When I was 15-years-old I received the news I had a hole in my heart. I was told that everything would be okay, I would just need more sleep than other people. 16 and 17 shot by in a whirl of school, dances, parties, and letters to friends on missions. I slept on the bleachers at school when I had the chance. When I went to a church dance I would dance, sleep on the couch, dance and then go home to sleep fifteen or sixteen straight hours. It’s just the way things were.
A couple of months prior to my 18th birthday I was told I had to go to Salt Lake City for tests on my heart. I begged for these tests to wait until I’d finished the dance festival our stake was doing in June and the beauty pageant (yes, I lost my mind for a few short months) in July. So on August 2nd of 1981 I was admitted to LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. My couple of days worth of tests garnered me open heart surgery.
My mother and I had heard about Dr. Russell Nelson. We knew he was President Kimball’s, as well as the twelve’s, heart surgeon and we decided if he was good enough for the prophet and apostles, he was good enough for me. (Really, who wouldn’t have a heart surgeon who allowed his hands and mind to be guided by the Spirit as he operated.) My cardiologist, a very nice, competent man, protested. He told us that Dr. Nelson had a waiting list, a LONG waiting list, and he didn’t think I was going to live long enough to have him operate on me. Mother and I discussed it, we stuck with Dr. Nelson. I was admitted to the hospital on a Sunday. Tests on Monday and Tuesday and Dr. Russell Nelson walked into my hospital room on Tuesday night.
When he walked in I instantly felt at ease. Fear that should have been there, wasn’t. (Although vanity was rearing its ugly head. The only heart surgery scars I’d seen were raised, an inch in width and LONG.) He had such a calm, pleasant, loving manner. He examined my charts, talked to me and then told he’d had a cancellation and he could fit me in on Thursday morning.
Thursday morning dawned bright and early. I remember getting up to go shower and that was the last thing I remembered until I awakened in ICU. It turned out I hadn’t had a hole in my heart, but had been missing two branches of my pulmonary artery. A condition which rarely allowed the patient to reach adulthood. Dr. Nelson fixed me up right and tight, he’d seen this condition once thirty years prior.
He dropped by at lunch every day to grab a handful of peanuts from my mother’s stash. He treated us with such kindness. I distinctly recall one day when the pain got the better of me and I began to cry. They’d cracked my sternum, wired it back together and it hurt, A LOT! The nurse who came in essentially told me to suck it up. By the time Dr. Nelson got there the pain was at excruciating levels. He stepped outside immediately and then was back with a shot of Demerol. (I’m not a drug addict, but that was nice.) As soon as the pain drifted away he asked my mother what had happened. When she told him he left again. I never saw that nurse again.
Dr. Nelson not only cared about his patients, he stood for them
So this was a long round about way to explain the tears which rolled down my face and the pain I felt for Elder Nelson when his beloved wife shuffled off this mortal coil. He saved my life. He was called to serve as an apostle of the Lord and he became my favorite apostle. I worried for him, loved him and prayed for him.
So when the announcement of his marriage to Wendy Watson came across the wire – I was so happy for him. He would no longer be alone. I wish for him the happiest of marriages and longest of lives. He is a wonderful man, who is a wonderful apostle and he deserves the best life has to offer. Congratulations, Elder Nelson.