Introduction
It was a strange day all around.
It was
very windy but not too cold.
Sunday April 1st, 1979.
The phone call came before breakfast.
I was still in bed..
Denine was having trouble breathing.
They would send her to the hospital.
The ambulance siren wailed in the background
over the phone.
This was for real!
Before
Church that morning, I asked the minister to pray for her.
And when he prayed, something inside me
broke.
The feelings welled up.
This was serious!
I wanted to go to the hospital to see her.
We had
forgotten to license our pickup.
So I had to ask my mother-in-law to take me
into Hamilton.
She was going anyway with
a neighbour.
They were glad to help.
Would an hour be long enough?
I spent just one hour at the Medical Centre.
What could I do anyway?
Denine
was different this time.
She didn’t cry
when she saw me.
She seemed glad to have
me come.
She smiled and relaxed a bit as
I cuddled her the best I could.
There
were tubes everywhere and she was in an oxygen tent.
I was unable to pick her up so I just rubbed
her back
and smoothed her hair
and told her how much I loved her.
How
many times in those 5 years had I gone to see her in a hospital?
St. Joseph’s.
The General.
McMaster.
Chedoke.
Toronto Sick Children’s.
What
were the reasons?
Tests.
Flu.
Pneumonia.
More tests.
Emergency treatment for dehydration.
Surgery on her legs.
Double
pneumonia.
Plastic surgery.
X-rays.
High fevers.
How
many high fevers had she run?
Did they
ever find the cause?
I don’t believe
they did.
How
many doctors had we seen?
Therapists.
Nurses.
Lab technicians.
How
many hours had we spent waiting?
Waiting
to see doctors.
Waiting for the
medication to start working.
Waiting for
the fever to go down.
Waiting for the
crying to stop.
Waiting for other people
to drive when I could not.
Then waiting with a two year old boy running around,
climbing all over me and everything
else,
demanding a drink,
trips to the bathroom.
Then
I was pregnant again and my back hurt so much.
How I hated to wait.
Maybe hate
is too nice a word for what I felt.
Those inconsiderate people!!!
Didn’t they know I had an appointment for 11 a.m.
And now it’s 12:35!
Where was my husband in those days?
At home farming,
14 hours a day,
7 days a week,
365 days a year.
In
those first eight years of our marriage
we went on vacation once.
And
yet God never left our side.
He was
always there when I needed Him.
How many
times did I cry out to Him in those days of sickness?
In those nights of fever.
In those hours of waiting.
He was always right there but I didn’t know
Until after I had stopped fighting.
Until after I had accepted.
God
had chosen me — ME —.
He had chosen me.
Out of all the mothers I know.
He had chosen me to be the mother of a very
special child.
A profoundly handicapped
child.
Denine.
This is our story.