Louisville to Indianapolis to Fort Wayne to Lansing to Indian River. And my biggest fear is I have to go by mile marker 262. I have 4 of my super-duper favorite cd's plus a brand new one I should have memorized by the time I arrive. Once I compose myself from the leave-taking, I sing my way to Fort Wayne. I'm trying so hard to NOT focus on the last time I made this trip, but it seemed as if the last 16 months of our lives was written on the windshield.
Close to one year ago, September 14, 2009, HC Baker was at Baptist East Hospital trying to recover from open heart surgery that replaced his mitral heart valve. It wasn't going well. Lots and lots of doctors, lots and lots of tests and very serious discussions between HC and me. We didn't understand what was happening or not happening. The heart surgeon came into HC's room and told us he would suggest going somewhere else for treatment as he had done all he could. He recommended Mayo, a hospital in Toronto, and Cleveland Clinic. We asked about other doctors/hospitals in Louisville but he said no one could do this locally. He said HC was suffering from hemolysis meaning in very simple terms, as his blood raced through his brand new, titanium mitral valve, because it wasn't working properly some of the blood ran back the other/opposite/wrong way. In other words, the surgery didn't work. HC and I were speechless. What do you say to that? He told us to think about it, let him know our decision, and he would make the arrangements, then he left. The rest of that day we could hardly speak to each other let alone anyone else.
That night at home, I "googled" hemolysis and the first response was from the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. I read that and kept reading nearly all night. I printed much of it so I could share it with HC. The next morning HC and I discussed it, and we asked every doctor who came through the door. Now keep in mind, HC does not make quick decisions but this one was going to have to be made sooner rather than later. Based on my research (like I knew what I was doing), Mayo was pioneering a few procedures that were less invasive than another open heart. I called the hospital and spoke with the heart "service" about this. Their easy, friendly, concerned attitudes made me feel comfortable and I shared that with HC. With all our information, we decided to go to Mayo in Minnesota. You know, all your life you hear about the Mayo Clinic and now we were going there. We had lots of questions - one being would I drive him there? NO, he is too ill and needs to be there as quickly as the arrangements can be made. So????? We would be air-ambulanced. (I know this is over 2 years ago, but for any of you who may have a similar experience, and I pray you never have anything even remotely similar, I am getting ready to make a huge error in judgment. Listen closely.) You husband is incredibly ill. He is now on kidney dialysis and receiving blood transfusions. The hospital social worker comes in to talk to you about the air-ambulance trip. She says she needs my credit card because the air fare (for HC and me on this plane) must be paid in advance. There's never a problem. They would submit it to my insurance and they would reimburse us. The charge on my card would be $10,842. Remember, the heart surgeon has told us we need to go elsewhere, my husband's prognosis is not good, and the social worker said not a problem with insurance reimbursing us. What would you do? I gave her my card (praying it would take $10,842). To make this part of the story much more brief than it was, the insurance company did NOT reimburse us and told us we could have gone to another hospital in the city. And let me tell you, I was not happy about it. I called, I wrote letters to the insurance company president (never even had any response from HER), I wrote letters to doctors, to congressmen and senators, if you can think of some one I should have written, trust me, I did! Just remembering that part of this journey during my drive, dried my tears fast!
Let me finish the airplane story before I get to my cottage. Man, I talk a lot!
September 17, 2009 -
I am at work making an attempt to catch up when my phone rings. It's HC and he says there will be an airplane at Bowman Field at 3:30pm that afternoon and we are to be on it. He gives me a few instructions, I tell him I will go home and pack a few things and see him at the hospital soon. I hang up and immediately burst into tears. I call both my sisters and tell them to meet me at the house and help me. By the time I get home, they are there. I'm not packing for a wonderful resort vacation, I'm packing for a place I know nothing about, for a length of time I know nothing about, at a place to stay I know nothing about, that you have to pay for that I don't know how much it costs (my credit card limit has just been "used up"), and who knows what else. Somehow, we manage this and I am at the hospital waiting for the plane. With each passing minute more people appear in HC's room. Family and friends who have chosen to spend this time with us are an incredible blessing. There's talking, laughing, praying and crying (me). HC who is so ill asks to lead all of us in prayer (and he's a great pray-er). He closes by telling all of us, "no matter what happens, It is well with my soul." The transport nurses arrive, we are loaded into a regular ambulance, taken to Bowman Field and loaded onto the air-ambulance. Here's what I remember about that ride. Many of our friends who were with us in HC's hospital room followed us to Bowman Field. As HC was loaded onto the plane, they parked their cars and ran up to the fence as the plane was getting ready to lift off. I looked out the window and my tears just wouldn't stop. These people who loved us so much, who we loved so much...when would we see them again? We had no idea what lay ahead of us.
And that "traveling" experience is what filled my thoughts driving to Indian River that day. As I focused on the road, I realized I was passing the Grayling exit and mile marker 262 was fast approaching. What would I do, what could I do, what should I do? Mile marker 261 passed me by and I slowed down and pulled onto the shoulder. Then I saw the tree. The marks were still there. I stopped and just sat there. I cried and prayed and prayed and cried. My cell phone rang. I had received quite a few calls during the trip from friends just checking on me. I love them. This call was Brett, my son-in-law. He asked me where I was and I couldn't tell him. After a few moments of silence he said, "You're at the accident site aren't you?" I said yes and he said wait there and I'll come to you. And he would have! But I told him to stay where he was, give me a little more time and I'd be there. After a few more minutes, I put the car in gear and drove on. I'd be at the cottage in an hour.
I made it and here I was again with no idea what lay ahead of me.
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