Holding a Heart

It came upon us suddenly. One day， we were living quiet， happy， ordinary lives. The next， my husband and I were facing 1)triple 2)bypass surgery.

He had not told me about the shortness of breath he’d experienced a few months earlier. Nor did he mention a visit to a hospital 3)ER while he was out of town on business. When he was sufficiently alarmed by the state of his health， he finally confessed and asked me to set up an appointment with the doctor—as soon as possible. I knew it was serious when that happened because men， delightful creatures though they may be， are not known for their eagerness to “have the 4)doc take a look.”

Tests revealed a 90% 5)blockage in one 6)artery， and severe blockages in two others. The term “7)widow maker” was mentioned. Before we’d really 8)come to grips with what was happening， we found ourselves in Savannah very early one morning. He was being 9)prepped for surgery， and I was praying every prayer I’d ever learned， and making up my own as time passed. My best friend and one of my sons were by my side.

We were given a private room in which to wait through the 10)interminable hours. I suggested to the staff that， when a person is 11)anesthetized， his family should be， too， so they wouldn’t have to endure watching a clock that has surely stopped running， listening for a phone that does not ring， and imagining worst-case 12)scenarios.

In my darkest moment， I felt deep inside that he would not survive the surgery. How could a person survive a chest being cracked open， the heart exposed and 13)fiddled with， other organs shoved aside? I knew， rationally， that thousands of open heart surgeries are performed daily， with outstanding results. But that happens to other people， not MY husband.

I sank into the 14)pit of despair， believing I’d soon be receiving terrible news. I didn’t mention my fear to my companions. Just when I’d surrendered all hope of a good outcome， I was overwhelmed by a sense of warmth and peace. It was 15)astounding! I felt hugged and 16)consoled and surrounded by love as I remembered that many people were praying for us. And I instantly knew hope， just as surely and strongly as I’d earlier known hopelessness.

Soon the surgeon was at the door， bringing good news—the surgery had been successful. He expected my husband to make a full and speedy recovery. He reached out to shake my hand and， as I felt his warm， firm grip， I became aware of what I was doing. I was holding his hand—a hand which， just a short while ago， had held my husband’s HEART!

I looked into his eyes and， with tears streaming down my face， I 17)enfolded his hands in both of mine. In all the years my husband and I have known one another， through all of the physical closeness we’ve shared， I’ve never experienced with him the 18)intimacy that the man before me had when he held my husband’s beating heart.

After my husband was brought to 19)CCU， we began the long wait for him to awaken. Everything went according to plan and， when he eventually opened his eyes and asked what time it was. He said，“No way!” What had been the longest day of my life had sped by in a 20)nanosecond of deepest darkness for him.

As part of their recovery， open heart surgery patients are given pillows to grasp tightly to their chests when moving， coughing， or sneezing. This is to prevent any damage to the 21)incisions， and to lessen the pain of any of those activities. When my husband was presented with his bright red pillow and instructed to hug it tightly to his chest， he pointed to me as he asked the nurse， “Can I hug her instead?” From that moment on， I knew he was going to be just fine， and he was the 22)talk of the unit because news of his sweet question spread quickly as the nurses shared the story.

The bright red pillow made numerous trips up and down the hallway. At first， the walks were brief and slow. Soon the walks were longer and at a quicker pace. Five days after the surgery， we returned home. The bright red pillow accompanied us on walks around our neighborhood as my husband gained strength， 23)stamina and confidence. His recovery was 24)uneventful and complete.

That was four years ago. Occasionally， I’ll spot the bright red pillow in the corner of our closet. I always pick it up and hold it close to my chest. I close my eyes and remember the day I became aware of the power of 25)grace and goodness， and what it felt like to hold the hand of the man who had held， and healed， my husband’s heart.

手捧你心

事情突然降臨到我們身上。前一天，我們還過著安靜、快樂的普通生活。第二天，我和丈夫卻要面對情況極其危急的心臟搭橋手術。

我丈夫沒有告訴過我幾個月前他曾經出現呼吸短促的情況，更沒有提及他出差在外時曾經去過醫院急診室。當他的健康狀況真正敲起嚴重警鐘時，他才最終向我坦白，并叫我盡快與醫生預約。那時候，我才知道他的病情嚴重，因為男人雖然可能天性好玩樂觀，但是從來不愛“給醫生檢查一下”。

檢查顯示，我丈夫其中一條動脈有90%被阻塞，而另外兩條動脈也出現嚴重阻塞現象。醫生還提到了“寡婦制造者”一詞。還沒開始真正應對所發生的事情，我們便在一個早晨早早地來到了薩凡納醫院。他正在做手術前準備，而我做著我學過的每一個禱告，慢慢地自己也想出一些新的禱告。我最好的朋友和我的一個兒子陪伴著我。

醫院提供一個私人房間給我們度過漫長的等待。我向醫院的員工建議說，病人被麻醉時，他的家人也應該被麻醉，這樣，他們便不用去忍受這一切：盯著一個就像停止了走動的時鐘，守候著一個不會響起的電話，并且想象著最壞的情況。

在我感到最灰暗的時刻，我深感丈夫的手術不會成功。一個人的胸膛被敲開，心臟暴露在外被搗騰，其他器官被推擠到一邊，這樣一來他還怎么能夠存活呢？我知道，從理性角度看，每天都進行著成千上萬例心臟手術，而且手術也很成功。但那發生在其他人身上，而不是我的丈夫。……