The Worst Week of My Life

My wife in the hospital with cancer, a granddaughter with spinal meningitis, what could go wrong?

By Tim Frodsham, 19 January, 2021

When asked about the worst moments in my life, this experience comes first and foremost to my mind.  I had left my wife LaNae at the clinic to run a quick errand at the bank just a few doors away.  She was in for a paracentesis, a procedure to drain fluids from her cancer-filled abdomen.  Such visits had become a routine as her cancer spread.  

I got a call from the clinic and hastily returned to find the staff bundling up my wife, prepping her to be taken by ambulance to the emergency room.  The cancer had spread to her lung cavity, filling it with fluid; and the doctor in the clinic felt it was critical that she be assessed and treated at the hospital. 

Over the course of a week, doctors drained over four liters of fluid from around her lungs, doing this in steps because her expanding lungs, being relieved of the crush of the surrounding fluid, were extremely painful.

As I sat in the hospital room, I learned that my granddaughter, two hours away, was being rushed to the hospital for reasons not yet known.  I left LaNae’s bedside and headed south to take care of my daughter’s family while she and her husband spent an anxious night at the hospital.  The doctors suspected spinal meningitis, and the next day they had her transported to Randall’s Children’s Hospital on the other side of Portland—away from the hospital where LaNae was being treated.  

We quickly settled into a routine: I would spend the day with LaNae, monitoring her progress, keeping her company, and working remotely as best I could for my small startup company.  I would then travel across town to spend the night with my daughter and my three week old granddaughter.

In the early hours of the morning nearly a week into this nightmare, my granddaughter whimpered plaintively from her small hospital crib.  Both my daughter and I were too exhausted to respond.  I was moved almost to tears by her wearied cries.  She too was worn out from day after day of painful procedures to take samples of her spinal fluids and attempts to establish an IV to administer antibiotics. 

I was so exhausted from the week of vigilance and the preceding months of care giving that I could not get out of that chair to hold her.  I was too exhausted to get up, to move, or to even cry.  In that darkest hour, the wonderful, competent, caring nurses at the children’s hospital swept away that sweet child and kept her at the nurses’ station, holding and rocking her in between their rounds.  She finally got a few hours of much needed sleep and so did we.

The doctors tried again the next day to install a line to administer fluids and antibiotics.  I was away at LaNae’s bedside when the doctors brought my granddaughter back and told my daughter that their latest attempt had failed.  They would make one more attempt, and if that failed, she would have to be hospitalized for weeks—or even months in order for the antibiotics to be administered by other means.  

Just as the doctors left, Diane, a longtime friend and member of our church congregation entered the room.  To this day I do not know how she even knew that my daughter was at the hospital with her nearly new babe.  She crossed the room, and she and my daughter dropped to the floor in a puddle and wept.  My daughter did not need counseling, advice, or assistance.  What she needed at that moment was a shoulder to cry on, someone who would stay and weep with her.  The next day, their last attempt succeeded; the doctors started antibiotics and my granddaughter was able to complete the month-long course of antibiotics at home. 

A few days later, LaNae was released from the hospital, (at least for that crisis), and we were all at home.  I am continually amazed at what we can withstand when we put our trust in the Savior; and when we are at our end, the Lord sends us angels to carry us through.  

I utter a continual prayer for the angels among us who are receptive to His spirit, and answer those still, small promptings to serve.  I pray also that I may be receptive to that same spirit.  I may never be able to serve and help as the angels sent to my daughter in her hour of despair, but I pray anyway to be an instrument in His hands.  Our Lords is so mindful of us and is always standing at the door, though at times we may not recognize Him when He passes through.  Everything may not seem to happen for a reason, but our loving God takes everything that happens to us and gives it purpose.

That tiny granddaughter is now a feisty, spirited 7 year old.  With five older brothers, she hasn’t much of a choice.  There is a special bond between us.  One cannot hold a tiny infant in the darkest hours of night, praying that this night is not the last, without sounding the depths of an infinite love.  One of the most precious derivatives of adversity and affliction is love.  A Christlike love we share in the most infinitesimal way, with the love He shares, born of His sacrifice for us.  

She is the granddaughter who mobs me at the door when I visit, takes long walks with me, and insists that I sit by her at the dinner table.  She unleashes a storm when her mom drives by my exit on the freeway.  I unabashedly admit that I reciprocate that childlike love, except for maybe the temper tantrums on the freeway.  

That such love can only be built through adversity is at the foundation of this mortal existence.  Given God’s infinite and perfect love for us, that He forged adversity as an integral part of this mortal estate tells me that the benefits, lessons and wisdom we acquire because of it are and will be of inestimable value.  He would never have us suffer otherwise.  How I pray to trust Him  perfectly, and in confidence, place my pain and adversity in His hands.

Copyright 2021, Tim Frodsham, latterdaysaints.life