33 Years with Wonder Woman

I've written numerous first sentences and deleted all of them. In fact, it's taken me several days to make myself do this...feel this...remember this. How can something seem like a blur, yet be so clear at the same time? Capturing the last month and a half in words is something I'm not sure I can do. I must warn you, these words will not be easy to read. Some of them will be graphic and uncomfortable. My heart's hope is that these words will give faith, hope and love more meaning than you ever thought possible. Oh, and that you will also leave these words believing in miracles. 

Faith, hope, love...and miracles.

My mom has always been a hero. I mean, who's mom ISN'T a hero in some way. Mom's are just cool like that. I hope my kids see me in that light. I always knew my mom was strong, but over the last 50+ days she has become a super hero to me. Who needs comic books when your mom is Wonder Woman?

7 years ago, I went with my mom to the doctor to discuss some issues she was having. The appointment progressed normally and before the doctor dismissed himself, I asked why he thought her stomach was so swollen. She looked 6 months pregnant and had for awhile. He immediately took notice and his face changed. He said she needed blood work done and that the swelling could be a sign of ovarian cancer. My mom almost passed out...literally. I kept reassuring her that we would get through it and that everything was going to be ok. The crazy thing is that I really believed it. In my gut, I knew she didn't have cancer. The dr. called early the next morning and told her he was admitting her to the hospital for tests...something wasn't right. She spent 2 days having every tests imaginable done to her, facing doctors who gave her worse case scenario every time they came into her room. After 2 days of uncertainty, they announced she had a liver problem. They called it "Fatty Liver Disease", "NASH", or "Cirrhosis of the Liver". They said this disease was common among alcoholics, but Mom has never been a drinker. They couldn't tell her how she got it, but they told her it was manageable...for awhile. Eventually, she would have to undergo a liver transplant. 

Mom has lived the last 7 years being extremely careful and diligent with her diet, her meds, her everyday life...she would get up at 5:30 every morning and be at work by 7:30...before most of the other teachers had arrived. Over the last year or so, we all started to notice her energy levels decrease and her stamina diminishing. She would never admit it, but she was becoming very tired. She devoted her life to her students and her family, never speaking much about her disease. The truth is that hardly anyone knew she was sick. She didn't want people to know...didn't want their sympathy or their questions. Something inside her changed when she got her diagnosis. She became a little more guarded, a little more withdrawn. I was with her 2 years ago when her liver doctor told her it was time to start evaluating her for a transplant. She didn't like that news and she was visibly shaken. When we would talk about it, she would always say, "I have to get sicker to get better. I don't want to get sicker." Being a mom myself, I know I keep things hidden inside my heart away from everyone else. I keep my worries and fears hidden, try to keep my tears from showing and my vulnerability from peeking through. My mom was and is no different. But, I also know that God pays close attention to the prayers that mothers pray and I have no doubt that my mom was going to God regularly asking for healing and help. 

On March 18th of this year, she sat down with a doctor who would preform a procedure for her called TIPS. TIPS stands for Transjugular Intrahepatic Portosystemic Shunt and it basically means they go in through your jugular vein with a catheter that has a balloon and metal tube on the end of it. Once they reach the liver, they blow up the balloon and place the metal tube to connect your portal vein with your hepatic vein allowing better blood flow through your liver. The goal was to ease the pressure on Mom's stomach, veins, liver and esophagus, all of which had been severely damaged due to her disease. At the end of the meeting with the doctor he looked her in the eyes and said, "I will not fail you." 

We all went out to dinner the night before her procedure. We left each other like we normally would and didn't make a big deal of it. Turning to walk to my car, the thought crossed my mind that there was a chance something could go wrong. I knew we needed prayer and I didn't care if Mom didn't like me telling people...I was going to ask for some. On March 20th, Mom went in for a procedure that was supposed to last 2 hours max. 4 hours later the doctor emerged in the waiting room to tell my dad that he was unsuccessful and that things had gone wrong. Her portal vein was 75% blocked and her hepatic vein was completely blocked and the more he tried to maneuver a new way, the more damage he did. Mom was placed in ICU for internal bleeding and was pumped full of blood and platelets. 2 doctors met Dad in the waiting room and told him that if they had to preform surgery on her she would die. He said he felt like he had been hit with a baseball bat when he called me that night. I had no words of comfort. All I knew was that it was time to ask for more prayer and go to God. 

Mom woke up the next day, mad as a hornet and ready to boss everyone around. She still had a breathing tube in, so her way of communicating was to write with a Sharpie on scrap pieces of paper, still groggy from the meds. I still have those scribbles. Most of them look like ancient writings found in caves, but eventually we will be able to look at them and laugh, remembering how feisty she was even in the middle of what we thought then was such an ordeal. For the next few days, she progressed and was able to move out of Intensive Care. My siblings and I would take turns staying with her at night while Dad took the day shift. Once she moved into a regular room, it became evident very quickly that something wasn't right. The doctors had decided to put her through a new round of liver transplant evaluation testing and the more she did, the worse she became. She began to experience horrendous pain in her stomach and back, became swollen and jaundice and required morphine to sleep. 

On March 31st, I arrived at the hospital at sunrise. Dad had stayed with her all night and needed a break. When I walked the hallway to her room I had a sinking feeling that I was about to encounter something frightening. Opening the door and seeing her writhing in pain in that dark room proved my feelings right. That morning was one of the most excruciating experiences I have ever had. My sister came to help me for a few hours and we were helpless to comfort her, helpless to meet her requests standing next to her bed while she shook, groaned in pain, asked for a doctor. I called the nurse more times than I could count. It took 5 hours before a doctor appeared. By that time, she was in and out of consciousness, vomiting and her skin was the color of dijon mustard. The doctor took one look and ordered her back to ICU. He told me her liver was failing and a transplant was the next step. Being 8 months pregnant, watching my mother in that state, feeling exhausted in every way, I was emotional and my brain was swimming. Before they moved her bed out the door, she opened her eyes, looked at me and said, "Are you ok?" I put on my best face and reassured her that I was fine. She had already told my sister and I, in the midst of one of her bouts of pain, that she needed a miracle. We both told her that we were going to get that miracle and that help was on the way. Those 5 hours found me praying diligently and knowing in my soul that I was fighting death in that room. Death was NOT going to win. 

Once they placed Mom back in ICU, the rest of the family arrived and our vigil began. We had no idea that we would be camping out in that place for weeks, waiting on Mom's miracle. The doctors were tight-lipped about most of it, always giving us just enough information to keep us from going insane. 

In 4 days, her MELD score had gone from a 20 (the number required to get on the transplant list) to a 37. 40 is the max and that means death. She was finally placed on the list and we were told that she had been bumped up to #1 at the hospital. There is a regional list that consists of all the people in Arkansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Florida and Puerto Rico who are in need of transplants. One of the amazing nurses sought us out and told us that Mom was #2 in the region. For 2 weeks we took turns sitting next to Mom's hospital bed, watching monitors and machines keep her alive. Her arms and neck were covered in IV's; her body was swollen with excess fluid; her skin was yellow and all of her systems were beginning to shut down from overcompensating for her failed liver. She was unconscious and unaware of how sick she had become, thankfully. They put her in a bed that would inflate at specific places so that her body would have some kind of movement. We knew we were in a race against time. We would gather around her, praying, playing worship music, holding her hand. I would sing one of her favorite songs quietly to her...

"Hold fast

Help is on the way

Hold fast

He's come to save the day

What I've learned in my life

One thing greater than my strife

Is Your grasp

So hold fast"

Many times I would wonder how we had gotten to this place. She walked into that procedure a functioning human being...now she was dying in front of our eyes and we were helpless to do anything. 

We tried our best to show appreciation and gratefulness to all the amazing nurses who took care of Mom...and us. Some of them were true angels in blue uniforms, comforting us and explaining every little thing in a way we could understand it. We would bring them treats and goodies to share with the entire unit and occasionally one of them would have a birthday the same day they were taking care of Mom. We totally brought them a cake. 

We met families and individuals who were sharing in our pain...waiting on a miracle for their own loved ones. We listened to them and prayed with them. We tried to encourage them with God's word. We tried to be His hands extended in this nightmare of uncertainty we were stumbling through. 

Knowing how desperate we were feeling, we had amazing friends come from hundreds of miles away to be with us.

My sister celebrated her 21st birthday, I almost went into early labor, Destiny performed in her first play, people brought food and cards galore, and Mom's principal agreed to move her to 2nd grade (something she had been requesting for awhile). 

On Thursday, April 10th, my brother Josh went to the hospital early to sit with Dad. We had all tried to be diligent about making sure he never had to be there alone for too long. The ICU doctor walked into the room and told them that there was nothing else they could do...if a liver did not become available soon then there was no hope left. 

Soon. It felt like that was the only word we were whispering anymore. 

"Soon, God?" 

"She will be better soon, right?" 

"Your miracle is coming soon, Mom...don't worry...we're gonna get you fixed." 

When I arrived at the hospital that afternoon, I could tell something was different. Dad was silent and there was a heaviness in the air. My sister and I left everyone in the waiting room and ventured back to Mom, arm-in-arm. We stood on separate sides of her bed and just stared. No words to say, no tears to hold back. Just silence among machines and monitors. The only thing we said to each other was, "What's taking so long?" Knowing there are many who live for years on the waiting list, many who die waiting...still, we knew that God had ordained every step in this 7 year journey and He wouldn't bring us to this place for it to end like this. 

A few minutes later, my dad and grandma came walking towards the room. Dad stopped at the door and said, "I just got a call. We have a liver." Even typing those words makes my eyes fill with tears. I grabbed him by the shirt and kept asking if it was true. My brain, my heart, my entire body was flooded with relief and I couldn't process it. All I could do was cry. He said a lady from the transplant center told him there was a liver available and that surgery would be that night. Almost as soon as he told us the news, doctors started arriving. But, they weren't positive that it was such a good thing. They had questions about the liver and told us that if she wasn't as sick as she was, they wouldn't even consider using it. 

I wanted to yell at them, "Stop! Shut up! You have no idea what's happening here! We have prayed and believed. Hundreds of people have been praying and believing. God has seen this through and has ordered every step. He has provided our miracle in the 11th hour and now YOU want to question that?!" They decided to go ahead with transplant, but couldn't give us a time. We stood by, waiting...always waiting...until the night was passed and the next day had arrived. The next day passed and night arrived...still waiting. Finally, the call came that surgery would take place at 4am. 

I arrived at 4am after Dad had text me to say that the ICU still had not received the call to bring Mom down. The place was deserted; a far cry from the daily traffic that walked the halls. 

Arriving, I found everyone gathered around Mom. We each took turns praying over her and for the surgeons. That is a moment in time I will never forget.

As soon as we were done praying, the call came and they began the process of moving her to the O.R. My siblings and I waited in the hall while Dad stayed by her side. We made our way downstairs and the surgical waiting room became our haven for the next 9 hours. 

Friends and family came to sit with us. Every time the waiting room phone would ring, our hearts would race. Around 1:00 p.m. they called to say the liver was in and it would be another hour or so. 2 hours later the first surgeon appeared to tell us that it was one of the most difficult transplants they had ever done. Mom's blood pressure went extremely low several times and she received 17 units of blood. They had to graft her a new artery since her's was too small for the new liver and in doing so, they discovered that her appendix had a perforation. They decided to remove it and have it tested. Dad and I saw her once they brought her back to ICU and we noticed a difference immediately. Her coloring was better and her swelling was down. They told us that the critical concerns were internal bleeding and issues with the liver and that they would keep a nurse with her 24/7 for the next several days. On Wednesday, April 16th, a doctor walked into her room and told us that the pathology report on her  appendix came back showing abnormal, cancerous cells and that a 2nd surgery was pending. We felt like we had been hit by a ton of bricks...more? We have to keep doing this? How much more can this woman take? 

Wonder Woman...

The next day, another doctor came in to tell us that they weren't sure that she would ever wake up. It had been almost a week since her transplant and even though her vitals were good and her new liver was working, most patients are awake by now. He told us that there would be no need for a second surgery if she wasn't going to wake up. Once again, we hunkered down and trusted that God was in control. The next afternoon, Mom's eyes popped open and she looked right at my dad who was standing next to her bed, praying. It was Good Friday.

They went ahead with the second surgery the following Wednesday and they reported that they removed 6 inches of her colon. Oh, and that her liver looked good.

We continued to stay by her side everyday and when she finally got her breathing tube removed 

the next round of our journey began. She was suffering from uncontrollable itching, hallucinations, panic attacks, severe muscle pain and weakness, thirst, nausea, and the fear of being alone. They started her on swallow therapy, occupational therapy, physical therapy, breathing treatments, and speech therapy. The last time I saw her was Tuesday, April 29th. In the middle of the night, she had the ICU nurse call my dad to ask about me. She knew I was being induced on the 30th and she was checking on me. A tad confused, but still my mom. She was moved out of ICU on Friday, May 2nd and placed on the 12th floor of The Tower...where all transplant patients go once they are well enough and where we had been praying to go from Day 1. 

She has a room with a view and she is working everyday at getting stronger. Even though it might be inches instead of miles, we are all convinced that she is 

Wonder Woman. Oh, and I will get to see her tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be my 8th Mother's Day. It will be my mom's 33rd. I never imagined that I would be sharing a story like this just as my mom never imagined she would be living a story like this. But, through my 33 years with her I have learned more than a few things. 

Growing up, she taught us that everything is temporary and that what matters most are those things which will make an eternal difference. She taught us to never give up, even when things don't work and there seems to be no end in sight. She taught us that relationships are worth fighting for and that, if you are blessed to find them, some people will remain by your side regardless of the circumstances. She taught us that prayer is like breathing and that God honors the prayers of His children in His perfect timing. We have seen all of these things come to pass in the last 52 days. I learned how to be a mother from her and through these last 8 years I have never been more certain that faith is the only lifeline, hope is as essential to life as a heartbeat, and love is the most powerful force in the entire world. We have been blessed beyond measure to be born into this family, to be raised by Wonder Woman and to be witness to such miracles so we can testify to the sovereignty of God Almighty. 

 On this Mother's Day, I am thankful for life in every possible way. If you have not done so, please become an organ donor. It costs you nothing to sign up and it could save so many lives. I pray that the Lord will be with the donor family of the individual who lost their life and in turn gave Mom's life back to her. Maybe one day we will be able to thank them. 

We don't know when Mom will come home, but we know she will. I don't know when she will get to meet her first grandson, but I know she will. The medical bills are stacked to the ceiling and they will continue to come. The estimated cost of an organ transplant is $800,000. That's not counting the 52 days (so far) in the hospital and all that is involved. If you feel lead to give towards Mom's expenses you can go here:

helphopelive.org

and type in Jeanie Shearouse under patient name. We wish there was some way to express how much your love, support, meals, cards, gifts, phone calls, text messages, and FB communication has meant to us. Your prayers have availed much and they will continue to do so. 

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

We're getting there!

“There is no panic in Heaven! God has no problems, only plans.” -Corrie Ten Boom