One Wild Windy Thursday Night

It was one wild, windy Thursday night. One of the worst wind storms of the year; it tore up trees, knocked out power for 12 hours and made it difficult to travel. Everything unlocked down was blown away, and travel was dangerous along the freeway where semi-trucks and high-profile trucks lined the shoulder. They were afraid to drive along I-15 in Davis County where the winds reached 60 and 70 mph, overturning vehicles that tried to drive along them. At 5:00pm, a gust reaching 80 mph one of the highest recorded blasts of the night, ripped through Centerville. 

I realized how fragile life was that night as my own medical storm took place at Lakeview Hospital. I had been being admitted to the hospital the night before with a kidney stone. They took me into surgery on that windy Thursday afternoon to remove the stone and I crashed. I had septic shock and D.I.C. neither of which are good, and together are very dangerous. Septic shock is a very complex process wherein infection in the body gets out of hand and an overwhelming inappropriate immune response occurs throughout the body, blood pressure plummets, overtaxing the heart and leading to organ failure and often death. It is not the infection that is so dangerous—it is the body’s response!

Disseminated intravascular coagulation (DIC) is a rare, life-threatening condition that prevents a person's blood from clotting normally. It may cause excessive clotting (thrombosis) or bleeding (hemorrhage) throughout the body and leads to shock, organ failure, and death. 

Luckily, despite both these life-threatening occurrences, I was in the best place to be treated for it, and within minutes I was in the I.C.U. and they were reversing the effects of the medical conditions that had occurred. Even luckier, I was totally unconscious of what was happening. 

granddaughter Skye

What I want to address is my memories and experiences of the week-long experience. The only thing I can remember from my time in I.C.U. is praying that the Lord’s will be done. For too many times in the past, I had selfishly prayed not to have a trial, not to have cancer, to be healed no matter what. I didn’t know what was happening in this experience, (most of the time I was not conscious), but with whatever conscious that I had, I wanted the Lord to know I wanted His will to be done—not mine. Over and over, my only thought was—“thy will be done—not mine.” 

One other small memory from the I.C.U.—I remember my granddaughter Skye sitting and holding

daughter Athena

my hand. How comforting that felt. I was so glad she was there. I don’t remember anything else from those three days in I.C.U.; I only remember “waking” in the hospital room with my family there.

My daughter Athena who lives in Layton, Utah, not far from us, had been with me in the I.C.U. almost from the first. She had been there all night that long night that they didn’t know whether I’d make it or not. She said I was very confused and asked, “Where are they? Where are they?” but I couldn’t tell her who ‘they’ were. (I don’t remember this or anything else in the I.C.U.) I didn’t know where I was; I had no idea what had happened, but when she told me, I asked again. She would try to sleep, but whenever I would start talking, she would see if she could calm me. She said at times I was delirious and she couldn’t understand me. It is always the role of women to stay with the ill throughout the night, comforting and caring for them. 

daughter Diana

My younger daughter Diana lives in Chicago and she was more distraught because she was far away and there was nothing she could do but worry. She sent me an email that night that described her experience: “Tonight I was also thinking about how I hated that you had to suffer through this alone (I know Athena is there with you but since you aren't awake it's hard for you to know that) and while I was thinking about that and praying that Heavenly Father would be there with you and comfort you I had the most overwhelming feeling that your mom and Aunt Coleen were there with you—[both were deceased]. It was almost as if someone was telling me not to worry that I can't be there because they were there with you and would stay by your side the whole time.”

As Diana explained, I had my family—on both sides of the veil—with me that long night. As in so

Mother

many times in this life when we struggle, we have our family and our friends, supporting us, helping us, on both sides of the veil.

The words from Psalms 23:4 comforted me. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”  Psalms 23: 4. I know that God is always there to comfort me. I had not consciously thought that he sends others to comfort and strengthen us as well. But of course he does. 

deceased sister Coleen

Something several people wanted to know was “Did I see the light? Did I see my mother or sister?” I didn’t because I didn’t come close to dying!!! When Diana told me about her experience that she knew my deceased mother and sister had been with me that night, I knew it was true; they had been there. I hadn’t felt them because I was too drugged up or unconscious. I may have felt them then but didn’t remember it now. 

I used to read lots of “near-death” of “life after death” experiences to see what people experienced when they died and were brought back to death. So many experienced seeing their bodies separate from their “souls” and leaving their bodies behind to go to a beautiful place of love. Family members who had passed away met them when they died and told them to go back when they were “brought back to life.” Various renditions of the same experience, but essentially the same. 

One day I was reading such a story, and I had an epiphany. I didn’t need to read such a story to know that when we die, we go to a spirit world, filled with love. I know, as surely as if I had had a near-death experience that when I die, my soul will leave my earthly body behind, my loved ones will greet me and escort me to a spirit world of love. That is all that I need to know! I haven’t read those types of stories since because I know more surely than the books what is real. 

Another lesson I learned from my experience is the power of prayer!!!! I’ve always known how powerful prayer was, but I’ve never felt it as potently as I did this time. It was Fast Sunday when I was in the hospital and my ward fasted and prayed for me. My oldest son, along with my youngest son, my husband, son-in-law, brother-in-law gave me a blessing that same day. My son was the voice and told me that “I would feel the love, concern, and prayers of those who cared about me.” I testify that I really did. It felt like a warm bubble that surrounded me and comforted me that protected me from all my worries and fears. I have never felt anything like it before. I didn’t worry about Thanksgiving coming, or Christmas shopping, or whether I would get better; I knew everything would be okay. I knew people cared about me and were praying for me. 

Even when I was stable from the septic shock and D.I.C., my body refused to cooperate. I developed pneumonia. Then my asthma kicked in and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But I could still feel the prayers helping me. Even when my pericarditis kicked in and I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest and I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t get discouraged as I normally do when it hits. Again I felt the comfort of the prayers—the peace made me realize that I could conquer anything. It was only a few days and it would switch off, and I’d be better, and it was. 

My recovery has not been as fast or as easy as I would have wished it would have been, but I have appreciated those who have done kind things for me. I am grateful for a wonderful visiting teacher who dropped by with small things that brightened my day when I had a hard time eating; my dear sister Janet who always is so kind and thoughtful in many ways! The Relief Society presidency was so kind and checked up on me briefly when it was hard for me to talk or visit. I appreciated their understanding; I needed sleep and rest. My daughter Athena always knew what needed to be done and did it, whether it was chicken noodle soup or decorating for Christmas. How overwhelmed I would have been without her and her family!

One last comment. I am glad to know that when I was delirious, I didn’t change my personality. They said I kept planning things—I said I needed to help with a youth activity; I was worried about Thanksgiving dinner and had given the waitress my list of ingredients to buy for it. I’ve always wondered if I had no inhibitions, what would I be like—funny, mean? Apparently, I’d just be the same, worried about all the things to do. Athena was nice enough to video-tape me on her phone answering her questions when I was delirious, so she could show me how “crazy” or “normal” I was. With Bryan, I told him “Happy Halloween” then realized that was wrong, corrected myself and said, “Merry Christmas” (it was a few days before Thanksgiving). I guess I was as crazy as ever.

Life is fragile. We never know what will happen from day to day. We never know when powerful storms—real or figurative—will hit our lives. How grateful I am that I had the chance to recover and enjoy my family that Christmas season. How grateful I am for all the friends and neighbors whose prayers I felt during my recovery. I truly feel that Christmas season will be one of the blessed of my life.

Childhood illnesses I Have Survived

The Hawaiian people have an ancient tradition. They do not celebrate the birth of a child. Because of the high incidence of death among infants, the possibility of the newborn living long was not very good. They waited until the first birthday of each child to celebrate with a huge luau when the whole village welcomed the child with joy. If the child made it to the age of one, they felt, he would probably live to adulthood.

If I had lived in earlier generations, I probably would not have celebrated my first birthday. As a baby

I was in the hospital in Brigham City, very ill with pneumonia and was not expected to live. However, it was World War II, and the doctor got some penicillin for me and I recovered. Later as a toddler I had scarlet fever and was extremely ill; again penicillin saved my life.

I was quite healthy after that, but my two younger sisters (later even my third sister) had rheumatic fever; my one sister had it twice and had a heart murmur. She spent three months in beds, and had to be

carried to the bathroom. For years we treated her with cotton gloves, and she didn’t have to do family chores for fear it would be too much for her, and she’d hurt her heart.

But the Asian flu pandemic of 1956 hit everyone hard and I was no exception. I got sicker than a dog. I remember being so sick in bed, and just laying there. My bed was against the wall, and I’d rub my finger in a half-circle on the wall listlessly as I lay there feeling awful. Eventually the friction of my finger wore through the wallpaper to an undercoat of wallpaper, then an even lower level of wallpaper. I’d pick at the edges of the wallpaper and tear them away as I lay there. The lowest level of wallpaper had an unusual pattern—it looked like Nazi swastikas! 

I was beginning to feel better, so now I lay there in bed, I’d make up stories of how our house had been owned by American Nazis who had papered my room with the swastika wallpaper as they fought for Hitler. Each day I’d create a new adventure for them, but always they would be caught by the Americans and sent to prison, so eventually their house would be sold, my room papered over, and later we’d purchase it of course. 

Then I developed bronchitis, and coughed and coughed and coughed.  I had to have antibiotics—PILLS!!!! Unfortunately, I couldn’t swallow them. My mother tried everything to help me swallow them, but I’d choke on them, and couldn’t get them down. Finally my mother found a way I could get them down. She’d hide the pill inside a bite-size piece of canned peach, and I’d swallow it, and not even taste the pill inside. That was the way I swallowed the whole bottle of pills and started to get better. 

I can remember one day I was able to lie in my parents’ bedroom and I was finally hungry. Their room was the original room where the home had been started—100 years earlier. It was solid stone and cool in the summer; I felt so protected laying there. My mother was thrilled that I was getting back my appetite and bought me what I desired the most—a Milky Way Candy Bar. I ate it, savoring every bite. Then I got sick and threw up and threw up. I have never been able to eat a Milky Way Candy Bar since. Looking at them makes me want to throw up. 

I survived the Asian flu and when the Hong Kong flu came along in 1968, I had immunity and didn’t even get it.

In Memoriam: Elegy to an Automobile

 [This was written years ago when we were young and laughed at life]

 

 Betsy died violently in a raging inferno of fire. At her death, she was in the prime of her life, with another hundred thousand miles or more left in her. Betsy was far more than just a car; Betsy was a member of our family.

 

            To some people (specifically my husband), Betsy didn't look that elegant. She was just a small, brown, Datsun station wagon, but she fit my image. She was short, stocky and very square, but then I am too. She projected an image of solid, suburban matron-liness, but then so do I! She wasn't fast or showy, but she was steady and persistent—just like me!

           
             It took me 14 years, four kids and a Cub Scout den to convince my husband that I needed a car like Betsy--a station wagon. He thought it might tarnish his image as a dashing, young aviator to be seen in something so conservative. But after my husband bought a sporty Toyota Celica, (that couldn't hold the whole family, let alone our dog) he ran out of excuses and allowed me to adopt Betsy. He pretended that she was just visiting us! 

            Betsy was just what I wanted and I loved her dearly. She was good‑natured and dependable. She awakened quickly and easily every morning no matter how cold the weather or how early the hour; she was never cranky or obstinate. She never stranded me or quit unexpectedly, and she never ever ran out of gas for me. (She ran out of gas occasionally for my husband, when he had to drive her, but that was only because he didn't like her and she knew it).

           

Betsy was not flashy or glamorous, and yes, she showed her age despite a new wax job and new tires. But her dents were signs of character; her scratches were ribbons of valor.

            There was the gouge in the upholstery where Marc had tried to attack Athena and missed. There was the sagging spring in the back seat where my oldest son Marlowe always sat before he got his driver's license. (His name was written in indelible ink on the back of the seat, in case someone didn't realize that was his designated seat!) There was the rubbed spot from the infant car seat and there was the light cover that always fell off and hit you on the head if you slammed the door.

            But Betsy's imperfections only made her dearer to us. She maneuvered so nicely on rainy roads and took curves so sweetly. She didn't have a tiger in her tank, and yes, you had to encourage her when she was trying to pass another car, or when ascending a steep hill. But that was only to prevent us from missing the breath-taking scenery around us. She was just like the little train in children's story-books. We chanted "I think she can! I think she can!" all the way up the hill and cheer her all the way down! She always pulled through, somehow, but that may have been due to all our prayers in her behalf.

            Betsy drove us safely through blizzards in Nebraska; she joyfully took us home for Christmas and to family reunions. She scaled Mauna Kea's heights with aplomb and loved nothing better than running down to the beach in Hawaii. Most of all Betsy loved the Texas freeways with their peaceful rolling hills, and open spaces, yet she gladly gave them up for the two‑lane country roads of rural Alabama. Betsy was a real trouper!

            How do you tell your husband that your car has been incinerated? I tried, in vain, to think of a way to break the news to him gently.

            "Sweetheart, I fried our car."

            "Which do you want me to buy this week, a new car or a used car?"

            "You know how you never really cared for Betsy? Well, you don't have her to kick around any more."

Finally I chickened out! I left a message for him to meet me at the paint shop where Betsy had been getting a new paint job when the shop burned down cremating Betsy. I picked armfuls of wild flowers, and awaited his arrival. When he pulled up in a cloud of dust and a squeal of wheels, I was throwing the flowers on Betsy's funeral pyre and mournfully singing her praises. I don't care what my husband thought (or said); Betsy was a real lady and I'm glad she went out in a blaze of glory!