VL - Issue 42 - January 2022

TRUSTING GOD,
Even unto Death
BY MAUREEN HOOKER
y husband, Jim, and
I strolled down the boardwalk toward the
roller coaster. We had promised our grandsons
a ride. Soon, the boys were whipping
above us in a sound mix of merry-go-round
calliope and about a million squealing children.
It’s a wonder I heard my phone.
“Hello.”
“Maureen, where are you?”
“Ocean City, New Jersey. Who is this?”
“Jessica from the transplant clinic. Can
you leave right now and drive straight to
the hospital? We have a heart for you.”
“Yes! We are on our way!”
Ten years earlier, chemotherapy for
breast cancer had damaged my heart, and
medications had become less effective over
time. First, I got by with a pacemaker, then
an implanted defibrillator, and finally, I had
been scheduled for a heart pump called a
Left Ventricular Assist Device (LVAD).
The thought of being plugged into a wall
overnight, being unable to get the device
wet, and dealing with flashing lights and
batteries was a bit unnerving. I am a klutzy
person—I was terrified I would kill myself
by accidentally pulling the wires out of my
body during my sleep.
The only other alternative was a heart
transplant, but that seemed impossible.
Very few people receive hearts. Besides, I
was 69, I have blood type B (only 8 percent
of the general population has B), and I was
a woman with a small chest cavity. The size
of the heart is critical; it can’t be too big or
too small. My only viable option seemed to
be the LVAD, so I had agreed to have the
surgery after our Labor Day vacation.
And then came that call. It was as unexpected
as a UFO landing! God showed me
that nothing is impossible for Him.
All I could think about in the car on the
way to Washington Hospital Center was
that, somewhere, a devastated family
was saying goodbye to their loved one. I
imagined the donor’s family would not be
happy to hear that a grandmother was getting
their daughter’s heart. Surely, they’d
prefer her heart to go to a younger, more
deserving patient. I hoped that one day I’d
be able to express my gratitude to them.
Those thoughts, however, were quickly
ushered to the back of my mind as the doctors
wheeled me into the operating room.
On September 8, 2011, five days after my
transplant, I awoke to unbearable pain. I
tried to call for help but I couldn’t breathe. I
couldn’t even get enough air to form words.
From a place near the ceiling above the
door, I looked down and saw myself dead.
Internal bleeding had caused my left
lung to partially collapse. In an emergency
surgery, the doctors reopened my chest
and removed a large blood clot, along with
two liters of fluid in my chest cavity. I survived,
but only by the grace of God.
During my earlier bout with breast cancer,
Jim had begun to seek God. He had
prayed earnestly for my healing, and when
God touched me in undeserved ways, Jim
had become a believer.
The change God’s love made in the
man I’d been married to for decades was
undeniable, and it drew my attention to
the Lord. Before long, I’d surrendered my
life to Jesus too. Now, through this heart
transplant, God was giving me a second
chance at life, and I wasn’t going to waste
it. I promised myself and Him that I would
be a better person this go around and that
I would be more thankful for life’s most
basic gifts.
Grateful to God, Jim and I led Christcentered
lives. We went to church, volunteered,
served, told others about God, and
prayed. We did all the things Christians are
“supposed to do.” And yet, the very worst
thing I could imagine happened.
My true heart condition came to light
when our son chose a lifestyle that I did
not want him to have. He was an educated
adult, living on his own, and employed
most of the time. That’s all good, but he
gambled. It was his career, and I disapproved.
I was dead set against it; and I
made sure he knew it.
I wanted Joe to be married and settled
and raising my grandchildren. I had this
vision of who my son should be, and I resented
Joe for not meeting my standards.
It wasn’t long before Joe cut his father and
me entirely out of his life. He even stopped
coming home on holidays. He called only
when he needed money.
I wish I could say I handled the situation
with a Christ-like manner, but I did not. I
am more than ashamed by the lack of love
and kindness I displayed. It became ob-
30 Issue 01 / 2022 VICTORIOUSLIVINGMAGAZINE.COM