Aubrey underwent a very complicated and difficult open heart surgery on Thursday, September 10th. She was sedated and in the OR for 8-1/2 hours. 5 of those hours were spent on the bypass machine. All of them were spent with what I am convinced is one of the most talented and committed pediatric cardiac surgical teams operating on her.
And it worked.
I have to pause after I write that. Those words still make my cry.
Aubrey's heart is fully repaired. Not only was the surgeon able to do the more difficult repair, but he was able to do it without the use of anything foreign: her heart is 100% hers, with no additional conduits or valves. This is beyond any of our expectations. We hadn't even thought to hope for such a thing.
I have a clear memory of standing in the kitchen eight years ago, on a sunny day much like today, having returned home from those first whirlwind weeks of Aubrey's life, except that then there was a big knot in my stomach, a pit that refused to go away. It taunted me, it would rob my joy if it could, it made swallowing hard, even in the happy moment of knowing Aubrey was alive. My daughter was not well, the future was uncertain, and I was helpless to change it. In that moment, and in many subsequent moments, I had to grapple with faith-- that which we hold onto even though we do not see-- like I'd never grappled before.
Today, I stand here in this same kitchen (albeit entirely remodeled), and instead of wondering if, when, how my precious baby girl might have a working heart, I know she does.
I don't know if I can communicate with mere words just what this means to me.
September 10, 2015 will always be horrible and wonderful and miraculous in my memory. Staying strong before we said good bye was so very, very, very hard, not being able to do anything but wait during the following hours even harder. Getting the report that the surgeon was "going for it"-- beginning the riskier, much more difficult procedure-- against many odds and contrary to the advice of many cardiologists he himself said he respected deeply split my heart in two: I wanted the better fix for Aubrey and yet, in a wave of doubt, I wondered if this was it... if I would ever see her alive again. The phone call that came many hours, countless tears, unending prayers later, saying that he had done it, that he was very pleased, that now it was just a matter of seeing if it would work, and feeling like I was able to take my first real breath all day. Hearing that it had worked, that her heart was functioning, that it was a total repair, and exhaling deeper than I have in almost 8 years. Realizing when talking with the surgeon a little later that it was the best possible outcome; that he really had been stretched but that he'd gone for it because he saw something; that his courage and compassion had allowed him to be used by the Lord for our daughter's healing; and tasting in the most aching parts of my heart that He truly is a God who does exceedingly, abundantly above all that we can ask or think. Seeing her wheeled through the hall, pink fingers and toes, chest moving rhythmically up and down with each breath, surrounded by the same doctors and nurses who had so tenderly and graciously met her/us that morning and who had stayed by her side every minute of that whole day, and seeing more clearly how much He loves to use people.
It will be two weeks tomorrow since she underwent that surgery. And when I say total repair, I mean that her blood is flowing exactly where it needs to go. All of it. Her oxygen saturation levels, which had steadily dropped over the years to the 70s when resting and much lower when walking, were 99% when she was tested at her cardiologist's office today. She has all four chambers and all four valves in working order.
Even in the hospital, they kept saying, "Miracle."
It truly was. She truly is.
My brother sent a text the day of the surgery, "We're the persistent widow, yo!"
And all day I kept picturing the thousands of prayers being prayed on her behalf rising like incense. I had a confidence that we were doing our part: asking, asking, asking.
At around the 3pm hour, about mid-way through the surgery we now know, I whispered to Daniel, "I'm so scared. I just got so scared."
I didn't want to be. I wanted to be the woman of faith. I wanted to be able to say on the other end that my faith never wavered, but here I was and I could only weep, "I believe, Lord; help my unbelief."
My husband leaned in close to my ear and said so softly, "His presence is the answer, Brietta, and we already have Him."
God with us. Emmanuel. And in my heart I knew like I've never known before, this is when He is strong.
Aubrey has a testimony. Ever since she was 11 weeks in the womb, the fight for her life has been real. But she is here, and she is breathing, and she is whole. If I took a couple hours I would struggle to tell the many details of this miraculous story; I look forward to years of telling it at church and around cups of coffee and on the street, and I look forward to years of hearing her tell it.
I stop and I wonder who all the people are that her story will touch. And I pray that she will be faithful to declare Christ in and through and above it all.
