Out of the Shadow of DeathAs I sit here this evening in the same office chair looking at the same walls and the same pictures on those walls that I looked at many times prior to February 27, 2025, I can't help but think how vastly different my life has become. “Ejection fraction” was a term that I had never heard of until that day in February. Ejection fraction is a percentage that measures how much blood the left ventricle pumps out with each heartbeat. A normal EF is 55-70% and one that is below 50% is considered problematic. And for one below 35%, they use the term "serious." I was informed that evening in February that my ejection fraction was at 10%. One nurse explained, "Well, Honey, that means that your heart is basically nonfunctional in pumping blood."
For as long as I can recall, I would tell people to not let their circumstances dictate their daily life. And I meant it when I said it, that is, until that day when something you never thought could happen does. And you end up in a place that you never thought you'd be in, and you find yourself without answers to endless questions. Constant thoughts were flooding my mind like “there must be some mistake” and “are you sure you read the report correctly?” Now I understand that I am certainly not the only one who has gone through such a situation. And perhaps you can relate.
It is in times like this when we pray. Oh, I know that we each pray daily, but I mean those desperate prayers. When the only thing we can think to do is to cry out to God. And then it didn't get better, and I realized there was no mistake. Countless tests were being done, an ever increasing number of medications were being given (including three shots a day in my stomach). And the fear, if I'm being honest, continued to grow. Any time a nurse, doctor or aide explained to me about my EF being at only 10% would be with a look of trepidation and almost pity. That first Sunday I had a reaction to the IV drip and my hand swelled up like a balloon and any area where there had been an injection turned bright red and was incredibly painful and started to spread. (They outlined the redness with a marker to keep track.) The next day they tried a cardioversion and it failed. I share that prior to saying this...that was when I honestly thought "man, I'm not leaving this place!" That was when ANY TIME I closed my eyes, I would do so with the thought that I may not open them again. When we've nothing left, no physical way out of our situation, that's as real as it gets. It's not until we get to the edge that we can appreciate the depth of our brokenness. It is here that we come to the end...the end of ourselves, the end of options, the end of rationalizing outcomes and fighting for control. The end of maybes and what ifs. It's at this end that we draw closer to God than ever before. It was on my heart to share with you my situation, understanding that we each have our own situations. Your prayers and support have been overwhelming in a beautiful way. Two months later I am feeling good and exercising, mowing my lawn and sharing the love of the Lord with anyone who will listen. I'm still wearing a “life vest” which acts as a defibrillator in case my heart stops beating and a monitor which tracks my heart rate. On May 27 I will find out if I can take the vest and monitor off. Psalm 107:14-15 "He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and burst their bonds apart. Let them thank the Lord for His steadfast love, for His wondrous works to the children of man!"
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