My christmas eve.

Christmas Eve, December 24th, 2003 just after noon, we're all sitting around watching christmas shows, cooking Christmas Eve dinner, getting ready for guests, when the phone rings.

My mother bustles over to the phone, and in a cheery voice answers "Nesses, Merry Christmas..." Her cheer fades away quickly though, and I hear an edge of panic creep in to her voice. "Mom? Can you get up? Have you called the ambulance? Ok, I'll be there as soon as possible." My mother hangs up the phone, and says that my grandmother is having trouble breathing, probably an asthma attack. I throw on my shoes and my jacket and yell for my brother to get my cell phone from the charger. My mother and I dash out to the car and tear out of the drive way.

We break the speed limit by at least 20 mph on what seems like the longest 7 mile drive of my life. I spend the entire trip going over what fragments of CPR training I can remember, and we each say very little.

We arrive at my grandmother's house, and we rush into the house, leaving the car running so we can take her to the hospital. The sight that I see on entering is one of the most frightening things I've ever seen.

My grandmother, who is the strongest woman I know, regardless of age, is sitting on the couch, her lungs rattling and rasping with every breath. Her skin which is usually vibrant and alive is waxy and sallow. I run to get her coat and shoes so we can go to the hospital but by the time I return, it's obvious that getting her to our car is not a possibility. I fetch her inhaler, and a few puffs later, she's doing no better.

My mother calls 911, and I settle next to my grandmother trying to keep from crying as I rub her back to loosen her lungs. Just after the call, my uncle Nick who had chanced to stop by for a visit drives into the driveway. I usher him into the living room with my grandmother, and I move the cars off to the side so that the ambulance can get in.

After what seems like hours, but must have been only minutes, the Randolph Rescue Squad arrives with tanks of oxygen to try and help her breathe. A few minutes later, the Ambulance from the Cannon Falls Hospital arrives, and starts her on a nebulizer to help clear out her lungs. Both improve her condition, but not by much. She's loaded onto a gurney, and my mother rides with her to the Cannon Falls hospital, where I was born. I follow behind them.

She begins to recover at the Cannon Falls hospital after the second nebulizer treatment, though some chest X-rays show the beginnings of Pneumonia. They give her an IV drip of antibiotics, and say that she may be able to return home this evening still.

Then the bloodwork comes back. The enzymes in her heart are out of balance, in a way that indicates a minor heart attack. She will have to go to Rochester for treatment by a cardiologist. She's going to miss Christmas, and be in the hospital.

We left as the Ambulance loaded her up to take her to Rochester. Rochester is one of the premiere cardiac hospitals in the world. The artificial heart procedures were pioneered there. She's in good hands, but that's of only so much help.

The most shaking part of this whole ordeal is this: My grandmother is a woman of strong faith. She is a devout Catholic, and prays nightly. If there is one person who exemplifies "Grace" in my mind, it is her. Her faith is strong, and yet not demanding. She volunteers at the catholic school near her home, goes to mass and confession on a regular basis, but never judges others for not doing the same. I have never heard her say a bad word about another. She is probably the one reason I will never join my peers in their "christian bashing". Her faith yesterday was shaken though. She had been praying that she would not get sick before Christmas, and she just kept repeating this throughout the day, and asking me pleadingly who was listening to her prayers. I had no idea what to say.