a Non-Profit 501 (C) (3) Organization

Founded by Award-Winning Christian Author/Speaker Lisa Freeman

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal…" Ecclesiastes 3:1-3

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~AWARDS~

Best New Book of The Year 2007

Writer of the Year, 2000 & 2007

Honorable Mention Awkward Romance Contest May 2006

All Time Best Award Fanstory.com 2006

Finalist in Chicken Soup Contest 2005

Distinguished Achievement Award, 2005

2nd Place Photo Say More Contest 2005

Top Story in Obadiah Contest 2002

2 Top Stories in Obadiah Contest 2003

Diploma from Guideposts for Teens, 2002

Merit Certificate from Writer's Digest, 2000 & 2001

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Change Of Heart

by Brian Rosenberger

as told to by Lisa Freeman

"Mom, I feel sick," I announced, plopping into a kitchen chair.

"What’s wrong, Brian?" Mom asked, getting that worried, hospital look in her eye.

Although I could barely breathe, I blurted, "I got dizzy, then hot, and now I can’t breathe."

Mom unzipped my shirt and flung it off. The cool air hit me like a cold breeze on a summer day. But I started feeling even worse.

As my mom raced for the blood pressure cuff, I sat slumped in the chair, gasping for air.

When she returned seconds later, she threw the cuff on the table and picked up the phone.

Not again, I thought. Why do I always have to go to the hospital? Can’t I just be normal? I thought this surgery was supposed to make me better.

The past month replayed in my mind like a reoccurring nightmare. When I left the hospital eight days after my open-heart surgery, the doctors assured me and my parents everything would be fine. But with each passing day, instead of getting better, I only felt worse. It seemed like every other day we were back at the hospital and they were poking me all over again.

I hated IV’s. No one could ever get them started on the first, second, or even the third try. Nurses always said my veins were too small. My veins either hid or would just plain burst as soon as they stuck the needle in.

As the paramedics lifted me into the ambulance, my head spun and I felt faint. My heart throbbed throughout my body like a loud, fast pounding drum. I felt like I had just run a marathon. Although the oxygen surged up my nose, my chest was so tight and heavy, it didn’t seem to help.

"You’re going to be okay," one of the paramedics said as we raced down the road. This time I wasn’t so sure. I knew God could do anything, but my body was becoming weak. I just wanted to give up. At least in heaven I’d be normal.

When we arrived at the hospital, my mom rushed to my side. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she brushed my hair back, as the paramedics wheeled me into a room. Nurses and doctors shuffled around the room setting everything up. Someone hollered, "His heart rate is 210!"

I heard my dad step into the room. "His best veins are in his right hand," he instructed. "You can’t use the left arm for IV’s."

One nurse grabbed my right arm, tied the turnicut tight, pinching my skin. That woke me up. Although weak and ready to give up, I fought her fiercely. I had bruises everywhere. My hands, arms and feet looked like a pincushion. Pulling away, I screamed, "No! Stop it! You’re hurting me!"

"We have to do this," one of the nurse’s said, taking a hold of my arm.

"Yes, Brian," my mom said, grabbing my left hand. "They have to do it. Please hold still. Squeeze me when it hurts." My mom prayed, "Dear Jesus have mercy, let them get a good vein."

After three long, painful pokes the IV was finally in. Then came the weird medicine. As soon as they put it into the IV, my head whirled as if I had been on a merry-go-round for hours. And my throat filled with a warm, bitter liquid. I thought for sure I was going to lose my lunch, but after a few minutes, I started to feel better.

Barely able to keep my eyes open, I watched as my mom and dad let out a sigh of relief. I knew the attack was over and I could rest. Closing my eyes, I laid my head back.

When I woke up, I learned that they were transferring me again to a different hospital. Since I was feeling better I could enjoy the ride. I liked riding in ambulances; I just hated being sick to do it. And the really neat thing about it was they sent the same ambulance crew as the last time.

Mom and Dad followed close behind me in the van.

Once we arrived, they put me in my old room in Pediatric ICU. My cardiologist, Dr. Santiago met me there and listened to my chest. "It appears he’s in Atrial Flutter again," he said, looking over the EKG report. "We’re going to try to use medicine to convert him."

I had been taking so much medicine since surgery, I felt like a laboratory rat.

Last time my heart started this rhythm problem of Atrial Flutter, they had to transfer me to another hospital. The doctors tried a medication there too, but it didn’t work, so they had to shock my heart. I hated the shot they gave me to put me to sleep. It stung and tasted like poison. And when I woke up I felt so sick and I had burns on my chest from the paddles. So, I felt kind of relieved they were going to try a different medication. At least then, maybe I wouldn’t have to go through all of that.

I knew the procedure. No food, no drinks, and complete bed rest while they tried to bring my heart back to its normal rhythm. As Dr. Santiago administered the medication, Mom and Dad plugged in a movie.

Just as I started enjoying the show, I got sick again. I heard Dr. Santiago call out, "Stop the medication!" Again I had a lot of difficulty breathing and my heart started skipping beats.

Mom and Dad stood at the edge of the bed praying. Thank God the symptoms left almost as quickly as they came.

After my heart stabilized, Dr. Santiago asked to speak to my parents privately. Great, I thought. What now? When my parents returned, they told me that the doctor wanted to shock my heart again. Although I was tough for my age, and tried to blink back my tears, I couldn’t control them. Under my breath, I pleaded my case to God. "God, why do I have to go through all of this? Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?"

No answer seemed to come.

As Mom wiped the tears away from my face, she explained, "Honey, you have to be cardioverted. Your heart isn’t functioning very well. But I promise, I’ll be right here through it all."

That was one thing I could count on. My mom and dad were always right there. They couldn’t heal my heart, but they could be by my side, holding my hand and encouraging me.

As we waited for Dr. Santiago to perform the procedure, we watched "First Kid". After only a few minutes into the movie, I started to realize something I never had before.

This kid in the movie had everything and he was perfectly normal, but he had a terrible life. His parents never had time for him, he was always pushed aside, and he had to be what they wanted him to be.

Suddenly I felt a warmth come over me as I looked at my parents. I guess I am really thankful for the life I have. At least my mom and dad love me, they’re always there when I need them, and they allow me to be me.

Maybe I do have a heart problem, but at least I have a family that loves me for who and what I am.

Although afraid of the pain and possibly even dying, I held my parents’ hands until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. The next thing I knew I was waking up. I found out they had already shocked me and my heart was back in regular rhythm. But this time was different; the medicine didn’t sting and the paddles didn’t burn my skin. And once again, I left the hospital the next day with my parents.

Although I may never be normal, as some might define normal, God has given me the right life for me. Maybe he hasn’t totally healed my heart, but he’s given me a change of heart—to realize that I am loved. And love is more important than anything!

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