hope and decline

My last post ended with us waiting for answers following our return from an overseas trip to Brasil.

This is also when I began to keep a journal for Brent; the following is pulled from the first journal.

I am using the journals to spark the memories I experienced and emotions I felt during these days: Monday – Thursday.

MONDAY

Fast forward to Monday, he was finally seen by an infectious disease doctor who speculated his infection was either staph or strep, but wasn’t entirely sure.

He ordered a CT and set a time for surgery.

Interestingly enough, during his pre-op evaluation, the surgeon speculated strep as the main culprit.

The surgery included a rather decent sized incision for proper debridement and a confirmation that the infection was, in fact, strep.

However, upon his move to recovery, his blood pressure bottomed out and his fever spiked again.

When the surgeon made the incision, it created opportunity for the infection to spread.

He went septic.

I’ve heard that word before, and its outcome is always questionable.

Due to this response, I wasn’t allowed to see him right away.

Once they felt he were stable, I was offered a visit, complete with all the gown fixin’s.

I was terrified.

Here I am, looking at my husband whom I love dearly, suffering.

As I walked up to him, I noticed he looked really flush and slightly glassy-eyed.

I began to tear up, unable to control my emotions.

He just looked right at me and said, “everything is going to be okay. I’m not worried.”

I bet you can guess my response, yep, I cried even more.

Finally after a while, he was moved back to ICU.

TUESDAY

Both doctors, the infectious disease and surgeon were pleased with the results of the debridement, and he also improved overnight.

Although his blood pressure did rise to normal, they placed him on oxygen to assist.

He made significant strides this day.

Moved around a little – walked to the bathroom with assistance, consumed some food and drink, conversed some with visitors and family, and overall had a glimmer of hope.

Unfortunately, some concern developed when I noticed some spreading redness from the incision area.

I pointed this out to an ICU nurse, who, in my opinion, kind of shrugged it off.

I, however, did not feel this was shruggable and was concerned most of the night.

I noted in my journals for this day that I received so many messages from people, I had to delegate communication out to a couple individuals.

WEDNESDAY, OR WENSDAY (according to Brent)

This day started off with a lot of hope – and, I’m sure you can pick up, we don’t remain in this pocket of hope.

He began this day with moving around again to the bathroom, eating and drinking, sitting up in a chair – which was painful because it put pressure on his incision.

But, it began to take a turn when I noticed additional and increased streaking and redness radiating from the infection site.

Thankfully, the surgeon came in for rounds and I was able to point out again the noticeable growth in redness.

She agreed with my observation, and in response, scheduled a CT and an OR time.

While he was getting the CT, I left for my ultrasound appointment.

In case you didn’t know, during all of this, I was 7 weeks pregnant with our second, Tempest.

When I returned, excited to share the early ultrasound pictures (our first pregnancy was a miscarriage, so these moments are always a blessing), he was tucked in his room with a washcloth on his head, lights off, shivering, and anxious.

He wasn’t able to exert any energy or awareness that I returned from an ultrasound appointment with baby pictures in hand.

Something was really wrong.

I quickly put the pictures aside and prodded about his demeanor.

After a few minutes, he finally admitted he was anxious and stated, “I feel like I’m not going to make it.”

I cried.

Then, I prayed.

Right after that, the nurse came in to ready him for pre-op and I asked for some anti-anxiety medicine.

That thankfully promoted some calm in the midst of everything.

Following that, he was taken to pre-op.

His symptoms continued to worsen: clammy, in and out, quick breathing.

But, he did tell a nurse that he loved her.

I said out loud, “i’m going to assume that was meant for me.”

The nurse and I both laughed.

And, I still laugh when I remember that.

He finally went to surgery, but it was not going well.

I’m gathered in the waiting room with family and friends, worried and waiting, when the surgeon called out to talk with me.

*wide-eyed*

This can’t be good.

She informed me that his infection was really bad and he needed penicilin.

He hadn’t received this antibiotic because he was allergic to it, due to a reaction he had as a child.

Now, I’m hearing that it’s necessary and life-saving.

I turned to my mother-in-law and asked what kind of reaction he had, was it hives or a rash, etc.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember specifically.

So, I had to make the call.

In my head I’m thinking, if he has a reaction to the medicine, he is in a hospital, so they can tackle it.

*deep breath*

I gave her the go.

I hung up and prayed.

I prayed that God would let me keep him. ‘Please don’t take my Brent from me’ was my plea.

Following the surgery, we (myself and immediate family) were pulled into a conference room.

She informed that the surgery included debridement, elongating the initial incision, and adding two additional ones to allow for continued drainage.

She also said he would remain on the ventilator to give his body rest so it can focus on healing.

Before we concluded, she told me that I saved his life because I pointed out the spreading redness.

They monitored him closely that afternoon and evening for an allergic reaction, and thankfully, none came.

Finally, I was able to see him.

Nothing can prepare you to see your loved one on a ventilator.

I remember walking in with my dad and was hit with an emotional tidal wave.

I rubbed Brent’s arm and let him know I was there and kissed his head.

So many people, friends and family, came to the hospital that evening.

They sat in the waiting room, told jokes, shared concern and prayer, brought food, provided childcare, and overall really provided a tangible representation of God’s love.

THURSDAY

Overnight Wednesday into Thursday was thankfully, uneventful.

Brent’s youngest brother, Chris, stayed as night watchmen.

Due to Brent’s hands swelling from all the many fluids pumping through him, it required the removal of his wedding band.

So, when I arrived Thursday morning, I commandeered it and put it on.

His surgeon also made rounds that morning to check on any changes from the previous days’ surgery.

Unfortunately, he did have some spreading redness – this time noted by the nurses (who sharpie’d the edges of the initial redness).

Thankfully, the surgeon wasn’t concerned since the additional redness wasn’t a worrying color.

She scheduled him for a lunchtime surgery to continue debridement.

And, because he was already on a ventilator, no pre-op.

Following surgery, we (immediate family) were called to a conference room.

The report we received was good.

Brent actually had a dramatic improvement just from just the day before.

Because this was strep, causing necrotizing faciitis, she had to remove some additional dead tissue and make some additional incisions.

Although that sounded like a lot, it was actually good news.

So, continued monitoring and a scheduled OR visit for tomorrow.

For the remainder of the day, they decreased his sedative and upped the pain meds, in hopes to allow for some interaction.

This was the first afternoon I felt at peace.

I sat in a chair next to the bed, held his hand, and fell asleep.

And, I slept peacefully.

The other times I had been there, either during the day or overnight, it was always wrought with restlessness.

God really gifted me with peace and rest that afternoon.

When I finally woke up, I perused the TV and found a show to his liking, in hopes if he could hear it, he’d enjoy it.

I then leaned over and began stroking his hair and asking some questions.

What I didn’t expect was a reaction.

But, he began nodding in response.

Honestly, I don’t even remember what I asked.

I thought maybe I was mistaken.

But, then he opened his eyes and looked directly at me.

Even as I write and recollect now, I am tearing up.

It was a beautiful, bittersweet moment that I wouldn’t trade for anything.

And, it was a bright light in the midst of these dark, uncertain days.