5 days, 20 broken bones, 4 surgeries, and one halo flight later, Barb Savell lies in the ICU of Brooks Army Medical Hospital in San Antonio. Family members from around the country have traveled to be near her. Most of them gather on the soft sofas in the waiting room as they wait for the few opportune moments when only two are allowed in her room at a time. And friends wait longingly to hear updates on her condition as word filters out of the hospital and into e-mails, texts, twitters, and through the pages of Facebook at Praying for Barb Savell.
I had a previously scheduled trip to San Antonio that I used as an opportunity to see Van, Barb's husband. I brought my good friend, Shereen, toting lots of healthy snacks for Van, and we entered the front doors of the hospital in the wee hours of Thursday morning. I didn't have much hope of seeing Barb, because I knew that visiting a patient in ICU was as difficult as touring the inner chambers of Fort Knox. And I was afraid we might not even get to see Van.
To my amazement, every potential roadblock in our search for Van was met by a friendly nurse, and we found ourselves deeper and deeper in the innards of one of our countries' finest hospitals. Finally we found ourselves standing in the ICU unit, and I waited to be escorted from there at any moment. Van appeared and quickly showed us where to wash our hands. I kept thinking that we needed to leave the area, and when I was washing my hands it finally occurred to me that I might get to see my dear friend, Barb.
The hand washing station was to the left of the large entrance to Barb's room. I washed my hands and felt awkward as I offered Shereen's gifts to Van when my attention had already been drawn to and was locked on the figure in the hospital bed. Shereen and I walked toward Barb and we each took a side of her bed like parents tucking in a small child at night. I tried to take it all in quickly as I knew we could be asked to leave at any moment.
The first thing I noticed were her legs. The left one was in a full cast, making it appear larger than Barb's normally petite self. The right one was in "traction"... a treatment I know little about but looks uncomfortable. I took comfort when I looked at her feet. They were clean and the well manicured toenails assured me that the figure I was looking at was in fact Barb. Some sort of support, like pillows, lined her sides, and her arms rested on them. I knew instinctively that her hospital gown covered her most serious injuries of broken ribs, vertebra's, punctured lungs and liver, and injured spinal column. Her right arm was wrapped in a temporary splint to hold her broken wrist still, and her left arm was covered in large scrapes and scratches covered in ointment. Her hands and knuckles were also covered with injuries. Her neck was held straight by a brace, and her face pointed straight to the ceiling. Small tubes had been inserted into her nose, and a larger tube, part of the ventilator, was in her mouth. Her eyes sans her usual glasses, opened, and she was only able to look at the ceiling.
The ventilator hissed softly and caused the rise and fall of her chest. It was calm and quiet and I was afraid to speak or touch her. We began to talk to her, and I looked at her eyes for her reaction. It was hard to read her eyes as they looked at the ceiling, but I couldn't help but get the feeling that Barb still couldn't believe that she was there. It seemed that there was still a hint of fight or flight in those eyes, and definitely a sense of coping with pain. She began to move her hands as if to communicate with us. She moved them simultaneously to the right and then to the left. I could sense her frustration in trying to communicate, and I desperately wanted to help her. Finally, her left forefinger began to write letters on the pillow that rest beneath her hand. T-U-R-N What did that mean? What could I do to help her?
Right then an anesthesiologist appeared to ready Barb for her scheduled surgery on her hip and wrist. He introduced himself to us as if we were family, than calmly began to talk to Barb about the upcoming procedures. He started asking questions that only Van could answer, so we swapped places with him, and settled ourselves outside the door to observe. I thought that my brief time with Barb was over. I felt so helpless, and wanted so desperately to be helpful in some way to her and her dear family. I just stood there and watched as Van conversed with the doctor. I marvelled at the skill of the nurse that attended to Barb. I silently prayed for all of them and just watched.
It wasn't long and I noticed that Barb's finger was spelling again. The nurse was gently attending to Barb's wires and tubes and didn't notice. Finally she caught the motions of her fingers and began to note the movements. F-R "Oh let the word be FRIENDS, I thought." I so desperately wanted to spend more time with her. I-E-N-D -S I gasped! She knew that we were there, and she wanted us by her side! The nurse sweetly motioned for us to enter, and again we took our places by her sides. I overcame my fear of touching her, and softly put my fingers in her waiting hand. Her skin was warmer than usual, and her hand was swollen from the extra fluid from her I.V. As she gently wrapped her fingers around mine, I looked at her, and she closed her eyes, and seemed to relax. I quickly wondered what I would want to hear if I were her, and Shereen and I instinctively began to coo of her children.
We spoke of Matthew, Jonathan, Daniel, Sarah, and Hannah. We spoke of how they were spending their time, who they were playing with, what they had requested for dinner. We assured her that her house was fine, that people were taking care of and loving her children. And Barb just lay there with her eyes closed. At some point I thought she had fallen asleep. But Van asked as he gently laid his hand on the top of her head, "Sweetie, are you awake?" And she opened her eyes and nodded, "Yes". We spent more time with her than I felt we deserved, as two attentive nurses, and a doctor readied her for surgery. We decided to pray, and dear Shereen's voice began to talk to our Lord. I was overcome with emotion, and silent tears erupted and streamed down my face. Shereen paused, giving me an opportunity to join in, but no words would leave my throat. Instead, thoughts rose from my heart...The only praying I could muster at the time.
Finally, the doctor indicated that Barb was ready for surgery. It was time to let go of her hand and go. Shereen and I leaned toward her and assured her of our love for her and promised to continue to care for her children. I looked at her face, her eyes open and still facing the ceiling, and saw her mouth the words "I love you." I'm not sure if the words were for Shereen and me or for Van, or for all of us. But the three of us touched her one more time then watched them wheel her away.
We lingered longer with Van and Barb's parents in the comfortable waiting room that was now Van's home away from home. I embarrassed myself when the tears kept coming as I hugged Barb's mom...feeling comforted when I wanted to be the comforter. We listened as Van recounted the events of that previous Saturday, and I sat there almost dumb founded. We fell silent when Barb's mother spoke, "Oh, there she is." We silently watched as they wheeled Barb by the waiting room windows, then through a doorway that led to the operating rooms. The last thing I noticed where her clean feet, and pretty toe nails.
I'm not sure how much Barb will remember of these days. But I will never forget the time we spent at the hospital that day, the emotions I felt, the things I saw, and the wonder that enveloped me while holding Barb's hand.
(For more information on Barb Savell's biking accident, prayer requests, scheduled blood drive, and updates on her recovery, please visit the Facebook group "Praying for Barb Savell".)
