The surgical nurse made an announcement as she entered the door. "Will the family waiting for Christopher Gunderson please come with me?" Those were the words we had been waiting for. We took our cue, left our waiting room chairs in the dust, and quickly made our way to the front of the room where a friendly-faced nurse still dressed in her operating scrubs was waiting to take us to see Christopher.
I could see that there was a definite medicated haze in his eyes, and I was glad to know that he felt no pain at all. As I hugged him hello he told me that he was just glad it was all over. I nodded and hugged in agreement. Breanna and I walked along side him as the nurses led the way to the room that would be Christopher's home away from home for the next day or so.
We made our way through long hallways, up the elevator, and past other patient rooms. I could see the retuned and questioning looks from the other parents as we passed by room after room of sick children. I knew they were thinking the same thing I was thinking. The same questions were probably going through their minds too. I wonder what they are here for? I wonder how long they will have to stay?
|I'd rather have a pool!|
The only drawback I could see about the room was the color orange. If your not a fan of orange, than this was definitely not the room for you. In my opinion, they overplayed the whole orange theme a bit, but did I mention that there was a private bathroom? That's right! We were about to go to war for Christopher's healing recovery, but at least we were going to do battle in comfort. I'm a much better warrior when I don't have to take the elevator down four floors to find a bathroom.
I took my place on the relatively comfortable couch that would later serve as my bed for the night. The nurses were busy unhooking stuff, hooking up other stuff up, checking machines, and making sure Christopher was as comfortable as possible. Breanna was busy hugging Christopher and making sure he was ok.
As I watched the chorus of care, I was reminded of a conversation that I overheard in the hallway as the surgeon wheeled Christopher down to the operating room earlier that day. She was explaining her surgical plan to us, as well as, how long that she thought the operation would take. She also told us that Christopher would definitely be left with two good size scars. Christopher just laughed and said that he would be happy to add them to his collection.
Then the whole tone of the conversation changed with the surgeon's next statement. She told Christopher that she would be happy to reccomend a plastic surgeon if he was interested in minimizing the damage. Christopher's answer was quick and to the point. In an emphatic voice he told her NO. He was absolutely NOT interested. The surgeon had an obvious look of surprise on her face, and she was clearly taken back a bit. To satisfy the curiosity plastered all over her face, Christopher explained that he would never do anything to cover up his scars. As far as he was concerned, the scars were a visible reminder of the healing miracle that God had blessed him with. They were a reminder to him, and they would be a reminder to everyone who saw them.
The surgeon fell silent. No point in arguing with that kind of conviction. Her eyes displayed what her mind was thinking. God's miracle would not be wasted.
If you have never accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, you can pray like this: