We had the infamous talk.
Not because it is necessary, but because the "what if" is always looming.
"What are you going to do if I die tomorrow?" I asked my husband.
He sighs. He hates those questions and hates that we've been put in situations that warrant those questions often these past year.
I go to bed with the question hanging over my head, but not in too much distress.
The morning of the surgery I am crying my eyes out.
I go into the OR in deep despair that is discernible in my countenance.
Everyone around me thinks it's because I'm scared. It is not.
No one makes a question and they even try to ignore my red eyes and shivering body and pretend all is good. But I went into that surgery without a single thought for myself.
You see, that morning, just minutes after I was admitted to the hospital, I read that Kinsley was dying.
We had been praying for a miracle from the Mayo Clinic. Kinsley traveled there January second. They said there was nothing else they could do. She seemed fine on her pictures traveling to Rochester. How was it that the doctors were giving her only hours left to live that morning?
"I knew it! I knew she would have a good Christmas, but that was all we were going to get," my mind raced. "Til the very end... I will believe and pray to the very end." That is what I had promised of her and of me, to believe God could do a miracle until His answer was no with one of not breathing anymore. I thought I could stay true to my promise and believe, but I was heart broken. I couldn't pray for a miracle anymore. I just writhed in pain knowing she was taking her last breaths. This was the state I entered surgery. She was the last thing in my mind before I went to sleep.
I woke up three hours later in excruciating physical pain. I couldn't speak, so I started banging my finger monitor thingy against the bed. My face again said it all for the nurse asked me if I was in pain, to which I nodded. I would then dose off after the nurse administered pain killers, and would wake up to bang the bed once more a few minutes later. This went on for various hours. They informed me they had given me plenty of pain killers that would soon have an effect and asked if they could transfer me to the room. They asked if pain was the only issue at the moment. Only issue? Let me see if I can convey the severity of my pain and only issue.
I told the nurses that a cotton belt like the ones they use on postpartum women after c-sections always helped my pain after my own c-sections. They told me a belt was waiting for me in my room. I begged all the way for them to make haste. The poor nurse trying to put the belt on me was shaking from all my pleading. "Please, get it on me. Please, tighter. Please, hurry. Please, please!" I really thought the belt would ease the pain. It did nothing. I asked for more pain killers. The doctor informed me I had already been administered three vials of morphine. They gave a fourth shot of undiluted morphine. Nothing. My pleading just continued and intensified. I didn't scream because they warned me that screaming would fill me with gas making me hurt more and longer. It was now 3 p.m. and the pleading continued with my pain not diminishing one bit. I didn't think of Kinsley in all that time. I don't think I thought anything at all. Pain was all-consuming. Pain was the only issue, but pain was all there was. The doctor gave me Fentanyl, which is supposed to be 4 times stronger than morphine. He explained that if that didn't work, he would have to give me an epidural. I wanted the epidural right away, but he said we had to wait. When an hour had passed and my pain had not subsided, I begged for the epidural. The doctor was on a personal errand and would not return for the next four hours. I was in totally agony. Such was the agony, I didn't feel a thing when he put the needle in my spine. I just kept pleading and pleading. That finally worked and I found release around 8 p.m.
Pleading. My mind, finally free to reappear, made me think of that word: pleading. "Why had I not pleaded more for Kinsley? Why did I stop begging with all my heart before the only One Who could do something? My mind went back to Giana. When she was going to have her surgery, her dad posted on Facebook asking for prayers. I remember how nonchalant my prayer was. "Please may the surgery be successful and help speed up Giana's recovery." That was it. We, his dad included, didn't even fear the surgery could be fatal; it was routine. Could I have interceded for her better? And Kinsley? I stopped rubbing everyone's faces on her dire situation in search for prayers. I should have been a more inconvenient beggar. I should have begged for more knees bent in supplication for her. My husband was the only one to ask of my tears before the surgery. When I told him the tears were for Kinsley he became exasperated with me and I became irritated with him. I should have given him more credit. I should have known he was in distress for me and had only room for that pain in his heart at the moment. His Facebook page too had requests for prayer. When he came into the recovery room and saw me open my eyes he said "Now I can breathe." This was the same remark my mom made when I came back from my second trip to the OR and color had returned to my lips and I was no longer tightening my teeth from so much pain. She too posted prayer requests in her social networks.
At 12:05 a.m. of January 6 Kinsley gave her last breath. She was six months shy of turning 5. I know the severity of my pain was closely linked to the entirety of the brokenness in my heart in anticipation to that moment. I have no idea how her parents kept breathing past that hour. I was having a hard time doing so, and I never met her. I couldn't stand the thought that I was still breathing, even if I can't yet cry victory, and she wasn't. My smiling cancer companion was no longer in this world. Before surgery I thought how I wish I could change places with her, that it be her having surgery with more to do to try and save her, even if I had to give her my chance to be saved from wretched cancer.
But the power of prayer perhaps is not in the answered prayer, but in how it makes us one. Wasn't that what Jesus prayed for us? My heart had to understand taking her was Your will, as it was when You took Giana. So, so many prayed for both. So many hearts were one for both. I have mothers and strangers write to me saying they pray for me as if praying for themselves. I believe them. I believe they hurt with me deeply when they pray for me. Prayer is that powerful. It bounds us to Your will, but places us in Your hands. Was there a better place for us to be? Is there a better place for Kinsley and Giana now than on Your hands? Prayer made me one with Giana and Kinsley. My girls know those names perfectly for they prayed with me and heard me pray for them every night. They saw me cry out in tears to the Lord for their lives like I prayed for them and myself. They prayed for them. I talk about them and think about them constantly. I am happy I carry them.
Not because it is necessary, but because the "what if" is always looming.
"What are you going to do if I die tomorrow?" I asked my husband.
He sighs. He hates those questions and hates that we've been put in situations that warrant those questions often these past year.
I go to bed with the question hanging over my head, but not in too much distress.
The morning of the surgery I am crying my eyes out.
I go into the OR in deep despair that is discernible in my countenance.
Everyone around me thinks it's because I'm scared. It is not.
No one makes a question and they even try to ignore my red eyes and shivering body and pretend all is good. But I went into that surgery without a single thought for myself.
You see, that morning, just minutes after I was admitted to the hospital, I read that Kinsley was dying.
We had been praying for a miracle from the Mayo Clinic. Kinsley traveled there January second. They said there was nothing else they could do. She seemed fine on her pictures traveling to Rochester. How was it that the doctors were giving her only hours left to live that morning?
"I knew it! I knew she would have a good Christmas, but that was all we were going to get," my mind raced. "Til the very end... I will believe and pray to the very end." That is what I had promised of her and of me, to believe God could do a miracle until His answer was no with one of not breathing anymore. I thought I could stay true to my promise and believe, but I was heart broken. I couldn't pray for a miracle anymore. I just writhed in pain knowing she was taking her last breaths. This was the state I entered surgery. She was the last thing in my mind before I went to sleep.
I woke up three hours later in excruciating physical pain. I couldn't speak, so I started banging my finger monitor thingy against the bed. My face again said it all for the nurse asked me if I was in pain, to which I nodded. I would then dose off after the nurse administered pain killers, and would wake up to bang the bed once more a few minutes later. This went on for various hours. They informed me they had given me plenty of pain killers that would soon have an effect and asked if they could transfer me to the room. They asked if pain was the only issue at the moment. Only issue? Let me see if I can convey the severity of my pain and only issue.
I told the nurses that a cotton belt like the ones they use on postpartum women after c-sections always helped my pain after my own c-sections. They told me a belt was waiting for me in my room. I begged all the way for them to make haste. The poor nurse trying to put the belt on me was shaking from all my pleading. "Please, get it on me. Please, tighter. Please, hurry. Please, please!" I really thought the belt would ease the pain. It did nothing. I asked for more pain killers. The doctor informed me I had already been administered three vials of morphine. They gave a fourth shot of undiluted morphine. Nothing. My pleading just continued and intensified. I didn't scream because they warned me that screaming would fill me with gas making me hurt more and longer. It was now 3 p.m. and the pleading continued with my pain not diminishing one bit. I didn't think of Kinsley in all that time. I don't think I thought anything at all. Pain was all-consuming. Pain was the only issue, but pain was all there was. The doctor gave me Fentanyl, which is supposed to be 4 times stronger than morphine. He explained that if that didn't work, he would have to give me an epidural. I wanted the epidural right away, but he said we had to wait. When an hour had passed and my pain had not subsided, I begged for the epidural. The doctor was on a personal errand and would not return for the next four hours. I was in totally agony. Such was the agony, I didn't feel a thing when he put the needle in my spine. I just kept pleading and pleading. That finally worked and I found release around 8 p.m.
Pleading. My mind, finally free to reappear, made me think of that word: pleading. "Why had I not pleaded more for Kinsley? Why did I stop begging with all my heart before the only One Who could do something? My mind went back to Giana. When she was going to have her surgery, her dad posted on Facebook asking for prayers. I remember how nonchalant my prayer was. "Please may the surgery be successful and help speed up Giana's recovery." That was it. We, his dad included, didn't even fear the surgery could be fatal; it was routine. Could I have interceded for her better? And Kinsley? I stopped rubbing everyone's faces on her dire situation in search for prayers. I should have been a more inconvenient beggar. I should have begged for more knees bent in supplication for her. My husband was the only one to ask of my tears before the surgery. When I told him the tears were for Kinsley he became exasperated with me and I became irritated with him. I should have given him more credit. I should have known he was in distress for me and had only room for that pain in his heart at the moment. His Facebook page too had requests for prayer. When he came into the recovery room and saw me open my eyes he said "Now I can breathe." This was the same remark my mom made when I came back from my second trip to the OR and color had returned to my lips and I was no longer tightening my teeth from so much pain. She too posted prayer requests in her social networks.
At 12:05 a.m. of January 6 Kinsley gave her last breath. She was six months shy of turning 5. I know the severity of my pain was closely linked to the entirety of the brokenness in my heart in anticipation to that moment. I have no idea how her parents kept breathing past that hour. I was having a hard time doing so, and I never met her. I couldn't stand the thought that I was still breathing, even if I can't yet cry victory, and she wasn't. My smiling cancer companion was no longer in this world. Before surgery I thought how I wish I could change places with her, that it be her having surgery with more to do to try and save her, even if I had to give her my chance to be saved from wretched cancer.
But the power of prayer perhaps is not in the answered prayer, but in how it makes us one. Wasn't that what Jesus prayed for us? My heart had to understand taking her was Your will, as it was when You took Giana. So, so many prayed for both. So many hearts were one for both. I have mothers and strangers write to me saying they pray for me as if praying for themselves. I believe them. I believe they hurt with me deeply when they pray for me. Prayer is that powerful. It bounds us to Your will, but places us in Your hands. Was there a better place for us to be? Is there a better place for Kinsley and Giana now than on Your hands? Prayer made me one with Giana and Kinsley. My girls know those names perfectly for they prayed with me and heard me pray for them every night. They saw me cry out in tears to the Lord for their lives like I prayed for them and myself. They prayed for them. I talk about them and think about them constantly. I am happy I carry them.
Ephesians 1
18 I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people,
19 and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is the same as the mighty strength
20 he exerted when he raised Christ from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms
John 17
15 My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one.
21 that all of them may be one,Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me.
22 I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one
23 I in them and you in me, so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.
Ephesians 6
18 And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.
Psalm 141
2 May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.
Romans 12
12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
Romans 8
26 In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.
Matthew 6
9 This, then, is how you should pray:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
Ephesians 6
18 And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people.
Psalm 141
2 May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.
Romans 12
12 Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
Romans 8
26 In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.
Matthew 6
9 This, then, is how you should pray:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
10 your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.
on earth as it is in heaven.
11 Give us today our daily bread.
12 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
13 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.
Please, be one with me in praying for Kinsley's family. Oh how my heart has hurt for Giana's parents this Christmas without their beloved and the memory of the accident that claimed her. How my heart hurts for the emptiness Kinsley's parents have been left with. Oh, that the wicked may depart and they could come back to us instead! But they know not anymore of suffering, despair, brokenhearted, deceit, and horrid pain. It is us who grieve and still know the tremendous pain we are left with. Pray God consoles us all. Let prayer answer Jesus´ prayer for us. Kinsley is survived by her mother Matelin, her Father Aaron, her big brother Jasiah, and her little sister Taytum, and many relatives and friends who love her dearly. I love her dearly. She is forever a part of me, engraved in my mind and heart. Pray for a cure, pray for peace, pray for rest.
Thank you, Lord, for having formed Kinsley in her mother's womb so perfectly. Thank you for the smiles she shared with all who met her. Thank you that theirs is Your Kingdom. Thank you for your Son Who gives us hope to see each other one day in a better place with no more pain. Amen.
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| Team Kinsley forever! |
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