Miracles

The great Kevin Henkes wrote the statement, “Wow . . . that’s all I can say . . . wow.” Boy, doesn’t that say it all. Many miracles have been a part of my life; my children are my favorite four. Today, I celebrate the Monster Queen, the third of these miracles.

It shames me to admit that I was anything but thrilled when I learned I was expecting my third child. A master’s degree in educational administration was finally in sight. I had worked for years. I had earned honors. I had taken extra course work and finished my district certification at the same time. I was Emporia State’s Educational Leadership student of the year. I was ready to leave teaching and become a principal the next fall.

Notice how many sentences in the last paragraph start with “I?” It isn’t only poor writing; it was a poor attitude.

Yes, I was grateful for my family, home, job; but, the “I” took the lead in my life and my decisions. Miss Ana changed that.

On Ana’s first morning, I was told that she had a slight heart murmur. The physician’s assistant assured me that it was a minor problem; in fact, it might not be a problem at all. Just in case, we should check it out. An appointment was made, but I was not worried.

Three weeks later, we arrived at the office of a pediatric cardiologist. Tests were given, and her father and I sat in a room and waited for the results. We visited and admired our little girl until a kind man with a concerned face entered the room and sat down. Heart disease *BAM*; birth defect *BAM*; hospital, surgery, lifelong . . . *BAM*BAM*BAM*. I was hit with brick after brick. My breath was stolen, my nerves were on fire, I felt sick . . . what! I couldn’t think clearly. How could this be?!? Anyone could see she was perfect. There must be a mistake; I must be dreaming . . . MAKE THIS STOP! There was no mistake; and, as with all of the waves in life, there was no stopping. We were to drive to the Children’s Hospital in Omaha immediately. There was no time to go home for clothes. There was no time to make arrangements. Life was never going to be the same starting NOW. Wow . . . that’s about all I can say . . . wow!

A few days later, Ana underwent open-heart surgery. Her aorta and pulminary vein had not seperated at birth. Her own tissue and Gortex were used to correct this defect. This surgery was successful; however, there were problems with the valves on the lower two chambers of the heart. Her heart disease was a life-long condition, and I needed to come to terms with that.

For her first eighteen months, we did our best to minimize contact with the outside world and germs. Common viruses could mean disaster. There were constant check-ups and immunizations, but it was all manageable. I accepted a position as a special education director supervising five school districts. Our family relocated, but we were able to keep the same doctors and hospital. I bought a house, hired a nanny, and life went on.

Less than a month after I started as director, my marriage exploded. Police came, and our world changed. I lost a husband and my children lost a father in a matter of hours. This was only the beginning of a long, wild ride. I couldn’t promise my kids it would be easy, but I did promise that we would take it together.

We survived the next year. My pain and the demands of my career made me an inadequate mother, and I was even worse as a father. Ana was the glue that held us together. She gave us a reason to laugh, love, and care. Putting her first took the focus off of our own grief. She mended our souls.

Ana’s second open-heart surgery was in late June of the next year. Her aortic valve was insufficient. The result was loss of appetite, minimal weight gain, and excessive fatigue. I was nearly sick with dread and worry during the weeks leading up to this second surgery. Plans had to be made for my other two children, arrangements made at work, and I was petrified. The thought of loosing her was more than I could stand.

Ana’s surgery went well. There were tears and stress, but she came through unbelievably well. We were out of the hospital in four days, better than I dared to hope for.

I was flying high. Until I wasn’t. Two weeks later, Ana’s scar was seeping and her temperature soared; she had staff infection. We made a fast trip back to Children’s in Omaha, and Ana endured another surgery. Recovery included three weeks in the hospital, and another three weeks of isolation at home. Medication was given through a line in her side. Work unraveled, my kids acted out, and I fell apart. I was failing on every front; it was time for a change. It was time to set priorities and put what mattered first. I left administration, Kansas, and our home. I remarried and set out on a new adventure.

Two and a half years later, I am writing this from the bench in the ICU. Our Monster Queen just conquered her fourth open-heart surgery. The nurses call her a rock star; I know she is a miracle. Through all that she has endured, Ana continues to give. She changed my focus and my life. She is leading me toward becoming the person I want to be.

“Wow . . . that’s all I can say . . . wow.”