A Test of Faith (36 page)

“Thanks, Faith. I appreciate that. But it really is okay. And it’s nice to see you’ve found a good man this time.” She glanced to where Zeke was talking with Faith’s mom, and she grinned. “And a particularly handsome one.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Much better than Dustin.”

Faith laughed. It felt good to do so, and she gave Winnie a hug.

When she came back into Mom’s room, Zeke was sitting, holding Mom’s hand. Faith grinned. “Can’t leave you alone with another woman for a second, and you’re holding her hand.”

“I always was a sucker for a pretty face.” Zeke stood. “I need to get back to work, darlin’.” Faith hugged him good-bye and went to sit beside her mother.

She spent the rest of the morning talking to her mom, brushing her hair, kissing her cheek. Her mom smiled and touched a gentle finger to Faith’s face, but she stayed silent.

As much as she wanted to believe Winnie that this was normal, Faith couldn’t relax. The heaviness returned, settling at the back of her mind. Her concern grew so strong that she finally asked Winnie to see if she could talk with Mom’s doctor. Winnie made the appointment without hesitation.

“Two o’clock this afternoon. His office on the third floor.”

A couple of hours later, as Faith sat in Dr. Campbell’s office, waiting for him to come in, she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Was she being paranoid? Overly protective?

God, please, help me know what to say—

“Mrs. Galine?”

Faith started as her mom’s heart surgeon came in the room. “Dr. Campbell.” She smiled her gratitude. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.”

He inclined his head, leaning back against his desk. “What can I do for you?”

Faith explained her fears as best she could, trying to keep the emotion from her tone. He was a doctor. A surgeon. He dealt in facts, not fears.

He listened, nodding from time to time. When she finished, he pursed his lips. “Well, the good news is that your mother’s heart is working great.”

Faith nodded. It was all true. She knew it.

“Her lungs are clear, and her blood pressure is right where it needs to be. So from the medical standpoint, she’s doing well. However—” at the solemn look in his eyes, the heaviness in Faith’s chest grew—“her muscles are beginning to atrophy from lack of movement. So in some ways you’re right; your mother is still in crisis mode. The simple answer is that she has to want to get better.”

“You don’t think she does?”

The doctor considered her question. “I don’t know, Mrs. Galine. You know your mother better than I. But I believe she’s been struggling physically for quite some time?”

Faith nodded. For way too long.

“Surgery like this can take a great deal out of a person. Your mother needs to find the inner resources to start moving, standing, even taking steps to get the muscles working and to keep her heart and lungs going.” He met her worried gaze. “As much as I hate to say it, if she doesn’t start to move and work at getting better, we can still lose her.”

The words hit her hard, especially because they held a ring of truth. She blinked, struggling with the emotions swarming through her. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He started to turn away, then hesitated. “From what your father has said, I take it you’re a religious family?”

Swallowing hard, Faith hugged her arms around herself. “We’re Christians.”

“Then it seems the best prescription I can give you for your mother is prayer. We can give her all the medicine in the world, but none of that can give her the will to live, to work at getting better. That can only come from one source.”

Faith met his eyes, and the sincerity she saw there sparked a tiny ray of hope. “God.”

“Indeed.”

With that, he walked away. Faith watched him go, her heart full. She’d hoped for a word of encouragement when she talked with him. But she’d gotten far more.

He’d given her truth. And the firm reminder that her mother was in the best hands possible: the hands of the Great Physician.

twenty-eight

Faith raised her arms above her head and stretched.

“Did you have a good nap?”

She stood and went to take her mom’s hand. “I thought
you
were supposed to be resting, not me.”

Mom smiled from behind the oxygen tube. “I slept.”

Faith eyed her, and her smile turned sheepish.

“A little.”

“Hmm.” Faith opened the bedside stand drawer, taking her mom’s comb out. “How ’bout we get you all prettied up for Dad?”

“Okay.”

Her response was made on a half gasp. Faith tried not to show that it bothered her. In some ways, her mom was doing well. In others, she worried Faith.

Faith had asked the nurses about Mom’s shortness of breath, and they told her it was part of the healing process, that mom had to work hard to teach herself how to breathe right. They told Faith and her dad how they could help, by encouraging her to hold her heart pillow and cough, and to use her spirometer, a device she was supposed to blow into, moving an indicator to a certain point.

Faith had tried. So had dad. But the exercises were so painful, Mom had a hard time doing them as often as she needed to. Despite her mom’s protests, Faith insisted. She knew it was the right thing to do. What she had to do.

Faith wished doing what was right didn’t feel like being mean.

She sat on the bed beside her mother, drawing the comb through her mom’s soft, salt-and-pepper curls.

Her mom leaned against her and sighed. “Do you remember when I used to comb your hair?”

Did she ever. “Yeah, but I hated it.” Faith nudged her mom with her elbow. “You like this.”

“I could squirm and complain, if it would make you feel more at home.”

“Ha ha ha.”

Faith was so glad her mom’s sense of humor was coming back. It took nearly two weeks for Mom to start talking after her surgery, and even then it had only been to Dad at first. But bit by bit, Mom came back to them.

It helped, too, when Faith and Dad convinced the nurses
not to give Mom sleeping pills anymore. She and her mother might be different in a lot of ways, but they shared one peculiar trait—they couldn’t handle medication.

Mom had really started gaining ground then. She was able to do more—to walk and do her breathing exercises more often. And though she battled frustration over her slow progress, she talked and smiled more.

Especially when Dad was there.

All he had to do was walk into the room, and her face bloomed into a beautiful smile. And looking at her, his eyes glowed with a special light. A light that made Faith’s heart swell with joy.

She remembered thinking, as a little girl, that everyone’s mom and dad were like hers. She knew better now. They were as rare as it got. And she was as grateful as could be that God had given them to her.

“Knock, knock!”

Faith and her mother looked toward the door. Winnie stood there, arms loaded down with bag upon bag of what looked to be silk pansies. Faith’s mom
loved
pansies. Bright, cheerful helium balloons—a pansy, a Scooby Doo, a Smiley face—danced at the end of strings looped around Winnie’s wrists.

“What in the world?” Faith giggled. “You moonlighting as a clown?”

Winnie arched her brow. “I’m here to help decorate your mother’s room.”

“Decorate it?” Mom managed in her gasping voice. She looked from Winnie to Faith. “A hospital room?”

Sweeping into the room, Winnie plunked the bags down on a chair and started pulling out silk flowers, beautiful vases, posters of the ocean, and stuffed animals. She winked at Faith. “Hey, it may
be
a hospital room, but it doesn’t have to
look
like one.”

“You’re amazing.”

Winnie grinned. “Yeah, I am.”

Faith hopped off the bed and went to help. Winnie’s enthusiasm was contagious, and soon she had Faith’s mom
pointing to tell them where to put things so she could see them best.

By the time they were done, every available space had something colorful and cheerful on it. The crowning touch came when Winnie pulled out what looked like markers, then removed the cap of one and turned to the window.

“Win—”

But Faith’s caution came too late. Winnie starting writing a Scripture verse on the glass.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Faith looked at her mom. “
I
hope she knows she’s paying for the windows.”

Winnie grinned at them as she went from the window to the mirror. She held up one of the markers. “Window chalk. Completely washable.”

“Well then!” Faith took one of the markers from Winnie’s hand.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

Faith grinned this time. “You forgot to draw butterflies.”

A half hour later, Faith’s dad walked into the room. Stopped. Looked around. Then stepped back outside to check the number on the door.

The three women laughed and called him back in. Faith went to link her arm in his, waving at the gaily adorned room. “Isn’t it beautiful? It was Winnie’s idea.”

He offered her a smile. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She turned to Faith. “My shift starts in a few minutes, so why don’t you walk me to the unit.”

Faith glanced at her dad, and he waved them on. “Go. Enjoy.”

They no sooner got out into the hallway than Winnie took Faith’s hand and dropped the window chalk markers into it. “Write new messages for your mom every day.” Her smile held a depth of understanding and encouragement. “Remind her she’s not alone in this.” She closed Faith’s fingers over the markers. “And neither are you.”

Faith hugged her friend. “Thank you. I never would have survived all of this without you.”

“Oh, you would have survived.” Winnie winked again. “But you wouldn’t have had anywhere near the fun.”

During the rest of Mom’s hospital stay, it became the norm for nurses to stop Faith and tell her how much they loved going into her mother’s room, that they’d never seen a room done so beautifully in all the years they’d been working that floor. Faith just smiled. If it was that uplifting for the nurses, surely it would help her mom as well.

And it seemed to, Faith thought as she and her dad walked to her mom’s room about a week and a half after Winnie’s visit. Mom had been getting a little stronger each day.

They came into the room—and immediately knew something wasn’t right. Mom’s breathing was worse than ever.

Dad was at her side in half a heartbeat. “Annie?”

She looked up at him, and Faith could see she was near panic. “I’m calling the nurse.”

The nurse, in turn, called the doctor. Who ordered her mother taken down for X-rays. Faith and her dad sat in the waiting room of the X-ray lab, paging through magazines more than three years old.

It didn’t matter. Faith couldn’t have concentrated enough to read anyway.

“Mr. Bennett?”

Faith and her dad looked up. Dr. Campbell signaled for them to come with him. At his somber features, Faith’s heart plummeted. He took them to a room where the X-ray film was clipped over a light board.