us that this was a very serious situation. Unable to find words, we parted with a simple, "I love you, I'll see you soon."

In the operating room, several nurses came and squeezed my hand, ran their hands over my head in an attempt to comfort me. Instead I comforted them saying, "No, it's okay. You don't understand, I have had the privilege of carrying 16 babies. How many women get that opportunity? God has given me so much."

Then I called for Dr. S, my surgeon and friend. With the pain medication haven taken affect I was able to focus more clearly. "Are you okay?" Dr. S asked as we waited for the anesthesiologist. "Yes, I just wanted to ask you something. If things don't go as planned in here...would you please tell Kelly that it is only because God has a better plan for him and our children. God would not take me if He didn't have a better plan. Tell him that I love him." Tears dropped down on the surgical mask of the nurse on my right. As the bright sterile room began to fade, the doctor responded confidently, "Ah, kiddo, you'll be awake in a few minutes and can tell him yourself."