Betsy sees Jesus

( a longer testimony)

     On a wintery January day several years ago, Betsy and I returned home to our cabin after church using our normal winter conveyance, our snowmachines (we call them sleds). The snow was already several feet deep and when it falls as it did that year, I would go out each day, sometimes several times a day, packing down the snow so it would not get too deep for our snowmachines that I will graciously call “vintage”.   That Sunday, we arrived home around noon, and after making lunch went up stairs in our cabin to rest and read.  When Betsy announced that she was not feeling well we both attributed that to the visit she had just taken to the cabin of a woman who was home sick with the flue.  Betsy has seldom been sick in our years of marriage, and is even less prone to complain about any sickness or discomfort.

     While I sat in my chair reading, Betsy curled up in her bed and slept.  Some time later I checked on her and discovered that even when I woke her, she was barely conscious.  Over the next two days her condition worsened to the point that she was not eating, and I was even needing to carry her to the bathroom. I detected no increase of temperature and her mostly comatose state prevented her from answering any questions about how she was feeling. I began praying over her with an increased intensity and sense of concern.

            When she showed no sign of improvement by the third day, I knew it was time to do something and get her to medical help. Living where we do makes that a difficult task, especially in the winter. We travel three- and one-half miles of trails to Dixie where I keep my truck parked for the winter. From there, it is still well over two hours of driving some very windy and often snow-covered roads to get to the small hospital in Grangeville.  Concerned and recognizing the seriousness of the situation, I began the process of dressing her and getting one of our snow machines running. It was Wednesday evening and the temperature at our cabin was around zero. 

            After bundling Betsy up in all the winter gear I could find, I dug out and started our “two-up” snow machine. A two-up is a two-person sled. It was the oldest of our three sleds, but the only one that I could put both Betsy and I on to run to Dixie. Being so old and seldom used, and the weather so cold, it took twenty to thirty pulls to get it running. Carrying her out to the sled, I tied her to the back rest with belts, then sat in front of her, squeezing her between me and the back rest. She was completely unconscious so it was up to me to keep her on the sled. 

            I was soon grateful for the moon lit night since this snow machine had no working headlight. The moon illuminated the trail for us all the way to Dixie. Worried about Betsy staying warm and knowing she could not tell me if she was cold, I carried her into the small community center that we use for church. At least there she was out of the wind and snow. Going back out to my truck, I scraped the snow off the door and windshield and jumped in to get it running and warmed up.  The motor would not turn over. It was minus five degrees and the battery was not strong enough to handle this cold.  Again, feeling the desperation of the situation, I walked around to the front of the truck and prayed over the engine, pleading with the Lord to help us in this desperate situation. After praying, I got back into the truck and turned the key. It fired up almost immediately. 

            After fifteen or more minutes of waiting on the truck to warm up enough so that Betsy would not have to sit in a cold cab, I carried her out and belted her into the front seat. By now it was almost midnight and because of the conditions I knew I had nearly three hours of driving before I could get her to some medical help.  The eighty-mile drive to Grangeville is mostly along the Southfork of the Clearwater River, a windy and in the winter a very slippery drive.   I was almost an hour out of Dixie when I encountered another obstacle, this time a literal one.  A large Ponderosa pine had fallen across the road. Usually, we carry a chain saw with us when traveling anywhere on these mountain roads. Many mornings I have had to cut numerous trees out of the trail on our way to church. I usually keep a chainsaw in both my truck and my sled. This time however, with my rush to get Betsy to help, I had brought no chainsaw. 

The tree across the road was almost two feet thick and probably over one hundred feet long so I was not going to be able to move it myself.  Desperate to get Betsy to Grangeville, I turned off the road, and down into the ditch that ran along the road (the other side of the road was the river).  I knew if I waited there it would likely be morning before another vehicle showed up. Plowing through the snow and into the wooded forest, none of which was flat ground, I prayed my way about fifty yards into the woods, around the tree, and back out to the road.

We arrived in Grangeville around 3 AM that morning. After parking in front of the two glass doors that read “emergency”, I pushed the button that notified the staff that someone was there.  A nurse promptly showed up and opened the doors for us. She was the only one on duty in emergency that night and Betsy was her only patient. After wheeling Betsy into a room and getting her up on a bed, the nurse did a few of her preliminary exams, then made a call to the doctor. He arrived at the hospital by around 4 AM.  After he examined her, he had the nurse take her into another room for a cat scan (over the next few weeks she had so many cat scans and MRI’s that I lost track which was which). The results of her test were sent to a hospital in Coeur D Alene to a neurologist named Dr. Brit.  We would become well acquainted with Dr. Brit over the next few weeks. 

Dr Brit’s expertise was soon evident when after seeing the pictures of her brain, he instructed the doctor in Grangeville to put her immediately on an antiviral medication. His preliminary diagnosis was “Encephalitis’ a viral disease on the brain. We came to learn that it was this medication that prevented Betsy’s illness from become something much more severe.

My first recognition of how serious Encephalitis was came when the doctor in Grangeville told me the next twenty-four hours would be critical. I asked him what he meant by “critical”. He said that she might not make it through those next twenty-four hours. I would learn later that one third of those who get Encephalitis recover to some degree, one third have severe brain damage, and one third die.

Plans were made to LifeFlight Betsy to the hospital in Coeur D Alene where she could be under Dr. Brit’s direct care. That too proved to be a problem as the Grangeville area was “socked in” with the snowy weather so that no flights could get through. The plan was therefore altered to putting her in an ambulance and driving the 70 miles to Lewiston where LifeFlight could take her the rest of the way to Coeur D Alene.  The problem with this plan was that I could not go with her in the ambulance. After being sure that she was safely aboard the ambulance and that there was a nurse with her who promised to take particular care of Betsy, I hurried out to my truck to make the snowy drive to Lewiston. I learned later that an ambulance from Lewiston would meet the Grangeville ambulance halfway, taking her the rest of the way into Lewiston.  This allowed me to beat the ambulance to Lewiston.

Driving as fast as the snowy roads would allow, I rushed to the small Lewiston airport to look for the LifeFlight terminal. It was still only about 6 Am so the only person in the small main terminal was the janitor. There was no one to direct me to where I could find the LifeFlight plane.  I anxiously ran around the terminal and surrounding areas looking for any clues. Remembering a friend who worked for Fed Ex in the Lewiston area, I called him to see if his familiarity with the Lewiston airport could provide some answers. He said that LifeFlight had its own hanger around the far back side of the airport. Jumping in my truck, I headed for the only road I could see that circumvented the airport. It was a small winding two lane road that was even smaller now as the snow plows had left what was not much more than a single lane path. The snow was piled up several feet on either side of the road.

After another fifteen minutes of desperate driving along the snow packed road, looking into each side road that served other buildings around the airport, I stopped in frustration right in the middle of the road.  I had seen no other traffic while I searched for LifeFlight and I began to worry I was on the wrong road. If I did not find the LifeFlight hanger soon I would miss Betsy and the flight to Coeur D Alene. 

Stopped there in the middle of the narrow road, without even putting the truck in park, I leaned over the steering wheel to pray and ask for help. A few minutes into that prayer I heard a horn honk. I looked up into my rearview mirror and read the words “Ambulance” on the hood of a vehicle immediately behind me. Putting the truck in park, I jumped out and ran back to the driver and asked “do you have Betsy Mehaffey in there?” To my great relief the driver answered in the affirmative.  I told him I was her husband and was looking for the LifeFlight hanger.  He instructed me to pull over to the side so he could get by, then to follow him. A few minutes later we drove through an electrically locked fence and into the LifeFlight hanger area. Once the ambulance stopped, I was able to see Betsy and know that she was alright. She was still only partially conscious.

I had been warned by the people at the Grangeville hospital that there might not be room on the LifeFlight plane for me. They said I would likely need to get permission from the pilot if I was going to be able to stay with Betsy on the flight to Coeur D Alene. While they were taking Betsy out of the Ambulance on the gurney, I saw the pilot nearing a plane that had “LifeFlight” painted on its fuselage.  Praying for the Lord’s favor, but determined to demand my way onto the flight, I ran over to the pilot and asked if he would allow me to accompany my wife of his plane.  He responded in such a friendly and compassionate way that I knew the Lord had softened his heart to consent to my request. There was a small seat for me just aft of where they would secure Betsy’s gurney, with two nurses seated close enough to her to keep an eye on the many gauges and machines that even in the plane she was hooked up to.

We arrived in Coeur d Alene less than an hour later and Betsy was again ambulanced to the hospital. This time I was allowed to ride up front in the driver. At the hospital Betsy was taken into the emergency area where Dr. Brit was waiting. They were continuing her on the medication Dr. Brit had prescribed when we were in Grangeville, an antiviral called “acyclovir”. This medication was administered three times a day. Since it must be administered intravenously for a three-week period, it would be necessary for Betsy to remain in the hospital for that duration.   The doctor informed me that this was the “only” antiviral medication to combat Encephalitis.  If it did not work, Betsy would die.

While waiting for the ambulance in Grangeville, I had made calls to our adult children. All three of them left their homes in Boise, Oregon and California to fly up to be with their mother.  Not many hours after Betsy and I had arrived via LifeFlight in Coeur d Alene, our children also arrived. It was a trying time still not knowing if Betsy would make it. When she did awake to at least some degree of consciousness, she did not know our children. Encephalitis was already taking its toll robbing her of her memory. She seemed to know me and later when she was able to more clearly communicate, she testified that she did recognize me. She did not know my name, she simply said she knows that I was “the one she loved”. 

What was even more amazing as Betsy slowly recovered some ability to communicate, was her testimony of the Lord’s presence. From late that first evening in the Coeur d Alene hospital until the time we left three weeks later, she kept saying “I can see Jesus”.  The Lord was there present with her and as she was able to later to describe it as, "His face was right in front of her". That first afternoon in Coeur d Alene they transferred Betsy to intensive care.  She was still in severe danger. As evening approached, we all knew that we could not stay with her in intensive care. We were only allowed into her room two at a time so each of the children took turns with Betsy and I in the room.  We found a hotel room near the hospital where we all could stay.  Still, I was more than reluctant to leave her that evening.

When it did come time for us to leave the hospital late that first evening, I found the nurse that would be on shift with Betsy through the night. She was a tall, older nurse, and what I would call “stalwart”.  I am sure that as I approached her that evening, she could see the worry and desperation in my face. I asked her to take particular care of Betsy, and I let her know we would be near and that she could contact me if there were any complications.  In response to my request, she put both hands on my shoulders. Then, in her distinctly southern drawl, said “honey, if your wife so much as cries out I will call you”.  She also assured me she would not leave Betsy’s side all night long.

We rushed back to the hospital as soon as they would allow us in the next morning. The “stalwart” nurse was just finishing her shift. Before I could even get into to see Betsy, this nurse accosted me in the hallway. With a look of wonder on her face, she then told me how she had just spent one of the most amazing nights of her life. She said that when Betsy was conscious, all she did was sing praises to God, or talk about Jesus’ love. She was so overwhelmed with Betsy and her testimony that she said she would never forget that night. Even in her semi-conscious state, Betsy was still a bright light for the Lord.

After only a day in intensive care, they decided to move Betsy to a hospital room.  We only had to wait for one to come available. As several of us gathered in her room to pray for a room to open up, a nurse walked in to update the information on a dry erase board in Betsy’s room.  Hearing us praying for a room to open up, she flippantly responded that if we were going to pray for a room we should pray for one of the best rooms only recently opened up in a new wing.  That is what we did!  An hour or so later she returned to the room and wrote on that dry erase board the room number that Betsy had just been assigned. It was a large room in the new wing that had windows facing out upon the mountains just east of Coeur d Alene.  As she walked out of the room, she responded “I guess God heard your prayers”.

Betsy was moved into the top floor of the new hospital wing with a room that was larger than the living room in our cabin. There was a couch (very uncomfortable) that I could sleep on that I could pull up next to Betsy’s bed. Our daughter Emily stayed with us also so they brought a cot in for her to sleep on. We both stayed in Betsy’s room for the next three weeks.

During that time, Betsy was recovering, but very slowly. She had to learn to walk, eat, and identify basic things all over again. Each day the doctors would come through, checking on her and prescribing new medication. Since they worked on shifts, we did not always have the wonderful Dr. Brit. One day while Betsy was sleeping, (as she did much of the time), a new doctor came into the room. He approached her bed and began talking with her while he perused her chart. He did not seem to notice Betsy was not awake.  I came over to her bed, interrupted the doctor, and introduced both myself and Betsy.  I am sure he was a very capable doctor, but he clearly had no bedside manner. ` While this new doctor stood over her, Betsy woke up and just stared at him with curiosity. Normally she interacted with the doctors, often displaying a simple humor that made her one of the favorites of the nurses on her floor. When this doctor finally left, two nurses quickly came to Betsy’s side to be sure she was ok. Both looked so apologetic because of this new doctor’s behavior. Betsy finally responded with what had become her customary humor that so endeared her to the nurses. She pointed to the doorway and said “who was Dr. Knucklehead?”  The nurses burst into laughter and for the next couple weeks we heart them quietly alluding to “Dr Knucklehead” .

Another example of Betsy’s humor came one day when we were visited by several of the therapists she had been assigned. She had a speech therapist, an occupational therapist, a physical therapist, and I am sure several more that I cannot even remember. That day “Mike” the occupational therapist and “Anne” the speech therapist were standing beside Betsy’s bed when Dr. Brit made his visit. Among his many tests and questions he would give Betsy, he would hold out a pen and say “what is this”? Betsy was learning how to recognize and name objects. He would point to a button on his shirt and say “what is this?”   Those first few weeks Betsy was only batting about 20% on these tests.  That day, after pointing to his pen, button, watch, etc. he pointed to Mike the therapist and said “who is that?”  Now Mike was a wonderful man and worked very well with Betsy. He learned I played the guitar so he brought his guitar into the hospital and left it with me so I could sit by Betsy and play worship songs. Yet Mike was a short, bald, funny looking man. When Dr Brit asked Betsy who Mike was, she took a moment to ponder.  Her response not only brought explosive laughter from those in the room, but continued to be a remembered point of humor among the staff on that floor in the following weeks.  As we all waited for a response to the doctor’s questions, Betsy finally spoke up seriously saying “I don’t know, but he sure is handsome”.

During those three weeks, I would take Betsy on walks down the hall.  She began by using a walker. Even after she advanced to just leaning on me, she was always attached to me with a special belt so she would not fall. Betsy was relearning walking. We would feed her her meals each day until she eventually learned how to use the fork and spoon again. The doctors gave us worksheets that I would spend hours each day going over with Betsy. We called them her homework.  They looked like papers preschool children work on where they draw a line from the fork to the spoon or from the table to the chair. They had pictures of common items such as apples or bowls or trees, and I would ask Betsy to name what each item was. We did these worksheets several times every day for the next three years.

After three very long and trying weeks, we were able to rent a car and drive to my daughter’s home in Oregon. Betsy was still too week and to some degree in danger of relapse for us to return to our cabin in the mountains. I had called a local car rental agency and set up a rental for this trip. While our daughter Emily stayed with Betsy, a driver from the rental company picked me up at the hospital and drove me to their office where I could fill out all the papers. The driver asked me why I was at the hospital. I told him about Betsy and her “Encephalitis”.  When I had finished, he informed me that his younger sister had also had “Encephalitis”. This was amazing considering the rarity of this disease, it affecting only about 5 or 6 people in every 100,000.  Astounded at this coincidence, I asked him how his sister did with it. He responded “she died”. 

That was not the end of these “coincidences” and particularly with the car rental company. The morning after we had arrived at my daughter’s home in Oregon, I was up early to drive the rental car back to the local rental agency. It was about 15 miles from my daughter’s home.  When I returned the car, one of the men at the rental agency offered me a ride back to my daughter’s home.  On that drive Betsy’s illness came up again. He told me that his wife had had “Encephalitis”.  Once again, now even more than amazed, I asked him how she was doing.  He responded “she died”.  The seriousness of Betsy’s illness and her hopeful recovery was something I was learning to become very grateful for.

Over the following weeks, months, and years, Betsy has continued in her recovery. The doctor told me I cold expect no improvement after the first 18 months. I can confidently say he is wrong on this point. Betsy does improve. She has lost her long-term memory and does not do well with short term memory.  She has no recollection of our early years of life, both her own and ours together. I tell her stories of her mom and dad, and her brothers and sister. Those stories she had told me before she lost her memory. Our days continue to be filled with me retelling the stories of our life, our marriage, having kids, living in the Sierras of California to driving the Alcan Highway to Alaska. Our years of ministry on the Apache reservation in New Mexico, the Kenei Peninsula of Alaska, and on Chichagof Island in Southeast Alaska are all “new every morning” to her.

In the first years after Betsy’s sickness, seizures were common. Several times we ended up back in the hospital when her eyes would roll back in her head and she would go unconscious.  In those first few years the seizures occurred every month or so. Recently, they have only come about once a year She still has little memory retention, even short term, and her ability to reason on basic things seems to come and go. However, there is one thing I am daily grateful for. That is that her spirit and temper have been unchanged by her sickness. She is as loving and kind as ever, and that is saying lot when talking about Betsy. Her faith is also if anything deeper than it was pre-sickness.  Jesus is still with her daily and that is the one thing she can remember from those first days in Coeur d Alene.  She still testifies that Jesus was there, “face to face” with her in all her sickness and trails.