Two weeks ago

Two weeks ago, right now, I was trying to settle into my window-seat-bed in the ICU at St. Joseph's Hospital. I had endured the hardest day of my life. In my sight was Brian, quite sedated from all the anesthesia and trauma. He would occasionally awaken, and not let me forget that hockey started at 8. At 10 that night, he really came to, and we watched the last period of hockey and reflected on the day.

What a day. It started at 4:00, when we awakened, and prepared to head out to the hospital. We got there at 5:30, registered, and waited for Bri to be taken to pre-op. After they had him prepped, I got to go back to see him. My parents, and his, were there, too. My aunt was watching our girls, and sent us a video of them saying they loved Daddy. This was the last thing he watched before being sedated to have an arterial line inserted. Shortly after, he was wheeled back to the operating room, right at 8am. The nurse promised that I would get calls every 90 minutes or so, updating me on their progress. When my phone rang at 9:20, I was informed that the surgeon was preparing to insert the cannulas to start Brian on the heart lung machine. Then, his heart would be stopped.

I am sure that the medication injected into Brian's heart to make it stop beating was given at 9:40. I felt it. Like a weight in my chest. The part of the surgery that I most feared. I felt compelled to run through the hospital and find him, to be by his side. Everything I knew logically told me the work of his heart was being done by the bypass machine. But there was something innate, instinctual, in me that could not make peace with the idea that the heart in the chest where I have lain my head for nearly 20 years, was not beating...

I passed the time in the waiting area surrounded by our village. Our parents, my aunt, my Papa, a dear friend... all came to support Brian, and to help me stay strong. My next update came at 11:30, when I learned that Brian was still on the bypass, as the surgeon had to do extra work to get his aorta closed. The nurse assured me that this was not of concern. Finally, around 12:15, I learned that Brian was off the heart-lung bypass. Our village and I shed tears of relief.

Brian was taken immediately to the ICU after surgery, and I was allowed in with him shortly after. He was still intubated, but aware. It didn't take long for the tube to come out, and with a warm blanket and pain medication, he rested. The first time he spoke to me, he told me he dreamed of me.

And there we were. His heart was beating, all on its own. And over the next 5 days in the hospital Brian would face pain, discomfort, irregular heartbeats, hot flashes... all the things they told us he would experience. I spent 5 nights in the window-seat-bed. I held Bri's hand, watched him sleep, fed him soup. All the things I was so grateful to be able to do. I struggled between the strong desire to be there with him, and also to be with our girls- to reassure them, to help them feel secure in the fact that everything was okay. I went back and forth a lot. And, I had the support of many amazing people, so that all the most important people in my life were well cared for.

A week after being discharged from the hospital, Brian and I finally left Denver two days ago and returned home. Our girls had come home 6 days earlier, with Brian's parents. Our hearts ached without them, and we both got much needed rest. And they got back into their routine, with a few minor changes- like dessert before their meal. They were in such good hands.

Driving away from Denver, tears flowed. I thought about what the last two weeks had held. I felt victorious. But not the kind of victorious that comes from winning play off football. This was the kind of victory in which we endured one the most difficult challenges we'd ever faced. We overcame. Brian survived. We could go back home and not have this weight hanging over us. We could go back to living our simple lives.

Our reunions with the girls were beautiful. We picked Kinnie up from school. When she spotted us, she ran to us and I scooped her up, and we three embraced and cried. Then we got Ellie from daycare, where the scene repeated itself. It was one of the warmest experiences I've ever had.

Brian has a long way to go until he is fully recovered. We're told after 3 months, he'll be at 90%, and after a "full trip around the sun," as his surgeon said, he'll be back to "normal." I have never loved him more. This experience peeled away all the things that can get in the way of love. The annoyances, irritations, general disagreements. I wanted nothing more in the world for his heart to beat again. Everything else melted away.

And I can't say enough about our village. Since we found out, 3 months ago, that Brian needed this surgery, we have been held up by our loved ones, and by complete strangers. I wish I had a way to share the gratitude in my heart. There are not enough thanks in the world... But thank you, to anyone who prayed, or put out good vibes, or visited us, or held my hand, or gave us food, or watched our precious girls, or donated money. I truly believe that you got us through.