by Lisa Swindler
South Carolina, USA
In 1998, a week before Thanksgiving, I took our 10-month-old baby daughter to the doctor for a check-up. The nurse commented on how well she looked. Fifteen minutes later, we were headed to the hospital emergency room. Ruth’s oxygen level was below 90 and she was having difficulty breathing. It was her fourth hospitalization that year.
Ruth had stopped breathing twice in six months and was on steroids after being diagnosed as a severe asthmatic. This time they discovered that her stomach acid was going into her lungs; this along with asthma made breathing difficult for her.
Five days later, two days before Thanksgiving, we were able to take her home. Her three-year-old brother, Kyle, was excited to have his baby sister home; he’s always been eager to help “baby Ruth”.
My husband Sam and I took turns giving our daughter her breathing treatments every two hours around the clock. Thanksgiving came and went in a blur of sheer exhaustion. Two days after Thanksgiving, the smoke detector in our home went off at 5:30 am. The kitchen was in flames, and the house filled with smoke.
The fire department saved our home, but since the entire house had smoke damage, our daughter could not live there. With our very sick 10-month-old and rambunctious three-year-old, we moved into a motel nearby. We weren’t feeling very thankful.
Our real struggles had just begun. I carried the insurance for our family, so I had to work. Sam stayed in the motel with our children by day and cleaned our home by night. He also fought with the insurance company. They were denying the medical necessity for our daughter to be in a smoke-free environment.
For over two weeks we had to pay everything out of pocket, including meals eaten out. I tried to keep my spirits up around my family, but at work, it was difficult to smile.
Christmas was a week away. We didn’t have the first gift for the children, and we had no tree. We hoped our son wouldn’t realize Christmas was coming, but no luck. Kyle played with Ruth, telling her about Santa Claus and the toys he would bring her. Between living expenses and medications, Sam and I were at the bottom of the barrel in terms of cash. Christmas looked bleak.
Six days before Christmas, one of my friends at work asked me to come to the break room. She hugged me and handed me an envelope. In it was $700! My co-workers — my friends — knew that my family needed help and that I would never ask for it.
At one of the lowest times in my life, I was suddenly the happiest. I cried as I went around to thank everyone in the office. I put pride aside and opened up to those who cared. We were able to buy gifts for Christmas, get a Christmas tree, and pay our motel bill. By Christmas day, we were back in our home — with renewed faith in humankind.
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