Tag: disability

Every Life Matters

Welcome to the Impossible

The place where “there’s no way forward” meets “God is enough.”

In the rarified air of the unknown, we walk with feet of clay, scale crags on bloodied knees, and reach up to touch the face of God from the dirt.

In this place, every life is precious. Every tear is gathered into God’s vessel, to be poured out upon the feet of the Savior who carries us each step of the journey home. Here it’s okay to be broken. In fact, it’s better, because…

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted
And saves those who are crushed in spirit. -Psalm 34:18

My mother’s strokes in 1989 first introduced me to the world of disability. When a doctor wanted to “let her die” because, he told me, her life was “useless,” I learned the fight for life is as primal as it gets. Her condition wasn’t terminal, just inconvenient.

Those years prepared me for a harder path. In 1997, our son Kevin suffered a near-fatal spinal cord injury in Canada. He was instantly paralyzed from the neck down and stopped breathing. Someone provided CPR and kept him alive until help arrived. It was a miracle he survived long enough to be life-flighted to a hospital in Calgary.

Soon the word “impossible” began to be tossed at us, first at the Calgary hospital as the doctor made his case for euthanasia, then later at the rehabilitation hospital in the States. As God helped Kevin conquered each impossible, new ones sprang up before us. He almost died two more times in the early weeks post-injury. As each stone rolled away from the decree of death, new obstacles littered our path.

That pattern has not changed in the twenty-four years we have journeyed this road. Each day, we face the impossible. Each day, God makes a way.

As we trudge the slopes of disaster, I gather the gems from the muck and put them with my treasures. I’ve learned how much God loves people and seen the intensity with which He invests in life. Whether I’m writing about parenting or caregiving or the stories of the elders, I am blessed to find the colors of life burst upon the dark canvas of struggle.

Whatever your story is, I’m glad you’re here.

Life is a gift. Let’s treasure what we have in this moment and trust God to keep eternity safe for us, for the day when the lame walk and God dries our tear-stained faces.

That day’s coming. Until then, we will conquer whatever comes, together. No matter what you’re going through right now, you can be assured you are never, ever alone. You’re important to God, and you’re important to me.

By 0 comments0 comments
CaregivingEvery Life MattersSong in the Night

Living the Impossible

Impossible.

That’s what they told us. Oh, they used different words at different hospitals, but they all said the same thing. After Kevin’s devastating spinal cord injury sustained in a fall, his situation seemed hopeless. He lay paralyzed from the neck down and kept alive by a ventilator.

He was first taken to the local hospital at Lethbridge, Alberta, but was quickly transferred by helicopter to a Calgary hospital. We drove twelve hours through the night to join him after we received the call. When we arrived at the Calgary hospital the next morning, we were ushered into a gray room and joined by a gray doctor. He talked somberly about all the challenges Kevin faced. I don’t remember much of what he said to us. But his face said it all:

Expect the worst.

The second consultation was with a sour doctor who presented us with a bunch of “nevers.” Kevin would never breathe again. He would never move his body below his chin or possibly his shoulders. He might not even survive the complications of the injury. He would never go home to the United States, because no airline would take him on a flight. No medical crew would consent to accompany him, and no doctor in the States would accept him as a patient.

And, the doctor added, they didn’t have vent patients there. Kevin’s only way out was death.

But God is a God of the impossible.

We rejected this push for euthanasia, and God opened the way for Kevin to be flown back to a hospital in the United States in a chartered Lear jet, accompanied by a volunteer medical team and his brother Erik. Through the generosity of the people of Canada and here in the States, everything was paid in full. Kevin’s Canadian surgeon was a wonderful man who gave us our first ray of hope by telling us Kevin would probably survive, although his chances of recovering any function or feeling were one in a hundred. Virtually impossible.

Kevin’s trials increased after transferring to Spokane, when he experienced two respiratory codes and nearly died both times. He struggled with two bouts of pneumonia, finally stabilizing enough to be moved to a rehabilitation hospital. Along the way, he surprised the medical personnel by beginning to regain feeling and some slight movement.

Still, they reminded him that he could never wean off the ventilator. They told us that it would be impossible for us to care for him at home, and he would have to live in a nursing facility.

Our God is a God of the impossible.

Seven weeks after his injury, Kevin went home with us, his family, as his caregivers. Two years after the injury, he weaned off the vent during his waking hours, only going back on it at night to sleep. He gained more feeling and movement back in his body.

Today he can run a computer, walk with help, and do a few things for himself. Recently he began a new, self-imposed exercise regimen and has made new gains. He taught himself computer animation and 3D graphics, ran a studio with his brother, and now is the founder and senior editor of a website devoted to Christian music, http://www.cmaddict.com.

In 2008, he served as honorary groomsman at his brother Erik’s wedding. He was honorary groomsman at his friend Grant’s wedding, as well. Last September, Kevin rolled down the aisle of our church to stand beside his brother Daniel as his best man at his wedding.

Every day for twenty years, we have lived the impossible.

It has been with great joy we have watched God work in our weakness. He has given us miracles without end in this journey. Together, we have watched God bring our family closer through trial and release the fragrance of His grace in our broken lives and dreams. We have stood amazed at the tenderness and love with which our adult children have served their brother and us. We see with joy that God is building new dreams.

Yes, life has been hard. Kevin has suffered much. But he has chosen to serve God in his suffering. We have chosen to serve God in standing beside our son. The beauty we have been privileged to witness far outweighs the sorrow.

Today, on July 11, 2017, we celebrate twenty years of watching an awesome God at work. We rejoice at twenty years of life restored to our son. We look forward to the future, knowing that our Lord is still a God of miracles. Every day, in His power, we live this wonderful, impossible life together.

 

The things that are impossible with people are possible with God.

-Luke 18:27

 

 

By 0 comments0 comments
CaregivingEvery Life Matters

Threads

“For You formed my inward parts; You wove me in my mother’s womb.”                                                                                                                                            – Psalm 139:13

My bones were not hidden from you when I was being made in secret, when I was being skillfully woven in an underground workshop

 -Psalm 139:15 (GOD’S WORD Translation)

You’re Complicated.

You probably guessed that. You may have even been told that a few times by a frustrated friend, co-worker, or family member. You may not have realized, though, just how complex you really are.

According to National Geographic, the average human body contains thirty trillion cells. 1. Each individual genome, or set of instructions for the development and operation of one person, contains approximately three billion base pairs of the chemical code that comprise our DNA, attached to twenty-three pairs of chromosomes. 2. This chemical code determines our sex, what we will look like, and much more. That’s why it’s called the master blueprint of the body. 3.

There is, in fact, nothing simple about the “simple cell.” Each individual cell in your body is a finely-tuned factory working closely with the other cells of the body to sustain your life. You are not generally aware of the incredible processes of the systems keeping you alive, but you know when something isn’t working correctly. The body strives to stay at a pre-set “normal,” a state known as homeostasis, and even a small change in those processes can threaten your health or your life.

All that, and you’re just one person.

On a planet filled with over seven billion people, it’s easy to feel inconsequential. It’s even easier to see others as inconsequential, especially if their lives don’t meet society’s expectations or they become inconvenient. The aged, the weak, the disabled, the unplanned, seem expendable from that perspective. What’s one damaged life out of so many?

What’s one broken thread in the fabric of God’s plan for mankind?

Only everything. Just as every thread is needed to complete a work of art by a master weaver, so every life holds an important place in His plan for the world that is and the world to come.

Complexity points to a designer. A piece of art proves the existence of an artist. We all know that an intricately woven fabric is not made by dumping a bunch of thread on a loom. Someone must create it.

You are part of a grand design.

You and I are living threads in the hands of a Creator immense in power, limitless in imagination, and exquisite in the care with which He fashions His world. The skill with which He wove you in the womb, in all its unfathomable precision, pales beside the magnitude of the loom upon which He crafts history’s story. Not only are you a vital part of that plan, so is every other human. Our job is not to decide the value of others on this earth, but to respect every person’s value before God. Only He knows which threads will display the bold, royal colors of the kingdom, and which will carry the softer shades of grace. All are needed to complete the heavenly canvas upon which His story is revealed.

You matter. So does the homeless man on the corner, the baby with Down’s Syndrome, and the elderly woman with Alzheimer’s. May God forgive us for thinking we can choose the design for Him, for believing we know best.

 

1.http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2016/01/160111-microbiome-estimate-count-ratio-human-health-science/

2.https://www.genome.gov/11006943/human-genome-project-completion-frequently-asked-questions/

3.http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/cellular-microscopic/dna5.htm

By 0 comments0 comments
CaregivingEvery Life Matters

The House That Grace Built

dreamstime_xs_53427223

In a day, our world changed forever.

It was nineteen years ago this month that our son Kevin broke his neck in a fall and sustained a devastating spinal cord injury. It’s one of those anniversaries that are bittersweet. So much is so good in our lives. And yet, the loss is there every day.

I nearly forgot the day this year – a testament, I guess, to the fact that we’ve moved on in many ways. Kevin is still mostly disabled, and yet he still continues to make new gains when we least expect it. We’re still mostly caregivers. And yet, I love and appreciate life more than ever.

It’s strange and wonderful how we need both darkness and light to grow.

The end of last year began a new season for us as a family. A series of events have unfolded in a phenomenon that has, in rapid succession, answered several of my most desperate and long-standing prayers for my children and grandchildren. You know, those “the stone will have to roll away from the tomb” prayers, breathed so often I feared that I might irritate God with their frequency. They were the prayers carried in the night with a heavy heart and many tears before heaven. The ones that spring automatically to mind. You know.

Those prayers.

I prayed them for years without answers.

Then, without warning, a door opened. Then another, and another.

In August of last year, our youngest daughter Grace began a good job locally. Prayer answered.

In November of last year, we received the news that our son Erik and daughter-in-law Rachel were expecting for the first time after being told that would probably never happen. We welcomed our first grandson into the world in May of this year. Prayer answered.

In May of this year, our youngest son Daniel announced his engagement to a wonderful woman named Jenna. Prayer answered.

In June of this year, our eldest granddaughter Rebekah graduated from homeschool and was immediately accepted into the university of her choice. Her parents, our eldest daughter Jennifer and husband Scott, had sacrificed for many years and throughout many trials to educate their daughters. Rebekah is the second-generation to graduate from homeschool in our family. Prayer answered.

Their youngest daughter, Vanessa, will begin her first year of college level work as she finishes her last years in homeschool. Prayer answered.

This August, our son-in-law finally begins to see his long-standing dream of teaching become a reality. Prayer answered.

This summer, Kevin has been able, for the first time, to sit unassisted for nearly an hour at the side of his bed. This, from a man who was never supposed to move again. Ever. This, from a man who was thought – by some in the medical profession – to be better off dead. This, after nearly two decades of disability. Prayer answered.

Aaron and I continue to have the health we need to be caregivers and walk Kevin’s journey with him. Nineteen years ago, we were told it would be impossible for us to care for him at home. We live the impossible every day with him.

Prayer answered.

Living in Graceland.

A friend once told me that her daughter, who liked to come to our place and see Grace, used to call our place “Graceland.” We chuckle at the ironic designation. It seems fitting, though, because we are the house that grace built. This anniversary of Kevin’s accident is our reminder that God is always at work. Prayer is crucial, and He is never irritated that we bring our heartaches and hopes to Him.

If you’re facing impossible odds today, if darkness is all around you, lift up your head. God still answers prayer. He loves you, and He is at work in your life.

You are the house that grace built.

By 0 comments0 comments
CaregivingEvery Life MattersSong in the Night

What One “Useless Life” Taught Me

candle-929028_1280

Just an old woman.

She lay against the stark white sheets of the gurney, her face gray and her hands bent awkwardly inward. A series of strokes had long-silenced her lilting Southern twang, and she communicated much as an infant, her cries and grunts only distinguishable to the initiated. At the sight of me, her face contorted in a pathetic wail, brownish-red drool drizzling from one corner of her mouth.

“Pneumonia,” someone at the nursing had said two hours earlier, when they first called to tell me that they were sending my mother to the hospital. I had quickly arranged my schedule to meet her at the emergency room when she arrived. My brother joined me in the waiting room, and we watched in vain for her arrival. Finally I checked again at the desk and discovered she had not yet been sent down from the nursing home.

I called the home, and they said they were still awaiting the doctor’s order to transport her down. We waited some more. I called the doctor’s office to see what was happening. No one knew. After two hours, she finally landed in the emergency room, where she lay untreated as busy nurses and techs buzzed around the nurses’ station. I could only guess they were waiting for doctor’s orders to proceed.

She continued to cry. We continued to wait. I stood at her side, stroking her hair and murmuring meaningless words of comfort as I choked back angry tears.

No one ever came in the room to care for her.

Something was definitely wrong, and I finally lost my patience. I summoned my nerve and marched out to the nurses’ station. “Is Doctor in the hospital?” I asked the startled nurses.

“Uh, I can try to page him for you,” one of them ventured.

“Fine. I want to talk to him.”

They exchanged nervous glances and had him on the phone in short order.

“This is Opal Soyk’s daughter,” I spit out. “We have been waiting hours in E.R. to have her treated. What the h— is going on?”

My rare foray into profanity surprised even me. But Doctor was up to the fight. “I wasn’t planning to bring her down here. She’s only here because you insisted.”

I was momentarily confused by the direction of the conversation. After all, I was only there because I had been called by the nursing home. What was going on? My mind raced to untangle what had happened as I asked, “Well, what are you planning to do for her?”

One worthless life…

“Nothing. I wasn’t going to treat her. She’s an old woman. Her life is useless, anyway. Why do you want to keep her alive?”

My soul exploded into little shards of red-hot pain as clarity came. He had planned to let her die untreated in her bed at the nursing home.

But this was not a useless old woman. This was my mother.

All my life, my mother had fought for me. Always, unconditionally, and without reservation, Mother had been my champion and protector. It was time to return the honor.

“That is not your decision to make,” I retorted loudly, turning heads at the nurses’ station. “Your job is to treat her.”

Doctor hung up on me.

He never did bother to show up at the emergency room. But shortly afterward, she was admitted to the hospital. With proper treatment, Mother recovered from her illness and lived some time longer before dying peacefully at the nursing home with her family in attendance.

Who Is the Lord of Life and Death?

In the months leading up to her strokes, Mother knew something awful was happening in her body. She kept it mostly secret, but looking back, I realized that she was preparing us for the inevitable. One day she told me that if anything happened to her, she wanted every chance at life. She also said, “I changed your diapers; you can change mine.”

I remembered those words after her strokes, and I was thankful to know her wishes. But I often agonized as I watched her body slowly wither away. I knew, though, that if we hastened her death, it would not be her choice, but ours. That would be neglect. Or worse.

In the long nights during those five years, I reminded God that she had taken Him to be Lord of her life. I asked Him to be Lord of her death.

The last night the nursing home called us, she had fallen into a coma after not responding to medication for a new infection. Her body showed the obvious signs of shutting down. We gathered around her bed, sang all her favorite hymns, and cheered her on. We read Scriptures to her, prayed quietly, and loved her into God’s presence.

My mother taught me how to live. She taught me how to die. And she taught me that God is the Lord of both.

By 2 comments2 comments
CaregivingEvery Life MattersSong in the Night

The Gift of Existence

Kevin-and-Dad
Photo courtesy Grace Thorson/2016

It would have been so much easier to die.

Kevin Thorson lay paralyzed in the grass of a church lawn in Canada. Moments earlier, he was practicing backflips with a friend when he missed a rotation, fell on his head, and broke his neck nearly at his skull. As a friend ran for help, he lay there alone, not breathing, fading into blackness as he fell unconscious.

He told us later that it was at that moment, when he felt himself near death, that the presence of God came to him. The sense of the next world was intensely powerful, forever making this side of the veil seem the impostor. It would have been quick, even merciful, to have slipped quietly away to join God.

But God wasn’t there to take him to heaven.

Instead, He had a message for Kevin. A voice so real Kevin thought it was audible told him, “You’re going to be okay.”

He awakened not okay. He was in a desperate fight for his life. Emergency personnel worked feverishly to keep him alive until he could be put on life support. He endured a helicopter ride to a larger hospital in Calgary, a doctor’s push for euthanasia, surgeries, pneumonia, bronchoscopy, paralysis, loss of privacy, and much pain in the first weeks before he returned home.

Later he endured serious infections that landed him in intensive care. He had more surgeries for kidney stones. He spent two years on the ventilator before weaning off it on days, something that had been declared an impossibility by his doctors. He regained more than they expected, but not enough for a normal life.

The loss was profound. It came in layers as the reality of the depth of his disability struck home. Some days he grieved over the dreams he would never see realized. Other days he longed for just the feel of grass beneath his feet again.

But as victories came, like breathing on his own and taking his first steps and running a computer, there was a stirring in his soul. He began to truly appreciate being alive. Watching him struggle to live out his faith despite profound brokenness, I began to see how completely God had brought to pass what He promised Kevin: He would be okay.

Today I understand this: Existence, in all its facets, is a gift.

It is the man who has been told he would never breathe on his own who appreciates the feeling of air in his lungs.

It is the man who has endured great pain who appreciates a day when his body is at peace.

It is the man who once lost all feeling who takes joy in the warmth of the sun on his arms, the softness of a kitten’s fur beneath his fingers, and his legs under him again as he takes his first shaky steps.

It is the man who has had everything taken away who treasures anything given back.

It is in loss that we understand the gift.

To exist is to be. We are made in mirror image of our Creator, who calls Himself the great “I AM.” We were made to experience. We were made to feel, to love, to laugh, to hurt.

Those who say, “I would never want to live like that” must give room to those who do want to live, even if it is “like that.” The disabled and the vulnerable and the aged and the pre-born have no duty to die because their existence is inconvenient for others.

Yes, it would have been easier for Kevin to die that awful day in 1997. But what richness of life we would have missed in knowing him. The world is a better place because he exists.

By 2 comments2 comments
Unstoppable

Learning the Meaning of Sacrifice: Grace Thorson

Today I’m honored to host a guest post by my youngest daughter, Grace Thorson. Grace was very young when her brother Kevin suffered a spinal cord injury and paralysis. She offers a personal look at how Kevin’s injury impacted her life. Here is a fresh perspective on caregiving from the vantage point of a sibling. 

http://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-photos-rainbow-derwent-water-england-image11905608

When I was eight, my brother, Kevin, broke his neck doing a back flip in Canada. He was part of a music team, and he absolutely loved doing it. With this new injury, and through a difficult round of events, he found amazing care at a hospital in Spokane, Washington. At the time, I was an overly quiet and serious-minded little girl. Most wouldn’t think it, but I had a defiant nature, and I undoubtedly still do.

With all the surrounding chaos, I didn’t fully grasp my family’s predicament. It didn’t help that I often found myself switching between staying at the hospital and the nearby Ronald McDonald House. I was often detached and protected from the serious and tumultuous circumstances surrounding my brother’s care. It was a dark time for me, and I needed a healthy dose of perspective to brighten up my life.

At the hospital in Spokane, Kevin had physical therapists assist him with strength and mobility training. I often tagged along with my parents and watched the therapists with curiosity. One particular therapist that we nicknamed “Sarge” became the reason that I learned the true meaning of sacrifice.

During one of Kevin’s sessions, Sarge told me (more like ordered) to help in the process of getting him in and out of bed. I remember feeling the fire of rebelliousness rising and wondering, “How can she order me about? She’s not my mother.” Reluctantly, I accepted Sarge’s demand and took on the tedious job of rolling up my brother’s leg wraps. It was a mundane chore, and I didn’t understand the significance of doing it.

But, with time, it kind of grew on me, and I relished the idea that I had a role to play within my family’s dynamics. With surging enthusiasm, I showed eagerness to learn and do more for my brother. If I had rebelled, I may never have learned one of the most valuable lessons I’ve ever been presented with: sacrifice.

With being a part-time caregiver to my brother, and helping my family at home, I know how valuable sacrifice really is. Sacrifice is love.

Grace Thorson
Grace Thorson has been a caregiver to her brother since 1997. She works as an office assistant to author Pam Thorson. She serves as an editor and contributor to the Christian music website http://www.cmaddict.com. Grace enjoys photography, cats, and good books. You can follow  Grace’s reviews, interviews, and photography at http://www.gracethorson.wordpress.com

By 0 comments0 comments
Unstoppable

Beauty from Ashes: Part 3

 

betterbarbandkatie3

barbandkatiefun

 

 

        

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last two days, we have been learning the story of Barb Farrington and her daughter Katie following Katie’s accident in 1998. Today is the third and final installment of their inspiring story. In this post, Barb also shares some important words for new caregivers and shares a tender, personal story of forgiveness.

A New Season

In a short time, Barb’s and Katie’s lives had radically changed. Barb had given up a job she loved, lost her husband, and lost the daughter she once knew. Now she had to bond with the new person who was her daughter now. It took some time to work through that.

There was more, too, with which she needed to come to terms. “In order for our home to be really healthy and happy, we need to believe in a bigger picture.”

She made the decision to fight for her joy. That decision was the beginning of the journey back from despair. “I found myself again. In caregiving, you live someone else’s life so much. So much went into her, I didn’t know who I was. I was a walking, talking body. As I began to remember that I was a person, too, things began to come full circle.”

What’s important to her today?

“My faith, my family, going to River City Church, my friends. I don’t know what I would do without my friends and my sisters who give phone support. Friends are God’s angels to Katie and me.”

“I can truly say that God is good. There was a while that it was hard to get that out: God is good. I can truly say that I’m content. Katie’s happy. She was mad at God for a while. She didn’t really want to pray or anything. But she’s come full circle, too.”

Barb says she feels they are entering a new season. “I can’t put it into words. It’s a new feeling that I have for Katie. Overwhelming tenderness comes as close as I can to describing it. I’ve been tender with her, but it’s just different. I feel the need to spend more quality time with her, to connect on an even deeper level.”

“I need her. She’s always been important in my life, but I really feel I need that interaction.”

Never Give up Hope.

Barb has some important words for someone just beginning the caregiving journey:

  • There is always hope. Always hope. Never, ever, give up hope. I strongly believe in Jeremiah 29:11: ‘I know the plans I have for you…’
  • Make sure that you take time for yourself.
  • Don’t lose who you are, because it’s really easy to do. The person you’re caring for needs you, and they need you whole and healthy.
  • Don’t be afraid to share all your thoughts with God. Keep going to God, because He will meet with you. Even if you’re mad at Him, He’ll meet with you. I was more disappointed than mad. It was one disappointment after another. Then it seems like you’re not worthy to expect anything but disappointment.
  • Be around people who will encourage you.
  • Find something to laugh about every day. You have to have some  humor.

Katieanddog3

A Life Worth Living: A Story of Forgiveness

One of the hardest things for Barb was to forgive the young man who was driving the night Katie was injured. She hated him with a passion. After the accident, police told Barb he never once asked how Katie was doing.

This young man’s family was well-known in the area, and lies began to circulate about the night of the accident. One lie was that Katie was driving that night.

The state took the young man to court. He was sentenced to eighteen months of boot camp. Barb had refused to see or speak to either him or his parents until that day in court. As far as she was  concerned, he was spoiled and already an alcoholic at the age of eighteen. She’d heard that he had a past record of bad behavior without suffering the consequences of his actions. This fed her anger.

It was in the courtroom that God broke through Barb’s bitterness. When she saw him sitting there in his jail uniform, she thought, “He’s just a boy.” It was then that her heart began to change toward him.

One Christmas after they moved to Lewiston, the phone rang. It was the young man’s mother, Cindy. She told Barb, “I needed to call you. I was out shopping today, and I saw a woman with her daughter. They were having such a good time together, and I thought of you and Katie. You will never be able to do that. I’m so sorry.”

Barb told her, “That’s all I ever wanted. Just to hear you say, ‘I’m sorry.’ That’s all I ever wanted.”

Barb forgave Cindy, and they developed a friendship. Cindy went around to the schools in the area and gave talks about the horrors of drunk driving.

Cindy asked Barb if their family could come see Katie sometime. Barb agreed, and her dad came over to be with Barb to lend her moral support when the day arrived. When their family walked through the door, Barb’s dad broke down and cried. He told them, “My girl’s just been hurt so terribly.” It was a time of tears and forgiveness.

The young man asked Barb, “What should I do to help you, to try to make things right?” That was when Barb discovered that he had found God. Barb told him, “The best thing you can do is marry your girlfriend, know Jesus as your personal Savior, be active in a church, and be a good citizen. That’s how you can make this better for us. I want you to go on and have a good life and do all the things that a person should do to make a life worth living. If you do that, then you’ve helped us.”

Not long after that, Barb helped him get his record expunged. For her, the reason was simple. She thought about what Jesus did on the cross for humanity. Jesus forgave her sins and wiped her slate clean. She now had the power to do that for someone else.

It was a cleansing act for Barb, bringing beauty out of the ashes of their lives.

Photos courtesy Grace Thorson

By 2 comments2 comments
Unstoppable

Beauty from Ashes: Part 2

 

katieandcat2

Yesterday, Barb Farrington shared the terrible accident that left her daughter Katie fighting for her life. Today, in Part 2, Barb describes the next steps in their journey.

From Hospital to Home

Katie was at St. Alphonsus Hospital for about a month, where she began to come out of her coma. She was moved to Elks Rehab in Boise, Idaho, where she was weaned off the ventilator. It was around this time that Barb began to notice encouraging signs of awareness in Katie. A friend of Katie’s gave her a little dog. When they put it in Katie’s hands, she would look at it. On a trip out of the hospital, Barb saw Katie watching the trees go by the van window.

But she couldn’t get the medical staff at the rehab hospital to give any credence to these small but significant changes. One day they announced to Barb that they had done all they could and that they were going to release her. They planned to discharge her on a Friday, leaving Barb and Ron scrambling to find a place for her.

They fought for a few extra days at the hospital, while Barb looked for another hospital for Katie. Ron began to get his house ready for Katie’s inevitable discharge home. The hospital in Burns, Oregon, which was near Barb’s home, graciously consented to take Katie until Ron’s home could be readied to accommodate their daughter.

“This girl’s trying to work with me.”

Finally, a doctor noticed her new awareness. He told Barb, “This girl’s trying to work with me. I know a doctor she needs to see: Dr. Josie Fitzsimons.” Dr. Fitzsimons became a good support for the family. She had them move Katie to Bend, Oregon, so they could work with her every day.

But Barb could only be there on weekends, because of her job as a K-3 library tech at the Burns school. When she did go to see Katie, Katie would turn her head away from her and toward the wall. Barb knew Katie was terribly unhappy. “I knew I had to do something different.”

When Ron’s house was ready, Katie was discharged home. Ron and Barb took turns caring for her. Finding respite care was hard. Barb’s marriage began to crumble.

“Oh, Katie, what have you done?”

When did Barb truly realize that Katie was still there, locked inside her body?

“I always knew that. Here’s one instance: When she was at the Burns hospital, my sister and I were dressing her one day. We knew she was tracking things, and hearing things, but we weren’t seeing facial responses. My sister got after me and said, ‘You’re just too rough when you’re dressing her. You need to be gentler.’ Katie laughed, because we got to arguing about it. It was her first laugh.”

“That did it for me. From then on, she started expressing emotion.” One day while Katie was living at Ron’s, Barb gave in to the exhaustion. She broke down into tears and said, “Oh, Katie, oh, Katie, what have you done?”

At that moment, Katie cried. Barb felt really terrible. She’s never mentioned it again in Katie’s presence.

Still, Barb grieved over the changes happening in Katie’s body. Before her accident, she had been a fairly athletic girl. It hurt Barb to watch Katie’s legs atrophy. “A piece of me was dying. Someone has said that when a woman chooses to have a child, that child is her heart walking outside her body forever. It’s so true.”

Greater love has no man than this…

“It was the first time in my life when things didn’t work out right away. I could not believe it. It was the nightmare that you wished you could wake up from.” Barb’s mother came to stay with her and told her, “You cry at night in your sleep.”

Katie’s world had become hers. “And there,” she says, “I think I made a mistake.” Her marriage to Rex dissolved–not surprising, since statistics reveal that few marriages survive the stress of dealing with a child’s disability.

Throughout 1998 and into 1999, they tried taking Katie to various rehab hospitals in a futile effort to help her improve. In 1999, Barb and Katie resettled in Lewiston, Idaho, to be nearer to her family. Of her decision to care full time for Katie, Barb says, “I couldn’t bear to be away from her. God spoke so softly to my heart this Scripture: ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life….’ (John 15:13 KJV) And I just knew.”

Barb now operates a certified family home through the state of Idaho’s Medicaid program. She also cares for another client, Ted, who is protective of Katie. The state pays for fifty-six hours of nursing care a week to help Barb with Katie’s extensive caregiving needs. Barb calls it a “miracle provision.” Ron comes down every other weekend to help. Katie adores her dad, and they love to watch golf together.

Barb feels that God prepared her long in advance for this new job of caregiving. Before she was a library tech, she worked in special education for eight years. “Talk about God preparing me for what was ahead,” she says with a smile.

IMG_4918

Today, at age thirty-four, Katie very much understands humor and sadness. She knows her grandma has passed away. She has favorite people. She shows disapproval by wrinkling her nose and frowning, or yelling. She appears to understand some of the subtleties of relationships and displays jealousy.

She likes giving gifts. She loves to help choose them and watch the recipients’ reactions as they open them. It really pleases her if they like it.

Katie communicates by blinking once for yes and twice for no. Sometime she blinks three times. The doctor says she is messing with them.

Tomorrow, Part 3: A New Season and A Story of Forgiveness

Photos courtesy Grace Thorson

 

By 2 comments2 comments
Unstoppable

Beauty from Ashes: A Story of Provision and Forgiveness with Barb Farrington and Katie Tweit

http://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-valentine-rose-tear-soft-natural-light-falling-onto-velvet-blood-red-soft-sharp-macro-concept-photograph-valentines-image31607920

 

 

Today I have the honor of introducing a very special family to you: Barb Farrington and her daughter Katie Tweit. Katie suffered a traumatic brain injury in a car accident in 1998. Barb is Katie’s primary caregiver and cares for her in their home in northern Idaho. In this three-part series, Barb shares her very personal story of heartache, restoration, and forgiveness.

BarbandKatieforweb

 

The Accident: Angel on Her Shoulder

It was April 8, 1998. Barb and her husband of one year, Rex, were having a branding on the Oregon ranch. Barb tried to get her eighteen-year-old daughter Katie to come up to help with the cooking for the event. Katie’s roommate, Frances, was coming up to ride and rope cattle.

Katie had just landed a new job at a local farm supply company and was going to school at Treasure Valley Community College in Ontario. Oregon. She decided to stay and work at her new job.

The call for Barb came around 9:00 p.m. It was her ex-husband Ron, Katie’s dad. He told her that Katie had been in a serious car accident. She was being life-flighted to St. Alphonsus Hospital in Boise, Idaho, because they had an advanced trauma center.

Barb knew that meant it was bad. She had been told that no bones were broken, which could only mean that Katie had suffered a head injury. She tried to get more information from the hospital, but no one would give her much information over the phone. They didn’t sound encouraging, though.

It was an awful two-hour drive to the hospital.

When Barb, Rex, and Ron arrived at the hospital, they learned more about what had happened. Katie was the passenger in a car driven by a young man who had been drinking. He was driving 110 miles an hour when he lost control of the care. He had been thrown clear. Katie had not.

The doctors had argued about whether they should try to save her.

The accident was terrible. Barb was told that when emergency personnel arrived on the scene, Katie had “death rattles.” She wouldn’t have lived much longer. Barb also discovered that before she arrived at the hospital, the doctors had argued about whether or not to save her. One doctor was adamant that they shouldn’t try.

The medical team had made the decision together to make the attempt. One of the nurses on the trauma team came to visit Barb later. She told her that as they debated Katie’s care, she felt that there was an angel on Katie’s shoulder, protecting her. The nurse just couldn’t push for a decision to let her go.

Barb and Ron were never given an opportunity to decide whether or not to fight for Katie to live. That decision was made before they arrived at the hospital.

The first time Barb walked into Katie’s room, Katie was unrecognizable. Her face was swollen; they’s had to shave part of her hair off to put a pressure monitor into her head to keep an eye on the the swelling in her brain. They weren’t allowed to touch her or talk to her, because any kind of stimulation would be detrimental to her at this point. She wasn’t breathing on her own and needed a ventilator.

No Hope

Katie’s family was given no encouragement about Katie’s prognosis. “It was such a hard time,” Barb says, “We were given absolutely no hope. Nothing.”

One doctor did say that the worst case scenario was that she would never be better than she was at the moment. The best case scenario was that she might walk or talk again. There were no guarantees.

Katie didn’t look good, either. She didn’t respond to others and appeared to be asleep. Her family was told that the first three or four days would be crucial. Most of Barb’s family were in Mexico to attend her nephew’s wedding, held, ironically, on the same day as Katie’s accident. It was difficult to contact them with the news. But Barb was soon joined by her sister, son Andrew with his wife Angie, and daughter Heather.

At the hospital, Barb saw people come in and be released. She saw others that came in and didn’t make it. It was her sobering reminder that God is not a respecter of persons. “You just never know how your situation is going to turn out.” Barb could only wait and pray.

 

Photo of Barb and Katie courtesy Grace Thorson

By 0 comments0 comments

Follow Me

Copyright 2020 All Rights Reserved