The Beginning, Part 3

   Within an hour of her admittance to Vanderbilt, Allison was sent to ICU where she was intubated and I was ushered into the waiting area.  I still felt confident that this was just going to be another difficult, sleepless, stressful time, but that we would soon be home again.  I called my friend, Ginny, from the waiting room phone, and she assured me that she would care for Bethany as long as necessary.  She asked if I wanted her to call anyone for me, and I told her that we appreciated prayers, but that I was okay and didn't want anyone to make that long drive to Nashville on a Thursday night. 
   The rest of the night is a little fuzzy in my mind.  I remember the phone on the wall started ringing.  Someone answered it and then called out my name.  Surprised, I took the phone and started talking to our rear detachment commander, offering his help and support.  The phone kept ringing, each time for me. . .Fort Campbell people expressing their prayers and concern, seeking ways to help.  Each time, I assured them that we were okay.  A short time later, our off-post pastor, Rev. Walker, walked into the room.  He sat with me, and we talked and prayed.  About midnight, the nurse came in to tell us that Allison's blood pressure had dropped, and she was having some complications that required her to stay in ICU for the night.  Anticipating a very long night, I encouraged Rev. Walker to go home, but he told me firmly that he was going to stay.  Over the next hour, Allison's two special oncology nurses arrived as well as four more friends from Fort Campbell - my dear friend, Reva; our installation chaplain and his wife, and the Fort Campbell hospital chaplain.  Again, I was stunned that people were coming to be with me!  I hadn't asked anyone to come!  The nurses found us a private waiting room, and they became blessed messengers for us, traveling in and out of ICU with bits of news and hope.  About 4:30, we were told that Allison was stable!  We were rejoicing at the thought of "joy in the morning", and said good-bye to one of the nurses and the oncologist.  Just thirty minutes later, the other oncology nurse, Ann, rushed in to tell me that she had taken another turn for the worse.  I'm not sure why, but I quietly told her that if Allison was dying, I needed to be in there with her.  Unbelieving, I stood in the hall as Ann ran into the ICU. . .seconds later, she was running back to me, telling me that if I wanted to be with her when she died, I needed to come now.  I almost fell to the floor with the shock, but Ann grabbed me and she and another nurse supported me as we rushed into ICU.  Nothing could possibly have prepared me for what I saw. . . my beautiful little girl was bloated, cold, and unmoving.  Air was being forced into her little lungs and compressions were rhythmically moving her chest.  I pleaded with them to keep trying, don't give up. . .I reminded Allison that her favorite waffles were in the freezer at home waiting for her. . .keep breathing. . .keep living. . . please don't stop.  On October 26, 1990, Friday morning at 5:00, my Allison died.