Kootenai Hospital

Kootenai Hospital holds many memories for me this year. First, I went there in August when I started bleeding while pregnant and was told that my baby looked great and was most likely going to be fine. Second, I went there in September to have a D&C after losing that sweet baby. Third, I went there at the beginning of December to be admitted to the psych unit after fighting through two of the darkest months I’ve ever experienced. And fourth, I went there today to take all the fuzzy socks that everyone donated to that same psych unit.

Going to this hospital brings a rush of emotions and memories now. There’s sadness for the loss we experienced after feeling hope, for the memory of waking up from surgery and being told that I cried out to the nurse, “All I wanted was to hold my baby,” for the rock bottom moment when I knew that I had to be admitted but not knowing if I could ever be okay again. But it’s not all sadness. There’s also the tender, happy, relieving memory of hearing my baby’s heartbeat (the only time I would get to hear a healthy heartbeat before there was barely a heartbeat and then no heartbeat anymore). There was that first memory after waking up from surgery of the nurse wiping away the tears that were falling down my cheeks and rubbing my hand to comfort me, even though she knew I wasn’t fully awake yet when I started crying. There was the beautiful compassion of a friend who gave up a few hours on her busy Saturday to sit with me in the ER, listen to what was on my mind and heart, and cry with me. There was the loving example of one nurse in particular who greeted me with the most beautiful smile when I first got to the psych unit and reassured me that I was going to be okay. When I thanked her later for being so kind, she said, “I just try to imagine what it’s like to be in that position. It must be scary and overwhelming, so I look at everyone like that and make it my job to fill them with love.” There was the hopeful moment when I met with the hormone psychiatrist and realized that it was still possible to find healing, because we simply weren’t on the right treatment plan yet. There was the emotional memory my husband visiting several times during my stay and feeling all of his love and support surround me. And then there was today, the healing, grateful moment when I could take all the sadness and heartbreak that this last year has brought into my life, and with the generosity of so many people, give a gift of comfort, warmth, light, and encouragement. All I wanted was to give 16 pairs of socks, one for each potential patient in that unit on Christmas, and I was able to give 54! I can’t even put into words how much that means to me and how much it has helped my heart find peace.

As I reflect back on my different experiences with this hospital in the last year, it all strengthens my testimony of Jesus Christ. Because of Him, there is no darkness, no pain, no heartache, no grief, and no sorrow that can’t be overcome. Because of Him, there is the chance to rise again when we have fallen, there is someone who understands through experience everything we go through and feel, and there is always hope. This Christmas season has been really emotional for me for lots of reasons, but through the love and kindness of so many people and my testimony of how the birth of Jesus Christ impacts my life, I’m slowly but surely getting back up from the dark place I was in and finding the strength to begin healing.