Wednesday, January 2, 2019 was like most other mornings; I got up around five, Sherry got up at about six-fifteen or so, got her cup of coffee and toast, sat down in her chair and started reading her book. A few minutes later, our lives slipped into quiet chaos.

Without a word, or sound, Sherry got out of her chair and rushed to the hall bath. The sounds coming from there were not good and within minutes she called weakly for help. I grabbed my phone—I knew I was going to need it—and went in to find her leaning on the counter, clinging to the sink, and throwing up clear mucous. She was burning up and could not move. She asked me if I could get her to bed, and I told her no, I was calling 911. She was almost incoherent as she said, “No, I’ll be okay.” I was literally holding her up at that point, and I told her I wasn’t going to stand there and watch her die. I called.

It seemed like forever before the ambulance arrived, but was probably only ten minutes or so. As they were taking her out the door, one of the paramedics told me to take my time getting to the hospital, as it would be twenty minutes or so before they got her there and into the emergency room. I got dressed, texted then called our son-in-law, Sean, told him what was going on, and told him to call our daughter, Tracey. Both were out of town. Sean and our grandson Sawyer in San Antonio for the All American Combine—a football thing—and Tracey and our granddaughter, Savannah, were in New York, enjoying a holiday break mini-vacation. Tracey and savannah were due back Thursday. Sean and Sawyer wouldn’t be home until Saturday.

When I arrived at the hospital and found Sherry, a doctor met me immediately and showed me a CT scan that showed a large amount of blood on Sherry’s brain. He said they needed to operate as soon as possible. They asked Sherry if she would consent, and she didn’t want them to operate. Who would? I was astounded they would even ask her. I mean, really? Her brain was not functioning properly! When they turned to me and asked if I wanted to make the decision, I said, “Yes.” Then they asked if I would consent to the operation. Again, I said yes. Within a matter of minutes all the forms were signed, and they wheeled her away. As I signed the last form a nurse asked if I understood the forms. I said, “You’re kidding, right?”

I was directed to a waiting room and told the surgery would take about two hours, and they would let me know when she was out of the operating room. I sat there alone and dazed in a world that was very silent and very still. It felt as though my world had literally stopped turning.

I had only one phone number in my contacts; Jaylynn, a friend from our workout class at the gym, so I texted her at around 8:30 AM, or so, and stated simply, “I need some help. Longview Regional. I can’t talk. Too upset.” Yes, I know I talk like I’m tough as nails and make people think I can handle anything but, well, I guess neither is true when something like this happens. She didn’t get the text until about 9:15—she was in our exercise class—but as soon as she found out and texted back, she said she was on her way.

Of course, I couldn’t know all the things that were taking place. I’d gone outside to take a phone call from Sean’s dad, Danny, after I talked to him, and I was standing outside trying to get my thoughts together, I looked up to see one of Tracey’s friends, JoCarol, coming toward me. My mind said, Oh my God. My heart said, Thank you, Jesus. I hardly knew JoCarol but at that moment she became one of my dearest friends and she will ever be so. She gave me a hug—I have no idea what she said to me—then we went inside, and we talked. After a few minutes, the words started to make sense and we talked.  Mostly about football and the Lobos (her son, Parker, is one of Sawyer’s best friends, and plays on the team.) The team, the Lobos, for those who don’t know, are the 2018, 6A Division II State Champions in Texas high school football. Sawyer is a defensive tackle, and Parker is the center. Both are juniors, and I’ve already told them I expect a repeat next season.

Jaylynn showed up shortly after JoCarol did, and so I had friends at my side. I will be forever grateful to these two wonderful ladies.

The operation was completed in less than an hour. They’d told me it would take at least two, so when the lady at the desk called my name, my mind froze, and all I could think was, it was too early! But when they told me the surgery was complete and all was well, I literally felt like I was floating above the earth. I think maybe Jesus picked me up and gave me a celebratory hug.

JoCarol left soon after we got the news. She has three big football players for sons and had to go feed them. (Her grocery bill must be astronomical!) So, it was just me and Jaylynn, and we waited for them to call and let us know what room Sherry was in, so we could go see her. I don’t know how long we waited, but Jaylynn kept pestering the lady at the desk. The lady was a volunteer, and she was awesome. She never stopped smiling and would call somebody every time Jaylynn would ask her to find out what was going on. At some point during the wait, I told Jaylynn she could go if she needed to, and she gave me a look that said she might be fixin’ to smack me upside the head. She stayed.

Time had become non-existent to me, so I have no idea what time it was when we were finally led to the room in the ICU where Sherry was recovering. All I knew was she WAS recovering, and at some point in time, we would go on with the rest of our lives. The world began to slowly turn again.

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Nine long days have passed, seemingly in the blink of an eye, and Sherry is now in a rehab facility. All things considered, she’s doing remarkably well, and appears to have no lasting effects from the brain trauma and surgery. There are some minor motor-skill issues, and of course she’s weak and tires easily, but other than that, all is well.