January 27, 1999
Some dates you will never forget. For us, this date changed our family. Forever.
In the early morning hours, our 6 month old infant daughter suffered a massive mid-cerebral arterial stroke. Most stroke patients rarely feel any warning, yet Ashley screamed out in pain. My husband, David, and I tripped over each other trying to get to her bedroom and found her writhing in the bed. It was quite some time before she was calm again and when she began vomiting an hour later, we assumed she had a stomach virus and her cry had been from stomach pains.
At 8:00 pm on January 28, Ashley had her first grand-mall seizure, sending us to the emergency room where the unthinkable became our reality. We watched as our our tiny 15 pound baby girl suffered a second grand-mall seizure which sent us into a whirlwind of spinal taps, CT scans and MRI scans.
Prayer covering from our parents and friends – and a very protective pediatrician – prevented the police from questioning us for child abuse. Prayer covering put the right neurologist in the radiology room who saw the infarct on the MRI before the technician noticed the bleed. Prayer covering gave us provision for doctors and nurses who prayed and protected and guided us that night and in the long days of the hospital stay.
Ashley’s prognosis was not good. At first we were told she would not leave the hospital – the enormity of the infarct and the severity of her seizures led doctors to predict months of hospitalization. We were told to not expect her to develop pst that of an 18 month child. She would not crawl and talk no walk like other children.
As we listened to the neurologist deliver his predictions with blow after blow, her daddy stood in tears beside our pediatrician who held his shoulders. “When can I take her home,” David asked. This daddy just wanted his daughter home where he could take care of her. “She’s not going home,” the neurologist told us. I gripped the end of her metal crib as the world stopped. Our beautiful pediatrician, Dr. Lind Murphy, ushered the neurologist out of the room, shut the glass door and swept the curtain closed. She then grabbed David and cried with us.
In the 18 years since that moment, we have heard many such predictions.
None of them true.
Ashley is now 18 and will graduate high school in May. In these 18 years, she has consistently proven the professionals wrong. She has skied, 4-wheeled in Colorado and Utah, learned to shoot rifles and archery. She has hiked with Girl Scouts and college friends. She has been to London twice on missions and served in missions in Greece.
Currently, she is battling chronic pain and uncontrolled muscle movements as well as a startle reflex that makes her jump at sounds and makes it hard to sit through even church services. Yet she keeps pressing on in her goals of inner-city ministry.
We have relocated to Illinois to help her with medical and help her pursue dreams with family support nearby. She has led us on a most amazing adventure.
Mostly, she has taught us that Hope is Complicted but Faith is Simple.
Complicated Hope 