When the night turned darkest, I did not doubt. When there
seemed to be no hope, I refused to lose faith.  Against the
odds, against predictions and prognoses, my husband survived the
most serious medical challenge of his life. I always believed he
would. Absolutely. Those who thought otherwise just don't know
the strong and strong-willed man I married.  Three weeks ago,
The Hubby, as I've often referred to David in this column, sank
into septic shock when the end of his esophagus ripped open.
After a seven-hour surgery, doctors warned me his organs would
fail, that he had a 50-50 chance of survival.  That Friday
night, in the Siberian frigidity of the ICU, something in my
world shifted. I listened to the litany of medical terms and
reasoned: The doctors know the science, but they don't
understand the man. They don't know what anchors him here.  Can
you will someone back to health? Can you insist on an outcome so
adamantly that reality has no alternative but to follow? Can you
bargain with God even when you h