When Susan Cottrell’s husband was days away from a double lung transplant in June and his chances of living were in doubt, she found solace in her knitting bag.

During Carl Johnston’s surgery, his recovery, and his return to the intensive care unit due to complications, Cottrell crafted a stunning lace shawl with shades of blue and turquoise, dozens of diamond patterns and 1,500 beads.

It was the experienced knitter’s attempt at keeping her anxiety at bay. Her eyes were always on her husband and the hospital monitors as he teetered between life and death in a London, Ont., hospital and then at Toronto General, but her hands remained in full knitting mode.

“When you knit as long as I have, you don’t always have to look at your hands,” said Cottrell, 66. “Knitting is my stress reliever. When I’m working on a complicated pattern, I don’t have to worry as much.”

By mid-August, the shawl was almost complete after dozens of hours of work. Cottrell couldn’t wait to show it to her husband at Toronto General, where she spends about seven hours a day tending to his needs.

“He thought it was beautiful,” she said.

Cottrell then left the shawl on the windowsill in Johnston’s hospital room, wrapped inside a Ziploc bag with punctured holes to allow the fabric to breathe.

She planned to weave in the final two ends the following day. But when Cottrell returned, the shawl was gone, and it hasn’t been seen since.

“I was disappointed,” she said, fighting tears. “There were a couple of days when I thought, ‘We have survived something here that was incredibly difficult, I should focus on that and shouldn’t stress over the shawl,’ but then if someone took it, then that’s not fair.”

She’s not only saddened over the loss of a piece of clothing that took her countless hours to produce, but also the one thing that kept her mind in the right place throughout the most “gut-wrenching time” of her marriage.

“As a caregiver, we all have to have something to hold on to so that we can be there for a loved one,” she said. “A transplant is something you go through together. People always ask you, ‘How is he doing?’ People rarely ask, ‘How are you doing?’”

During the knitting process, Cottrell, who took early retirement after her husband was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, would have important conversations with herself about what would happen should he die.

She said she’s very grateful to staff who helped her search for the shawl while also taking care of her 67-year-old husband. She even put up flyers around the hospital, but so far hasn’t received any responses.

Johnston remains weak, but after five months between two hospitals, he’s finally regaining some strength and could be heading home in the near future, where a long journey in rehabilitation awaits the couple.

Cottrell’s hope that the shawl will turn up before she returns to London is fading.

“I really think it’s gone,” she said. “I really hope that whoever ended up with it, that they gave it to someone else and that it has given them comfort and enjoyment. I just hope they haven’t sold it.”

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But if she could have it back, she would make it the centerpiece of her outfit at her niece’s wedding this December.

And also knit those last two ends.