It’s not much,” Betty tells me as she shows me the guest room in her condo.
“Are you kidding?” I set my bags on the bench at the foot of the queen-sized bed. “It feels like a luxury hotel room compared to where I’ve been staying these last few weeks.” As she shows me the closet and a dresser to put my things in, I describe my various sleeping experiences, including the mattress that I stuffed myself. “It’s prickly and pokey and makes me sneeze,” I tell her. “Guess that’s what the old saying means—you make your bed and you have to lie in it.”
Betty chuckles as she hands me a key. “Well, make yourself at home. I’m a little tired from a long day of work. I thought I might order a pizza to be delivered for us.”
“Pizza?”
“Is that okay with you?”
I nod eagerly. “Oh, yeah! I’m already salivating.”
She laughs. “What kind do you like?”
I list my favorite toppings, and she tells me to get settled while she places the order. As I unpack my bags, I cannot help but feel I have died and gone to heaven. Well, except for my mom. Thinking of her puts a slight damper on things. Still, I feel like doing a Snoopy dance when I see the hall bathroom. Betty already told me that it’s all mine since she has another bathroom in her master suite. I cannot wait to have a nice long shower!
As we eat our delicious pizza, I confide to Betty how freaked I am for my mom. “I keep telling myself it’ll be okay, and I try to pray for her instead of worrying. But it’s hard.” Then I tell her about how nonchalant my Amish relatives were. “It seems like they really don’t care. Just because she left and has been shunned, it’s like she doesn’t exist.”
“The shunning thing is hard,” she says as she reaches for another slice. “Leah has really struggled with that. She and Bruce—that’s my son—have three adorable kids, but they never see their other set of grandparents. I try to make up for that, and I enjoy all the time I get with them. But to be honest, I wouldn’t mind sharing them. I do think it’s a shame that they’re cut off like that.”
“I don’t understand how the Amish can be so hardhearted.”
“I don’t think it’s hardheartedness as much as it is their religious beliefs. Their rules are strict. Well, you must know that after living there. But it’s those unbending rules that have preserved their way of life. Without that kind of order, their Ordnung, the Amish wouldn’t even exist today.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Almost everything they do—the way they dress and talk and work and live—is meant to set them apart. It’s like their boundaries, keeping them separate from the rest of us. If they let down those walls, what would they have?”
I nod as I reach for another piece of pizza. “I guess you’re right. It’s funny, I was right there living among them, but I never quite saw it like that.”
“Well, because of Leah and Bruce, I’ve given it some thought and a fair amount of study. As a result I’ve developed a deep compassion for the Amish. I know their lives are not easy. Some people overly romanticize them. In this town, tourists come to gape at them. But most people don’t realize that there’s a fair amount of heartbreak in a lot of Amish homes. Even so, those people keep on keeping on. Their lives are filled with hard work and rigid rules, and for the most part you would never hear them complain. I actually have a lot of admiration for them.”
“Do you remember when Mom and I came into Dr. Hoffman’s office?” I ask.
“Sure. It wasn’t that long ago.”
“Well, for some reason I thought you didn’t like Amish people.” I won’t admit to her what a grump I took her for. “And I was absolutely certain you didn’t like me—just because I was Amish, even though I wasn’t. I was actually offended at first. But then I decided to try to win you over.”
Betty chuckles. “I’d been to the dentist first thing in the morning that day. Had a filling that had fallen out and the dentist really worked me over. I was still in a little pain by the time you came in. I’m sorry if I seemed overly harsh and abrupt.”
“Well, I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
She shrugs. “I suppose we all misjudge sometimes. That’s why I’ve learned to give people second chances. And to be honest, I do remember thinking, ‘Oh no, here come some more Amish patients.’” She shakes her head. “The problem is, we don’t usually see them in the office until they’ve let an ailment go too long, and that’s hard on everyone. Truth be told, because of their beliefs, they can be a little difficult sometimes too. But I’m not usually that crabby.”
“Well, what you said about the Amish letting it go too long, that’s how it was with my mom too.”
“The important thing is that you got her in when you did, and now she’s going to get help.”
“Do you think she’ll be okay?” I ask.
“She’s in good hands.” Betty gets up to get a glass of water. “Do you plan to go over in the morning before her surgery?”
“Yeah. I know she’s scheduled for 8:00, but I figured I’d go earlier.”
“They’ll probably take her from her room an hour or so before her surgery,” she tells me. “So you’ll have to get up pretty early to see her.”
“That’s okay. I’m used to getting up early.”
She chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”
I offer to clean up after dinner, but as Betty points out, besides putting our dishes in the dishwasher, there’s not much to do.
“I cannot wait to take a real shower in your lovely bathroom,” I tell her as I wipe down the countertops.
“What are you waiting for?”
Thrilled at the prospect of a long shower and a good shampoo, which my hair has been begging for, I decide to go for it. For a while I’m so immersed in scrubbing, shampooing, and conditioning that I completely forget about my mom. Later, as I’m drying my hair, I consider straightening it, but then I remember how much my mom loves my curls. For her sake—and maybe because I’m starting to appreciate them a little more too—I leave my hair as is. I must admit it’s a time-saver.
“I’m so used to going to bed early,” I tell Betty, who is sitting in front of the TV. “I think I’ll turn in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m sure you need the rest. And if you’re going to see your mom in the morning, you’ll need to get up early too.”
I tell her good night and then thank her for having me here. “Being in your home like this, well, it really is like a slice of heaven. You have no idea.”
“No, but I can imagine.” Betty smiles. “I’m glad you’re here, Shannon. Be sure to call the office tomorrow and let me know how the surgery goes.”
“I will.”
Betty tells me good night and that she’ll be praying for Mom tomorrow. Before I go to bed, I call Merenda because I really, really want to hear her voice, but she doesn’t answer. So I text her, filling her in on the latest details and promising to call her tomorrow.
To my dismay, Mom’s bed is already empty when I get to the hospital. How can I be late when it’s only 6:30? Then, looking at the unmade bed, I start to freak—did she die in the night? I’m standing there with tears filling my eyes when a nurse’s aide comes in.
“They’re prepping her for surgery,” she informs me in a nonchalant way.
“But it’s only—”
“The surgical staff likes to get an early start in the morning because it always backs up later in the day.” She pulls back the linens from Mom’s bed, wadding them into a ball.
“Can you tell my mom I’m here?” I ask.
“No, I can’t go in there. But she’s probably sedated by now anyway.”
Trying not to feel too dejected, I head for the lobby by the nurse’s station. I pause to let them know I’m here, waiting to hear the news. Then I go and sit down. If it wasn’t so early I’d call Merenda, but knowing my best friend, she is still soundly sleeping. I consider pulling out my iPad but don’t want to get caught up in reading about brain surgery and get discouraged. Instead, I get out my sketch pad and decide to make a drawing for my mom. However, I can’t find anything in the sterile waiting area to inspire me. Strangely enough, I feel like drawing barns and cows and horses and buggies. Somehow I don’t think Mom would really appreciate that.
I put my sketch pad away and just sit there feeling frightened and sad and lonely. Very, very lonely. I know it’s time to pray. I bow my head and try to form a prayer, but it feels like I’m saying the same things I’ve said before. I wish I could think of something more clever, something to really grab God’s attention. Okay, I know that’s silly, but it’s how I feel. What can I say to ensure he will help Mom through this—maybe even do a miracle?
“Shannon?”
I open my eyes to see several people standing before me—all dressed in Amish clothes, but not regular work clothes. They are dressed in their dark Sunday clothes, which look totally out of place in this modern hospital. I stare in astonishment at Mammi, Dawdi, Uncle Ben, and Rachel. All of them look curiously down at me.
“What?” I stammer as I begin to stand. “What happened? Why are you—”
“We came to be with you.” Mammi sits down next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“To pray for your mamm,” Dawdi adds as he sits across from me.
“And to pray for you too,” Uncle Ben says.
“We are your family,” Rachel tells me as she sits on the other side of me.
I’m too stunned to even speak. I cannot believe they came. What about the housework and the farm work? What about the shunning of my mom? Of course, I don’t want to vocalize these questions. Instead I nod, muttering a quiet, “Thank you for coming.”
“Let us pray,” Dawdi says in a firm voice. Everyone bows their heads and, grateful for their company, I do too. Even though I still can’t think of any special words to say—some fancy way to get God’s attention—I’m thinking that this should get his attention. Four Amish people and one English, all praying together. You don’t see that every day.
We pray silently like this for quite some time, maybe even an hour, but eventually I look up. Almost as if he was watching for this, Uncle Ben says, “Amen.” We all echo him.
Mammi opens her cloth shopping bag, removing sugar and molasses cookies. “I thought you might be hungry.”
I nod eagerly. “I didn’t have breakfast. Thank you.” I smile at my relatives, hoping that they will stick around a while longer. “Would anyone like coffee to go with the cookies?”
“Ja,” Dawdi says, and the others agree.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll go get some.” I stand.
“I will help you,” Rachel says.
Rachel and I head for the elevator. Making small talk as we go down, we get some curious looks from the others. I’m sure no one would ever guess we are cousins. Once we’re out of the elevator, Rachel puts her hand on my arm.
“Shannon, I must tell you something,” she says urgently.
“What is it?” I pause near a potted palm, waiting.
“Ezra,” she says quietly. “You spoke to him about me.”
“Oh, yeah.” I nod nervously. “I hope you don’t mind. I kind of dumped a lot on him the other day. I was so stressed out about my mom. I just let him have it. Are you mad?”
“No. It is all right.” She smiles shyly. “Ezra came to speak to me last night.”
“He did?”
“Ja. He told me he was sorry. He told me he still loves me.”
“Of course he loves you,” I assure her.
Her blue eyes shine happily. “He still wants to marry me!”
“That’s wonderful.”
“He said he is done with partying and drinking and all that.”
“What about baptism?”
“He must get baptized before we marry.”
“And he’s willing?”
“Ja. And it is because of you, Shannon. You talked to him.” She throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “I am so grateful to you.”
I hug her back. “But God had a lot to do with it too,” I say as we step apart.
“Ja, I know.” She nods with a knowing expression. “But God uses people too.”
It’s nearly 11:00 and we’ve finished up the coffee and cookies when I see both the Hoffmans coming our way. I stand to greet the couple, quickly introducing them to my relatives, who stand back a ways while the doctors speak to me.
“We have good news,” Dr. Diane Hoffman tells me. “Your mother’s surgery went as well as possible.” She grins proudly at her husband. “Our surgeon performed the craniotomy with perfection, and the tumor is completely removed.”
“The growth turned out to be exactly what I hoped it would be,” he explains to me. “An acoustic neuroma.” He explains how that’s a nonmalignant sheath of cells that sometimes surrounds the cranial nerve. “We don’t know what causes the growth exactly, but it does cause vertigo and hinders a person’s balance. This growth was larger than average. I could see the size of it on the MRI, and I was concerned that it had moved into the seventh cranial nerve. That would’ve changed the prognosis considerably.”
“But it didn’t go that far,” his wife tells me. “Your mother should have a full and complete recovery.”
“You said nonmalignant?” I repeat. “So that means she doesn’t need radiation or chemotherapy?”
“That’s right. She just needs some time to rest and recover from her surgery.” Dr. Hoffman puts her hand on my shoulder. “So do you.”
“Thank you!” I exclaim as I hug her. “Thank you for everything!”
She smiles at her husband. “It was his hands that did it.”
“Thank you so much!” I tell him. But I’m thinking it was God’s hands too.
“I’m pleased we had such a positive outcome. I was prepared for something with complications,” he admits. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“How long until I can see Mom?” I ask Dr. Hoffman.
“She’ll stay in ICU for several hours to be sure there’s no swelling and to monitor her vitals.” She checks her watch. “If there are no problems, she should be back in her room around 3:00, I’d guess.”
“How long will she be in the hospital?” I ask.
“It depends on a number of things, but you should count on four to five days at the minimum.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Thanks again.”
“Glad we could help. And not to diminish my husband’s role in this, because in my book he is the tops, but I feel like there was a miracle at work here today.”
“Why’s that?”
“Like Mitch said, the size of the tumor on the MRI looked much larger than the one he removed. Yet we know he got all of it. It was as if the tumor had shrunk since her scan.”
“Is that possible?”
She smiles. “With God all things are possible, right?”
“Right.” I nod eagerly.
“Now I need to get back to the office.”
After she leaves I turn back to my family, who are looking somewhat bewildered. “It is good news?” Dawdi asks me with concern in his eyes.
“Very good news.” I explain Mom’s prognosis to them as best I can using simple terms. “Dr. Hoffman told me that she thinks it was a real miracle.” I describe the unexplainable shrinking of the growth. “If it had been bigger like they expected, there would have been serious problems. As it is, it sounds like she will be fine.”
“It is an answer to prayer,” Mammi declares.
“Ja,” Dawdi says. “Thanks be to God.”
We all hug, and everyone seems happy and relieved. But I can tell they’re uncomfortable—so far out of their comfort zone. Being here like this has probably stretched them more than I know. “I understand if you need to go now,” I say.
“Ja, that is true,” Dawdi tells me. “There is work to be done for sure.”
“We must get back to our chores,” Uncle Ben chimes in.
“But your mamm will still be in our prayers,” Rachel assures me.
“Will you come back and stay with us?” Mammi asks.
I tell her how I plan to stay with Betty, explaining how close her home is to the hospital so that I can easily visit my mom. I’m not sure, but I think she is relieved.
“You know you are always welcome,” Dawdi tells me.
I nod. “Yes, I do know that.”
“We will leave your bed in the spare room,” he says.
Once again, I thank them all for coming, saying how much it meant to me to have them here. Then I watch in wonder as the four of them walk toward the elevator. They look so out of place, like characters torn out of a history book. Yet they are my family. And I feel blessed to have them.