The Touch

It is December 17th, 2001.

I am in the hospital, as sick as I can be. My counts are at .00001. I have mucositis everywhere.
I have a fever. There are 14 bags of medicine hooked into my Neo-star external catheter. I am too weak to move, to weak to think. Trying to stay awake through a cloud of morphine. It is the lowest of low points during my stem-cell transplant. My cousin Brenda has faithfully spent the night on a cot next to me. My husband, banned from me by a cold. Little moans escape me with each exhale. "What's wrong?" Brenda asked. "Nothing." I say, "it's just the noise I make when I'm miserable."

One of the bad, bad times, that day back in December 2001. 2 days after my 46th birthday. 8 days before Christmas. I easily could have been convinced I was dying. Knocked down by massive doses of chemo.....before my stem-cells can start back to work. Holding on, barely able to speak. A lost day to all the medical treatments, pain and semi-awake state. Until that night.

Somewhere during that night or early morning hours...in that hospital room with only a soft light on over my head and the constant whirr and whoosh of the IV pumps, I was awakened. Awakened by an unmistakable hand on my left shoulder. I opened my eyes to find no one standing there. I was alone. Alone with the knowledge that I had been touched. Touched by a strong and comforting hand. A touch that said "I am here, I am with you. It is well."
Somehow I knew it was all real.....not a dream...no way. God had come, as always, just when I needed Him most.

It is December 18th, 2001. I wake up and I know. My counts are 600. The doctor warns about premature optimism, but I can see he is pleased. I can feel it in my bones, my body, my soul.
My new immune system has kicked in. The stem cells have engrafted. All is well, just as I was told the night before.

I walked out of the hospital on December 21st. Home to my family. Home to Christmas. But most importantly home with the first-hand knowledge that I am never alone, particularly in those dark and dreadful hours.

Today is September 8th, 2008. I was sitting on my front porch this morning. It was a beautiful start to the day. For some reason, I thought about that touch as a slight breeze blew across my shoulders. A gentle reminder that after all this time, down this long and winding path, God's message has never changed: "I am here, I am with you. It is well."

"If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast." Psalm 139:9-10