Chaos Radar

Do you ever wonder what you’re truly capable of? Have you ever felt a calling and tried to ignore it? Practicing humility, I’ll admit I’ve surprised myself more than once—though often only in hindsight.

A month ago, I couldn’t picture today. Four years ago, I doubted I’d make it to 2026 without giving up. Yet here I am—questioning whether I deserve good things, and still wondering why pain finds me. I’ve developed a kind of chaos radar, almost depending on it to keep me moving forward.

On December 4th, my mom called to tell me that my brother Gabe was experiencing symptoms consistent with a heart attack. I tried to remain calm, both outwardly and internally—a reflex I have in the face of impending crisis. When they arrived, Gabe had no pulse. I couldn’t believe it; my brother was gone right in front of me. I immediately started chest compressions, letting my training take over even as my mind struggled to process what was happening. I know I called 911—my phone history confirms it—but I don’t remember doing it. Maybe it was the bystander angel who dialed. Still, I kept going, first alone, and then with my team as they realized what was unfolding. In the parking lot at work, we fought to keep Gabe’s blood pumping, operating purely on instinct. It felt like forever—more compressions than I may do for the rest of my life. When EMS arrived and took over, I shifted into catastrophe mode, thinking about how his family would handle the news. I couldn’t accept it; there was too much uncertainty, too much at stake. Another tragedy for our family—especially for his wife. All I could think was, "There’s no way, Lord, that Allison should have to go on without him. She is such a calm in my storm, she doesn’t deserve this." My prayers continued...

After three to five shocks—no one can remember exactly—he came back to us. Gabe was rushed straight to the cath lab, where they discovered a 100% blockage in his left anterior descending artery, the so-called "widow maker" because blockages there are so often fatal. Statistically, survival is only about 12%. But this wasn’t just about numbers; it felt like God’s hand at work. On a typical day, my mom wouldn’t have been able to help, Gabe wouldn’t have had me as his first responder, and there wouldn’t have been the angelic bystander who called 911, reclined the car seat, or ran into the clinic for more help. On a normal day, I might have doubted my own abilities. But December 4th was anything but normal. We all stepped back, prayed desperately, and—despite fearing the worst—our prayers were answered. Sometimes being a healthcare worker is hardest because you know the possible outcomes. Miraculously, Gabe suffered no organ or neurological damage. We are endlessly grateful for that extraordinary day, for the anonymous bystander, and for God’s unwavering strength.

I keep thinking about the bystander. He appears in my dreams, but I never learned his name. He vanished as soon as help arrived—never checking in at the clinic, never waiting for news. I truly believe he was an angel in disguise.

That day didn’t end until well into the next morning. At home, our children called to tell us that our beloved golden retriever, Charlie—who grew up alongside Archer—was having seizures. Brandt and I could hardly comprehend it. Thankfully, close friends came to stay with the kids while we raced back to Fergus in the rain on icy roads. We knew we wouldn’t know what to do until we saw her with our own eyes. As soon as we did, we realized we’d be turning right back around, heading to the Fargo Emergency Vet. We got home around 2 a.m. Friday, anxious and bracing for the worst. Was it possible to face another tragedy in a single day? Friday morning, we said goodbye to Charlie and then visited Gabe in the hospital. That night, in the freezing snow, we buried Charlie together as a family at the farm—just as my husband did with his dad, whom we all miss dearly. The sadness and exhaustion were overwhelming. I wept for Archer’s dog, but I was so grateful we weren’t burying my brother. Steadied by our strength and faith, here we are.

A month later, I’m sharing this in hopes that others will believe in themselves. No matter the tragedy—mine or yours—your struggles are real and incomparable to anyone else’s. Keep going. If you fall, you will be lifted up. If you break, you’ll be put back together. Hold on tightly to faith and hope. When the scariest days arrive, or your chaos radar sounds, don’t underestimate yourself. Trust your calling. Own your reactions. Believe in yourself. I’ve attached a link to my brother’s lend a hand up fundraiser. Whether you feel inclined to give or not, please do share. One person’s story can be another’s saving grace.

give.lendahandup.org

Gabe Cronk

We would love to lend a hand up for an amazing family, Allison, Gabe, Landon and Boedie. We all know how difficult it can be to ask for help, especially in light of a horrific event. On December 4th, Gabe suffered a sudden cardiac arrest. He underwent a stent placement in the diagonal artery, often referred to as the "widowmaker." Statistically, Gabe should not have survived this event, let alone without any lasting neurological or organ damage. Fortunately, Gabe is now home and reunited with his children. However, he is required to wear a life vest, which functions as a defibrillator in case he experiences another cardiac arrest. This has brought many changes to his life, and while he seems to be coping, it can understandably be frustrating with the limitations this can pose, such as working and staying active. It is unclear how long he will be away from work, but we know that this situation brings anxiety and uncertainty. We would love to help lighten some of the financial burden and support his recovery. Thank you for your contributions and prayers.