Behind the Veils of Yemen (3 page)

Two hours later I awoke to hear Kevin vomiting in the bathroom. “The potato soup,” I groaned. Kevin had eaten it at an airport buffet. The soup had been only lukewarm, but selections had been slim and we had been hungry, so Kevin had eaten it anyway.

My second thought was aggravation. “How are we going to have good exams with no sleep?” I grudgingly shuffled to the bathroom to offer Kevin a wet washcloth and cold water.

Again and again through the night Kevin dashed for the bathroom, his vomiting accompanied by diarrhea. With increasing irritation, I offered him wet washcloths and sips of cool water. Dawn seemed a long time coming, but it finally arrived, brimming with sunshine.

I blinked at the light and blinked at Kevin, groaning as I threw back the covers. Both of us looked as if we had been up most of the night. Kevin had begun running a fever, but his vomiting and diarrhea had subsided, so I breathed prayers of relief as I showered and dressed.

I struggled to get contact lenses into my stinging blue eyes and shook Kevin gently to wake him again. “Honey, do you think you’ll be able to make the meeting this morning?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, trying to sit himself up in the bed. “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired from all that time in the bathroom.”

I laid out the clothes he wanted to wear. Assured that he could shower and dress himself, I left to grab breakfast in the hotel coffee shop. Kevin was all too glad to stay behind and avoid restaurant smells. He was weak and moving slowly, but he was moving.

Twenty minutes later I opened the door to find that not only was Kevin not dressed, he was stretched out on the bed sleeping. I was stunned. Kevin was a man who defined punctuality as fifteen minutes early. He was never late; he left that function to me.

“Kevin, we have to leave in five minutes and you’re not even dressed!” I yelled, grabbing his shirt and trousers. I hesitated. “Are you okay, honey? Are you feeling sick again? Do we need to call someone and postpone our appointments?”

Kevin shook his head and mumbled an apology as he slowly pulled himself from the bed. “I’m okay. I didn’t think I would fall back asleep,” he admitted sheepishly.

I quickly helped him dress, glancing at the bedside clock. I could feel the heat from his feverish body as I buttoned his shirt. I stashed our schedule packet into my purse and helped Kevin put on his tie and sports jacket. We shuffled slowly down the corridor, Kevin’s six-foot body leaning heavily on my five-foot-three frame.

We inched our way through dead leaves in the parking lot and found the rental car that Kevin was supposed to drive. I settled him into the passenger seat and sighed as I got behind the steering wheel.

I waved the map at Kevin. “Can you help me find the road where we are supposed to turn?” I asked in a growing panic. “I don’t mind driving, but you know how I am with directions. Do I go straight on this street and then turn left, or do I turn first and go straight at the light?” I screeched out of the hotel parking lot in what I hoped was the right direction.

Kevin took the map slowly from my waving hand and tried to focus on it. He steadied his head against the headrest and turned the map crosswise, but he could not seem to read it. He mumbled something I could not understand. I was growing more frustrated.

“Honey, I need to know where to turn!” I pleaded.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He spoke slowly and with effort, then handed the map back to me. “I can’t make it out. My head is all foggy.”

He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry you’re having to handle all of this.” His words were drawn out and labored. “I’m no help, am I?”

In spite of my inclination to agree, I patted his arm. “That’s okay, honey. You just rest and take it easy. I’ll get us there.”

I’ll get us there,
I repeated to myself.
I can do this.
I took a deep breath, willing myself to focus.

Kevin dozed in and out as I made one wrong turn after another. I finally delivered us to the psychiatrist’s home, twenty minutes late for our appointment.

As we got out of the car, I whispered to Kevin, “I hope being late isn’t rooted in some deep psychiatric problem.” He smiled weakly in response.

Entering the psychiatrist’s home office, I tried to appear calmer and more collected than I was. I apologized sheepishly for getting lost.

The psychiatrist looked closely at Kevin. “It’s a good thing your next exam is at the hospital clinic,” he said.

Kevin was coherent throughout the interview, and we completed it smoothly together, answering a barrage of questions about our childhood and adolescence. We apparently passed the evaluation in spite of ourselves.

Outside we were joined by another candidate. I was only too glad to relinquish the car keys. I climbed into the backseat as Kevin slept in the front. We passed oak trees denuded of once abundant leaves. They stood resolute between the quiet old brownstones of Richmond and lifted pitiful limbs to the sky, as if they knew their nakedness was necessary before thick foliage could grow.

We arrived at the hospital clinic on time for our appointments. I sighed with relief as I seated Kevin and myself in the reception area and began filling out registration forms. I completed mine and worked on Kevin’s while he slept, slumped in the chair beside me. I was trying to remember his family information when Kevin uttered a guttural moan, interrupting my concentration. I glanced from my clipboard to Kevin. He was leaning forward, his pupils like tiny black dots in his opened green eyes.

I sent the clipboards flying as I lunged for the registration desk. “Something’s wrong with my husband!” I shouted at the receptionist.

The startled clerk jumped in irritated surprise. But when she saw Kevin slumped in his seat with his eyes open and unseeing, she hit the intercom immediately.

“Code Blue, Admissions. Code Blue, Admissions.”

Everything whirred together in a blur of white and green as hospital staff appeared instantly beside us. A doctor in scrubs stretched Kevin out on the floor, loosening his belt, unbuttoning his shirt, and listening to his heart all at the same time. A nurse in white took his blood pressure while firing a volley of questions at me. I stared in disbelief, stumbling through a description of the previous night and explaining that we were there to see Dr. Valdadoss in the clinic.

Kevin awoke and attempted to sit up, protesting weakly at the attention. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” he said, trying to brush the nurse aside. His sixty-over-thirty blood pressure reading disagreed.

“Lie down, sir.” The emergency room doctor motioned for an orderly with a gurney. They helped Kevin onto it and wheeled him away from the reception area with me following closely behind. I tried to ask questions, but the words would not come. My legs were moving in pace with the hospital staff, but I could not feel them.

As the doors pushed open to the clinic, the nursing staff gasped in surprise. “Oh, my!” exclaimed Libby, Dr. Valdadoss’s nurse.

“What happened?” Dr. Valdadoss hurried to us in answer to his page.

I gave a hasty explanation of the night before. Dr. Valdadoss wheeled Kevin into a room and examined him as he nodded at my answers to his questions.

“Kevin is dehydrated, probably from a touch of food poisoning.” Dr. Valdadoss hung his stethoscope back around his neck. “No more cold potato soup.” He smiled at Kevin.

Libby walked in with an IV bag. Dr. Valdadoss turned to me. “We need to admit him to the hospital for 24 hours and get him rehydrated,” he said. “He is running a high fever and we need to bring that down and get him stabilized. Then he’ll be as good as new.”

Seeing the shock on my face, Dr. Valdadoss patted my arm. “Tomorrow he’ll be a different man,” he said. “He’ll be fine.”

Libby inserted an IV into Kevin’s arm and helped the attendant prepare to wheel him from the clinic to the hospital wing. I moved to follow them.

“Mrs. Shelby, you need to stay here until we get him settled into a room,” Libby stopped me. “Since you are here, you might as well finish your physical and get your part done.” She held out my medical forms.

I clutched the end of the gurney with one hand and slowly reached for the forms with the other. I tightened my grip, wanting to stay with my husband, but feeling compelled to comply. I reluctantly stepped back as they wheeled my husband away.

“Take care of him, Lord,” I whispered.

When I was done, blue arrows painted on the shiny floor of the corridor directed me from the clinic to the hospital. I paused at a small pharmacy in between them. I glanced at my watch and went in to purchase a breast pump, something I had forgotten at home. It had been more than 24 hours since I had nursed Jack, and I was beginning to feel our separation.

The redheaded cashier wore a lab coat splashed with orange and fuchsia flowers. She handed me my change as she put the pump in a paper sack. My absentminded answers to her pleasant questions sparked apparently hungry conversation.

“You’re not from around here, are you, honey?” she asked, handing me my sack. “I can tell by your accent. Have you been out on the town yet? Don’t you leave Richmond without having a good time, you hear?”

The tears exploded out of me before I could stop them. I could not answer the astonished woman as her mouth dropped open and her eyes blinked wide and repeatedly. She grabbed a tissue box behind the counter and handed me a handful.

“Are you all right, honey? Can I get you a drink of water or something? Do you need a chair to sit down?”

I shook my head no. I choked out my thanks for the tissues and mumbled a few words about Kevin. Blaming my fatigue, I apologized and backed out of the pharmacy. I gulped deep breaths, struggling to get my tears under control. I leaned against the corridor wall. I willed myself to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tears. I gripped my hands together until my trembling subsided. I dabbed my face with tissues and smoothed a hand over my clothes and hair.

The worst is over,
I told myself.
Kevin is where he needs to be. Tomorrow things will be better.
I took another deep breath.
I am strong enough to do this, right, Lord?
I threw a glance upward. I fumbled around in my purse for lipstick and steadied my hand to smear it in place. I slowly resumed my pace down the hall.

Kevin smiled weakly as I walked into his private room. Relief washed over his face like a wave smoothing trampled sand. I kissed his hot forehead and squeezed his hand. His body felt hotter.

“Some day this was,” he said with effort.

“Yeah, it’s preparing us for all the stomach troubles we’re going to have overseas.” I tried to grin, glancing at his overhead monitor. His temperature was hovering at 105 and his blood pressure was staying around 60 over 40.

The door opened, and a nurse came in with a large, gel-filled rectangle. “Mrs. Shelby? I’m Sarah, your husband’s afternoon nurse. I’m going to put him on a cooling blanket to bring his fever down. Can you help me get it under him?”

I helped Kevin roll sideways, and together Sarah and I slid the pad underneath him. I tried to keep my eyes off Sarah’s worried brown ones as she checked the readings on his monitor. She was in her late thirties, with bobbed brown hair and a blue uniform. She wrote notes on her chart then left the room.

Kevin continued to drift in and out of sleep. His eyes fluttered open to find me and closed when they had. I sat on his bed, letting him squeeze the hand he would not release.

The afternoon poured sun through the window and I was grateful for it, eager for a glimpse of something natural and familiar. I left Kevin’s bedside to let the sunlight wash over me through the tinted glass. I could not see the sun; the wall from the next wing was blocking it. But I knew it was there. I could feel its warmth and see the light streaming from it.

Sarah began to return every fifteen minutes. Kevin’s temperature was not going down. Sarah’s worried eyes were joined by tightening lips and an occasional shaking head. Kevin’s body seemed to be swelling. His face looked puffy and bloated. He had received several liters of IV fluid, but I noticed that his catheter bag was empty. He was not passing the fluids he received.

I began to leave my chair more frequently to pace around the room. My pace was beginning to match Sarah’s as she came in and out to check Kevin’s monitor. I was growing impatient. I was ready for Kevin to respond to the IV fluids and bounce quickly back like the doctor had said he would, but it was not happening. Kevin was not getting better. He was getting worse, and Sarah knew it.

The day began to end. As the afternoon sun finished pouring its shine through the window, a shadow, growing from the outside wall, slowly mopped the light away. It made the room appear dark and full of gloom, so I closed the curtains and switched on an extra light. I tried to squelch my growing uneasiness with thoughts about our children at home. I wondered what they were doing and how Jack was adjusting without me. I told myself my fears were in my head and I was only imagining Kevin getting worse. I gritted my teeth and whispered that Kevin would get better if I believed hard enough. So I willed him to heal, not recognizing whose will my faith was pursuing.

Kevin began to sleep for longer periods. Sarah became visibly more agitated. She no longer attempted to hide the frustration in her voice. She began to murmur things under her breath that I could not hear. I tried to encourage her, to tell her Kevin was improving, but I knew he was not.

Finally Sarah turned from the monitor and faced me “I’m sorry, Mrs. Shelby, but I called Dr. Valdadoss. Your husband needs to be in the ICU. I can’t give him the care he needs, and I don’t want to take responsibility for him. Dr. Valdadoss is transferring him to the ICU as soon as they prepare a bed.” She walked brusquely from the room without looking back at Kevin or me.

My head began to spin as Dr. Valdadoss appeared and a new group of nurses, equipment and talk murmured around Kevin. A nurse named Kalyn asked me to leave while they prepared my husband for the transfer. She told me they would call me after Kevin was settled into the ICU.

I felt numb and moved in a daze. Feeling powerless, I voiced no opposition. I was out of his room without realizing I had walked out. Through the door I heard Kalyn tell Dr. Valdadoss that she could not insert another IV. Kevin’s veins had collapsed.

As I groped my way to the ICU waiting room, I tried to grasp what was happening. Kevin was supposed to have food poisoning. He was simply supposed to recover. “It can’t be more than that!” I gritted my teeth and slumped down into an armchair, leaning against its burly cushions. The beige walls of the room surrounded me like a net waiting for prey, the hazy watercolors hanging on each side like bait attracting helpless people who could do nothing but bide their time. I kicked the carpet.

“I won’t be caught by circumstances, and I won’t sit helpless in any waiting room!” I jumped from my chair and paced the nearest hallway.

My shoes slapped each shiny tile as I marched down hall after hall. Thoughts in my head began to spin like a brightly painted top—faster and faster like a blur of confused colors that would not stop or slow to allow clarity. I tried to pray but could not; the words were trapped in the whirl of spinning thoughts. I knew God was there, but I could not focus enough to find Him. All my years of prayer and meditation escaped me. Even the strength I thought I had within myself was stripped away. My will was not enough. I could not make myself think, and I could not grasp what to do. I whirled helplessly in circumstances I could not control.

I craved a place where I could be alone to sort my whirling thoughts. I felt desperate for a closet, a private place where I could force my spinning thoughts into focus, but I could not find it. Nurses and doctors scurried through endlessly long halls. Waiting rooms held listless people and chattering televisions. Corners were crowded with newspaper stands and soda machines. I could not find an unlocked closet. I could not find a solitary place to find what I so desperately lacked.

My pace quickened to the point that I was almost running. I was nearly frantic in my need to find the help that was beyond me. I found a women’s bathroom and rushed inside, locking the door behind me. I leaned panting against it. Instantly a picture of Jaden from two days before flashed through my heart. I saw our curly-haired four-year-old sitting on the bathroom sink watching his daddy shave, his chubby fingers timidly touching the white foam on Kevin’s face. My tears burst unchecked as I slumped against the white door. I understood for the first time that our son might not see his daddy shave again.

I cried out with tears pouring down my cheeks. “Please, Lord,” I pleaded. “Don’t take my husband. You took my mother when I was five. Don’t take my children’s daddy, too! Don’t let him die!”

I wilted against the door, clinging to the shiny brass handle for support.

“Oh, Jesus, I don’t know what to do!” I wailed. “I can’t even think. Everything’s all confused!”

My shoulders shook with the intensity of my tears. “Help me, Lord! Help me! I need You,” I cried. “I need You!”

The unmistakable words of 2 Corinthians 12:9 broke clearly through my spinning mind: “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness” (
nkjv
).

A blanket of incredible peace began to gently envelop me, folding me inside, wrapping me in the strength that comes only through Jesus Christ. I felt like I had been picked up and was being held close in His arms. My thoughts began to focus as His strength wrapped around me. I leaned on Him with all there was of me. My sobs spent themselves, and my need began to be satiated. I could feel His presence. I savored His strength rising within me, and I knew I was not alone. The Savior was with me.

Another Scripture filled my mind, girding me like a brace. “All things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28,
nkjv
). This was my ticket to trust Christ in all circumstances, and I grasped it with both hands like a child clutching a prize. I acknowledged Christ as Lord over every circumstance, and I anchored myself in Him. I knew that if Kevin died, God would bring good out of it and would carry me through every minute.

The peace in that moment was overwhelming. I felt calm and completely secure. I splashed cool water on my face at the sink, hardly noticing the red, swollen eyes reflected in the mirror or my blouse soaked with tears. I had come face-to-face with my human insufficiency, and I also had come face-to-face with the unlimited sufficiency of Christ. I recognized that I could never be enough because I had never been created to be enough, and He could never be limited. I was not caught by circumstances. I was caught in the arms of Christ. I felt focused and equipped to face what lay ahead. I walked out of the bathroom, gently closing the door behind me, ready to wait.

I was called to Kevin’s bedside fifteen minutes later. He stirred when I took his hand. He opened his eyes to my face but immediately sank back into unconsciousness. Tubes and machines stood around him in sterile plastic wraps. Kevin’s monitor, displaying new readings I did not understand, flashed rhythmically to the nurses’ desk with his every breath. I sat quietly beside him, pouring my heart out to God. Armed by Christ, I prayed as a warrior fighting for Kevin’s life.

Kevin’s ICU nurse, Winnie, was a plump, blue-eyed woman with graying hair and a white uniform. Between the busyness of checking and connecting IV tubes, she chatted.

“Have you been in Richmond long?” She injected a vial into Kevin’s IV.

I smiled wryly. “We got here last night.”

“Do you have any children?” She added a new IV bag.

“Three,” I replied. “A six-year-old girl, a four-year-old boy and a one-year-old boy.”

Winnie paused from her work to look at me. Her light blue eyes squinted as she studied me. They were misty when she turned them away. She quietly left the room with her clipboard hanging limply at her side.

A little before ten o’clock, I was called from the ICU. The nurses’ desk announced that I had visitors in the waiting room. I left reluctantly. I did not want to leave Kevin’s side but I knew that the visitors could not enter the ICU.

I was greeted by three directors from the International Mission Board: the personnel director, the candidate director and the medical director. They were still wearing their suits and ties from the evening program. They hugged me in turn.

“Hello, Audra. How are you doing?” Dr. Atkinson, the personnel director, asked. He motioned me to a chair. “Is there anything we can get for you?”

I shook my head.

Dr. Williams, the medical director, asked, “Have you eaten dinner? Can we order a food tray or bring you something from outside?”

Again I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

“Is there somebody we can call for you?” asked Dr. Riddle, the candidate director. “Does your family know how to reach you?”

“I’m okay,” I assured them. “I’ve talked with our families, and they have the numbers to the ICU.” I paused. “Everybody’s in shock. We’re all trying to figure out what happened.”

I turned to Dr. Williams, a physician. He had been communicating with Kevin’s doctor throughout the day. I had been told very little and had not seen Dr. Valdadoss since Kevin had been transferred to the ICU. I had been providing more answers to physicians than they had been giving to me. I asked Dr. Williams to explain Kevin’s condition.

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. Choosing his words carefully, he gently described the seriousness of Kevin’s illness. He explained that the lab tests had been inconclusive and that Kevin’s disease was unknown, so the medical team was giving him a series of strong antibiotics in an attempt to cover several possibilities. Complicating matters, Kevin’s blood platelets had fallen too low to continue more tests.

“Audra.” Dr Williams cleared his throat again. “Kevin’s body is shutting down. He’s in septic shock and in DIC—organ failure, overcome by the apparent infection.”

The men were grim-faced as Dr. Williams spoke. But their words were kind as they reassured me of their support. We joined hands and prayed for Kevin. The three men also prayed for me and our children at home.

I stood to return to the ICU. “God will bring good out of this,” I told them. “He promised. No matter what happens, He will bring good for those who love Him, according to His purpose.”

I stood resolutely before them, watching them slowly nod in agreement. Their eyes were moist as they looked at me. They promised their help in handling any details that might arise.

Dr. Riddle gave me his business card, writing telephone numbers on the back. “You can reach us at these numbers during the night. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”

By midnight many friends and family members had called. Everyone struggled to comprehend what had happened. It seemed inconceivable. Kevin had always been healthy. No one understood how he could become gravely ill so suddenly. Those who telephoned called others into prayer. Friends and churches across the nation began to pray through the night on Kevin’s behalf.