Post 36 - When it rains, it pours

Hey all!

You know that saying, when it rains, it pours?

Well, that was my week.

Monday night, we thought my dad was getting worse. To the point that I was preparing myself to possibly head back to California.

My heart was already heavy.

Then Tuesday happened.

After work, I was heading to my hair appointment. I was looking forward to a relaxing night. There was a pretty good chance I was going to fall asleep under the hairdryer.

Expectations are a funny thing.

I was about a mile from the salon when I got a text from Bill.

“Got hit. Heading to Valley Hospital.”

My heart dropped.

I immediately called him. I could barely hear him, but he was talking, and that was the first thing I held onto.

He was alive.

I could hear the pain in his voice.

I told him I was meeting him at the hospital.

Of course, he said, “You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

I told him, “Babe, you would tell me you were fine if you were dying.”

If you know my husband, you know that man is great at taking care of everyone else and absolutely sucks at letting anyone take care of him.

I was less than a mile from the hospital, so I headed straight there.

When I arrived, the ambulance hadn’t gotten there yet.

As I waited, I was strangely calm. But in my head, I kept thinking:

God, this is a lot.

My dad is dying, and now my husband has been in a motorcycle accident.

I get that You think I’m a badass and can handle a lot, but come on.

Finally, Bill arrived.

They wouldn’t let me back while they were doing X-rays and CT scans, so I waited with his longtime friend and business partner.

Eventually, they let us into his room.

I kissed him and said, “Thank God you’re okay.”

And then, because I am me, I followed it with, “Babe, you are NOT allowed to get into a motorcycle accident while my dad is dying!”

He looked at me and said, “Babe, this wasn’t my fault. The car turned right in front of me and hit me.”

Then our son Hunter and our friend Lisa showed up.

A little while later, I went back into the room with Hunter.

I looked at Bill’s thigh.

It just kept getting bigger.

Then Bill looked at us and said, “My heart rate isn’t normally this low.”

He hit the nurse’s button.

Within moments, everything changed.

A team of people came rushing into the room.

His heart rate and blood pressure were dropping.

I grabbed Hunter’s arm as I watched the color drain from my husband’s face.

Bill said, “I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

They put defibrillator pads on him.

Thankfully, they never had to use them.

They started an IV with warm saline, removed his C-collar, tightly wrapped his thigh with a compression bandage, and sent him back for another CT scan.

And there I stood.

Watching.

Waiting.

Praying.

Our small church group came to the hospital. They stood around Bill and prayed over him.

Friends showed up.

People loved us when we needed to be loved.

Then we got the news that imaging showed an arterial bleed in his thigh.

Eventually, he was discharged.

Yes, even with the bleed.

His pain that night was horrible.

By Thursday, after our follow-up, the doctor recommended that we go to a different hospital, so we spent another nine hours at Sacred Heart.

This time, we got the news we desperately needed.

The bleeding had stopped.

There were no blood clots.

He was going to be okay.

His recovery will take time, but we are past the scariest part.

And when I finally had a moment to process everything that had happened, I realized something.

Recovery showed up again.

Not in a meeting.

Not in a celebration of clean time.

Not in some huge recovery milestone.

It showed up in a hospital room.

Through this, I reached out to my people.

Through this, I dropped to my knees and prayed over and over again.

Through this, our kids showed up for us.

Through this, our friends showed up.

Through this, our families, near and far, showed up in exactly the ways we needed them.

Through this, our boxers somehow knew Dad was hurt and became the gentlest babies when we brought him home.

And through all of this…

I showed up for my husband clean.

There was a time in my life when fear, trauma, and the possibility of losing someone I loved would have sent me straight to the dope.

I would have tried to numb every feeling.

I would have disappeared when the people I loved needed me most.

But recovery gave me the ability to stay.

To hold my son’s arm when we were scared.

To stand beside my husband when he was hurting.

To call my people when I needed help.

To pray when I didn't have the answers.

To accept love when people showed up for us.

And to feel every terrifying second of it without running away.

That is something we don't always talk about when we talk about recovery.

Sometimes the miracle isn't that life gets easier.

Sometimes the miracle is that life gets really damn hard…

and we stay clean anyway.

Today, my husband is home.

My dad is still on my heart.

There are still things I cannot control.

But today, I don't need to control everything.

I just need to stay present, stay connected to God and my people, and stay clean.

Because recovery didn't promise me that the rain would stop.

It gave me the strength to walk through the storm without picking up.