Author: lardcupcakes

I ended my last post with Brent’s transfer to the on-site, inpatient, rehab clinic.

WEDNESDAY

I received a text from my father-in-law about 9:30am that Brent began his day with breakfast, and then shifted to PT.

At this point, Brent has only needed the hospital gown, but, with the movement required during PT, some shorts were needed.

Not to mention, butt shots aren’t super encouraged in public spaces.

*snicker*

So, on the way to the hospital, Sprite and I stopped at Target, what she then called ‘the red dot store’, and picked him up some appropriate clothing, a.k.a., gym shorts.

Upon our hospital arrival, Brent was in a wheelchair with wet hair <— I’m a poet and didn’t know it.

Indicating he got up and took a shower.

I wrote in my journal that the activity of showering must have felt so good, considering his only experience with a “shower” was a sponge bath given by me or a nurse.

We were able to sit, chat, and eat lunch together.

Following lunch, PT came and wheeled him down to the gym where they directed him to take four laps around the middle portion of the room using a walker.

He increased speed with each lap.

I was so proud – watching him move around and gain confidence with every step.

Following PT, Brent and I were able to chat a little bit more.

During this time I showed him the picture I took of him and Sprite from the evening before.

Brent started to tear up.

I journaled, “You are so loved and I know this is difficult for you, but God is truly strengthening your body each day.”

To keep with the schedule for the day, Occupational Therapy (OT) came soon after.

They provided him some hand/eye coordination exercises and checked hand strength – all tests came back with raving results.

Later this day, I was able to take Sprite to a movie at the Village 8 Cinemas, close by the hospital.

It was a great time of no expectations, just a movie with delicious (yet expensive) snacks.

We headed back to the hospital and found Brent hanging in his room.

Soon after our arrival, I received a text from a friend that they wanted to bring something by to us.

Within a few minutes, she arrived and handed us a card from her parents with cash inside.

I wrote that I was flabbergasted.

It was such a kind, loving gift.

We were able to visit and catch up some with her.

It was a great time of finding a normal, conversational groove with our friends again.

Following her visit, dinner arrived (I forgot again someone signed up).

And, because this day was filled with busyness and continual surprises, the evening was no different.

The men in our community group came over and spent some time with Brent.

As I’m writing this, I am again overwhelmed and tearing up.

I remember them showing up and feeling so much love for Brent – if that makes any sense.

I wanted him to have that special time, so Sprite and I went home.

THURSDAY

Today was Sprite’s last day of pre-school, so my morning was transporting her to finish out the school year.

I also received a text that Brent’s day began with PT at 8am and the doctor speculated 7-10 more days to finish out rehab.

Including the possibility of outpatient rehab, depending on needs.

Later, on my way to pick up Sprite from preschool, I picked up some Wendy’s – you know the food of champions.

She hopped in the car and said, “Watcha get? Chicken and fries?”

Seriously, fast food sure does have a distinct smell.

Anyway, another friend of ours agreed to hang with Sprite at home while I went to the hospital to visit with Brent.

So, with all the shift in schedule, I wasn’t able to get to the hospital until 2:00pm.

But, on the way, my father-in-law sent me a picture of Brent in PT using a cane instead of a walker.

This picture put a smile on my face.

Already such progress in just one day.

I wrote, “God is truly doing a healing and strengthening work in your body.”

When I did finally arrive, Brent wasn’t in his room.

After days of always finding him in any room, it was weird walking in to find the opposite.

OT came early, they had him work on hand and finger strength.

I wrote down that Brent seemed disappointed – as I look back, I would assume he had a goal in mind, and he came short.

BONUS – after OT, Brent was moved to a private room – an introverts dream!

AND, they moved in an extra bed.

Since his hospital stay, he always had someone in the room with him.

My dad, his dad, his mom, brothers, and myself.

Anyway, we found out some interesting information about Brent’s surgeon today.

His surgeon first went to engineering school but was unchallenged, so she switched to medical school.

Jackpot because we landed an incredible surgeon.

That afternoon, we traveled back to the ICU to say hi to some nurses.

Unfortunately, only a couple of nurses were there that day.

But, it was nice to catch up and share progress.

We returned to his room and a friend brought dinner and visited with Brent.

Sprite arrived at the hospital from her hang time with a friend.

We wrapped up our evening and went home.

FRIDAY

Sprite slept in this morning, then I took her to a friend’s house for a playdate.

When I arrived to the hospital, PT was on my heels and he was quickly whisked away.

This time his PT was outside.

Brent used his cane, and him and I were able to walk side by side outside for a few minutes.

It was so nice to be outside, though oddly bright.

PT had him step off and back on to the sidewalk to strengthen his legs.

Following this, we went back inside for OT and he was shown resistance band exercises for his upper body.

As you can imagine, he was WIPED.

So, when he returned to his room, he tried to take a nap.

I tried to do the same.

But, hospital.

A nurse came in and we inquired about changing his wound dressing – all the extra movement was causing increasing discomfort.

This time, Brent was able to doze off.

I, on the other hand, was not.

FMLA and disability paperwork arrived with the Social Worker, so I had to tend to that.

Lots of paper, lots of signatures, and lots of notes go into all of these things.

It’s crazy.

Later that afternoon, we had a visit from a sweet couple who experienced almost exactly what we were just a couple years before.

They were a friend of a friend.

They reached out and asked to come and visit with us.

It was so nice to have a godly couple, who could speak directly into our fears, worries, insecurities, uncertainties and point us right back to God.

This was a fantastic way to end the day.

SATURDAY

I arrived at the hospital around lunchtime this day.

I found him in OT, standing on a balance ball playing cards.

I think the game was called sequence.

Anyway, they were testing/strengthening his balance.

OT ended and we took laps around the nurses station in the rehab clinic and finished some hang time in their ‘sunroom’ with a puzzle and chit chat.

We left there and wheeled down to the cafeteria for lunch.

He wasn’t given permission yet to traipse around without the use of a wheelchair yet.

Here’s what I found – slanted walkpaths.

NOT COOL.

Anyway, a little later, Sprite showed up with Brent’s cousin and showed us the many things purchased for her.

She had a great time.

As we were gathering our items to head home, Brent began displaying a flushed face.

This caused me concern since a fever would be the first sign of an infection.

*deep breath*

I asked the nurse to take his temperature.

Thankfully, no fever.

I’m going to guess his body just needed a break.

After we arrived home, and Sprite was asleep, a friend came over bearing a sweet basket of goodies for Sprite and myself.

She also stayed for a movie, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty.

“It’s not a porpoise!”

SUNDAY

This morning began slowly, and with a shopping trip on the way to the hospital.

I needed to snag a couple of things for Brent, and Sprite refused to leave without purchasing a present for her daddy.

So, in true kid fashion, she picked him up a minion shirt.

We arrived while Brent was eating lunch.

And, my mother-in-law was on her way with Famous Dave’s BBQ with intent to picnic outside.

Instead, we chose to eat inside and stroll to the park following lunch.

I enjoyed lunch, like a lot, because I wrote, “I sat a little funny probably because I ate too much.”

What can I say? I like food.

Anyway, we signed out and headed toward the park just behind the hospital.

It was a decent trek for a little person, so she hopped on Brent’s lap and I had the privilege of pushing him and her the majority of the way to the park.

This was a bigger feat than I anticipated.

Although the inclines were low grade, my triceps were BURNING!

Finally, we made it to the park.

It was so nice.

The fresh air. The sunshine. The sense of normalcy.

It was just what the doctor ordered, for everyone.

On our stroll outside, Brent wheeled himself down the creek where we were able to feed some bread to the ducks.

After feeding the ducks, we headed back towards the hospital.

Brent was still self-wheeling when he hit a slight incline and was at a standstill.

I jogged up the very short hill and took over.

Instead of this causing frustration, we both laughed.

Upon our return, Brent’s grandmother and aunt were waiting to visit.

We had a great time visiting and sharing his progress.

Once they left, Sprite began having a meltdown, so we made a swift exit.

We arrived home and was soon visited by a friend with a meal and a check-in.

She asked me how I was doing.

And, since some things have calmed down, I was able to slowly able to process.

When she left, and Sprite was settled for bed, I journaled these words for Brent to read later.

“I miss you and hated not being able to talk with you while ventilated. That is so hard – harder than I imagined. You would relax at my touch, when asked if I could sit with you, you would sweetly furrow your eyebrows and shake your head yes. I told her I had an epiphany, that even when you come home I probably wouldn’t sleep any better because the reason for my restlessness is the fact (I believe) that I haven’t been able to connect with you. Not being able to tell, really tell you how I’ve been, how you’ve been, and my fears and anxieties, the prayers I’ve cried and pleads I’ve made with God. I miss you – all of you.”

I closed the previous post with the wonderful possibility of Brent leaving the ICU.

SATURDAY

At this point in the journey, he’d been at the hospital for 13 days.

13 days of uncertainty, pain, anxiety, and a host of other emotions.

Our daughter, 3 at the time, was amazing through all of this, but even the best have a breaking point.

So, with Brent improving, I began delaying our arrival times to the hospital so I had some time to pour into Sprite.

When we did finally arrive to the hospital, it was roughly lunchtime.

I caught our surgeon in passing where she relayed her delight in his progress.

This delight also included lessening his patient button for IV pain meds and approval to finally transfer out of the ICU.

Yay!

Another tangible step moving us toward normal.

However, Brent’s nurse was a little, well…spastic is what I wrote in the journal.

But, looking back I’d probably adjust that to energetic.

So, as soon as we received word transport was coming to move him, it was like a circus with everyone running around and gathering all the items.

One can collect a lot more than they realize in situations like that.

Anyway, our church Kids Director stopped by as this was happening, so I recruited her to help move us across the hospital.

When Brent arrived to his new room, PT came to get him moving again.

Unfortunately, Brent said one of the PT persons was a little too aggressive with him, and not allowing him a moment to work through the pain and kind of forced his legs over the side of the bed.

I kept watch during the following days to make sure the dude chilled out a bit.

Dude meaning the PT individual.

Following PT, Sprite requested hang time with her Papa Joe and Yaya (Brent’s parents).

But, as they were heading to the cafeteria, Sprite began to cry and cling to me.

This season was hard.

It was hard to feel the pull between spouse and child.

I really wanted to spend some time with Brent, just being with him, but our daughter needed some time too.

Following a few minutes of cuddles and reassuring words, she was ready to peruse the hospital with Yaya.

After I spent some time with Brent, I headed out to Walgreens for some busy activities for Sprite and a Starbucks coffee for me.

Apparently the barista was a little too intense for my taste, because I wrote in my journal, “the order guy was way too interested in my story.”

Listen, story time isn’t an option on the Starbucks menu.

So, pass.

Anyway, I made the super awesome mistake of purchasing a mermaid statute for Sprite to paint while in the waiting room.

This decision ended with some extra artistic accents in the waiting room, including her hair.

*shrug* whatever.

Upon my return, Brent had a steady flow of visitors, mainly family.

Sprite left shortly and attended a softball game with Yaya, where she met up with his cousin and aunt.

With this being around dinner time, I scurried home to await little miss’ arrival.

In my waiting I was able to get some cleaning done and spend a few minutes by myself.

Later, Sprite arrived, squealing, “mommy!”

I’m not gonna lie.

That felt good.

Soon after he left, Sprite and I headed to bed.

SUNDAY

It was Sunday.

Church day.

I was encouraged by Brent and our Kids Director to attend.

But, honestly, I had no desire to field questions.

I know the intentions were good, but I was overwhelmed already, and didn’t want to rehash all the things.

So, instead I grabbed breakfast with Yaya and Sprite and snagged Brent a couple of gifts at the store on our way to the hospital.

With it being the weekend, not much happened on the doctor front.

So, today ended up being increased visitors, many from family.

Some extra cuddle time from Sprite.

We also received a meal from a church member – I didn’t realize we had more meals coming.

So, it was a nice and welcome surprise.

On this evening at bedtime, Sprite reminded me that we didn’t pray for Brent.

Sprite prayed, “Thank you God for feeding me. Please help daddy get big better. Thank you, Amen.”

MONDAY

On this morning, Sprite and I just hung out at home a bit.

During this time, I received a text that the Dr on the floor said everything was looking good and they were moving him off IV pain medication and transitioning him to oral pain meds.

Yaya picked up Sprite and took her around town and I went to the hospital.

I arrived and Brent was in and out, watching TV and snoozing.

Him and I were the only ones in the room, and it was really nice to sit and talk with him some.

I wrote in my journal that I felt I was unraveling some from the drama.

But, that isn’t something I shared with Brent.

He needed to focus on healing and getting through one day at a time.

During this uninterrupted time, I gave him a wash down and helped him move to the chair.

After he sat down, he said, “I feel like I’m sitting on something hard on my right thigh.”

He was feeling the discomfort the pain drip kept at bay.

He was feeling the staples, the deep incisions, the tightness of closing, and a growing awareness of the road ahead.

PT also came this day and assessed him for a rehab transfer.

They had him complete some everyday movements.

This assessment gave complete approval for the rehab center.

As the day continued, his pain and irritation increased, and, honestly, I felt myself feeling a rising anxiety.

I didn’t write this in the journal, but as I’m rereading and writing, I’m washed over with the emotions of this exact moment.

I worried.

I didn’t know exactly what was ahead.

Would he always be in pain?

Would he ever really recover?

Would he need continued assistance at home?

What’s our next battle?

TUESDAY

I arrived this morning meeting Brent’s cousin and setting up Sprite for a fun time at the zoo.

As I did this, I received a text that the nurses removed two of his three drains and changed the dressing.

I’m sure you can imagine, any messing with his wound causes an increase in pain.

He was finally calm and sleeping when I opened the door to his room.

And that stupid door was ridiculously LOUD.

Of course that woke him up.

But, when he looked up and saw it was me, a smile spread across his face.

It melted me.

His dad was in the room, so when I came he meandered out for a bit.

I was able to sit with him and chat with Brent.

I missed it.

I missed just being near him, talking with him, and seeing little sparks of the person I know.

During this time, PT came and really made him get up and moving.

I assisted by standing down the hallway and giving him a kiss and encouragement when he reached me.

Following that, pre-approval came for rehab.

Finally.

I completely forgot, he also had a central line – these usually go into the neck, in the carotid artery, or just below your collar bone, giving quick access to IV meds.

Well, his was removed.

And, on top of that, his last drain was removed.

Then, to top it off, I stepped out of the room to grab something to drink, upon my return, Brent was up and moving without any assistance!

“What on earth are you doing?”

Later that evening, the surgeon came in one last time and gave her verbal discharge approval.

She said she was very pleased with your wound healing, “they’re healing wonderfully.”

I cried.

This road was long.

And, we weren’t done.

Following the surgeon, Brent had a host of visitors.

And, following the parade of visitors, transport came and transferred him to the in-hospital rehab clinic.

When we arrived, I looked around and became so upset.

The rehab room was plain, uninviting, and bland.

There was nothing about that room that would encourage anyone.

Unless you’re thinking is more, “the room looks horrible so you work harder to get away from it?”

I guess there’s merit in that thinking as well.

The beauty of this room came from Sprite.

She crawled up in the bed with Brent.

He was smiling.

She was smiling.

And you could feel the contentment from sitting next to her daddy.

It’s one of the more milestone moments of our journey.

I left off with Brent and his uncertainty regarding the wound vac.

TUESDAY

This day, Sprite went back to pre-school, and struggled.

She struggled to let go of me and attend class.

It was over a week since she last saw her daddy.

I’m sure to her it looked like us disappearing into the night, and only me returning.

And, some mysterious white doors that could or couldn’t lead to him.

She was a trooper.

A trooper who missed her daddy.

After I dropped her off at school, I went to see Brent.

When I arrived, we discussed finally bringing Sprite back to see him.

He was hesitant, but agreed.

He didn’t want to scare her.

We agreed after preschool, she could come and see him.

While I was there, the respiratory team came and gave approval for him to take sips of liquid, and cleared him for real food.

I missed the surgeon and infectious disease doctors earlier, but was relayed everything looks great.

While I was there, Brent shuffled around a few steps and requested all the toiletries/hygiene items.

Y’all, the dude likes his toiletries.

So, this request was a good sign.

Later in the afternoon, he received a few visitors.

One of them being Sprite.

I held her hand as we walked down the hallway to Brent’s room.

She walked in hesitant.

She didn’t engage much with him.

I tried encouraging her to hold his hand, or give him a hug, or talk with him some.

But, he was sitting in a hospital bed, looking completely different, and she was completely loaded down with every emotion under the sun in a 3 year old body, unable to totally process them all.

Another visitor that day was a couple from our church who were beginning a new shift in ministry direction.

As they were sharing their excitement, Brent listened, asked questions, and prayed with them.

I wrote in my journal, “You are such an unselfish person – siting in a hospital bed fighting a life-threatening infection, and you check on others. A true servant.”

The evening wrapped up with additional visitors and a good dose of Benadryl to counteract the itchiness of his rash.

On this evening, Sprite prayed for Brent and said, “Thank you God for feeding me. Please help Daddy get better.”

WEDNESDAY

This day Sprite visited with Brent again, and this time was much improved from the day before.

She was more animated and engaging with him.

After her visit, Brent completed PT, which unfortunately caused increased pain.

While he was moving around, he was able to use the restroom and I was able to give him a sponge bath.

Getting up, moving around, and sitting on his incisions caused him to become lightheaded and pale.

Thankfully, while I was helping him, a nurse changed his linens and assisted getting him back to bed.

His anxiety increased when the nurses in charge of the Wound Vac arrived to remove the current sponges and replace them with new ones.

So, imagine a sponge that was pushed into every crevice of a large, gaping wound, removed.

Painful is the only word that comes to mind, though I don’t even think it truly describes his experience with it.

Once he was settled into his bed, he requested me to leave the area, away from his room and not in the hallway.

Because the insertion of the wound vac sponges was so painful the first time, he didn’t want to scare me, and be able to yell out as needed.

Basically, he didn’t want to have to hold it all in – so, I agreed.

A little later, once Brent was calmed and drugged from the wound vac changing, our Kids Director came back with me to visit again.

It was a great visit filled with conversation regarding VBS, family, and how God orchestrated his time in the hospital.

Like, seriously, who else would be able to see the work of God’s hands in a situation like that?

He does.

All the time.

Later that evening we had a visit with a couple of really good friends of ours, great food from church family, and visits from Brent’s co-workers.

Although this was a great time of visiting, the wound vac changing had continued pain effects causing me feel like I was getting on his nerves.

So, I decided to head out and allow him to relax for the evening.

I picked up Sprite and headed home.

On the way, I received a text message from my friend informing me that someone I didn’t even know wanted to donate proceeds from her candle jewelry business to help pay for Brent’s increasing medical bills.

Just a few days before, my good friend Stephanie, called me and said she was going to establish a Go Fund Me page where people can donate and assist with the growing medical bills.

I really wanted to say no.

I don’t easily accept help, so she basically said, “let me do this for you all.”

I caved.

Then, I cried.

There was a feeling and weight that this was real.

Ending this phone call, Sprite said from the back seat, “I don’t want daddy at the hospital anymore, I want him big better at home.”

“Me too, Sweetie. Me too.”

THURSDAY

I didn’t have much written for this day.

The opening line for this day was, “I have a cybernetic booty!”

I can’t even with this dude.

Another friend of ours thought, “brillo booty” was a good name too.

We laughed.

Thankfully, this day was a good one.

In addition to his surgeon expressing her happiness with his healing, he didn’t have any wound vac changes.

We were also advised that closing his healing incision was planned for Friday or Saturday.

This information caused Brent to become anxious, so we stopped and prayed.

Following her visit, the nurses helped him to the chair since PT was on the floor and making their rounds.

When they finally made it to his room, they set out with a walker to peruse the hall.

But, that wasn’t good enough for him.

He pushed all the way to the nurses desk, and upon his return, he was drenched in sweat and shaking.

The last time he went walking, he was using the arms of the therapists, so this was huge progress.

With each passing day, he became increasingly aware of where he was, and the hurdles in front of him.

And, as his awareness increased, his anxiety did too.

With the rising anxiety, I requested some medication for him.

Thankfully, his nurse agreed and gave him something.

The downside of a heavier than usual medication is the negative effects – like weird and confusing dreams.

I didn’t write down his dream recollection, but I did note the medicines negative impact.

FRIDAY

I was informed this morning, 7:45am to be exact, that transport was coming to take Brent to pre-op for closure of his incisions.

I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to see him before surgery, so I shot up out of bed and scurried myself and Sprite to the hospital.

When we arrived we were actually both allowed to see him in pre-op.

I was so grateful.

When I saw him, he seemed relaxed.

And, while in pre-op, Sprite was given a gift from a nurse.

It was a little elephant, coloring book, and crayons.

I actually still have this elephant in her memory box.

His dad told me when he arrived at pre-op, he was greeted warmly, “nice to see you again.”

But, Brent didn’t know what they meant by that.

He had no recollection about the previous days of back to back surgeries.

His surgery lasted 2 hours – which fostered some anxiety, as I thought it was too long.

On my way to check the surgery board, a family member was announced to the waiting room phone.

The last time I picked up this phone, I was given scary information.

So, I picked it up with hesitation and a deep breath.

It was the surgery nurse letting me know that everything went great and his surgeon decided to go ahead and close the incisions.

The not cool part was the surgeon had to jet to another urgent surgery and didn’t leave orders for when to return Brent to the ICU.

This caused his time in recovery to last 3-4 hours.

Gratefully, we, and others, were able to visit in small stints in the recovery area.

He told me he was in so much pain and that his leg felt really tight.

Unfortunately, the nurses already gave him the allowed amount of medicine.

As we waited for him to return to the ICU, Sprite and I grabbed lunch in the hospital cafeteria.

While we were eating, I told Sprite that Brent’s big doctor was helping him feel better.

She replied, “When daddy is better, will he wear pants again?”

We both laughed.

I needed that.

Upon our return, he was in his room with a patient operated button pain drip.

He clicked the button once, was in and out for a few minutes, then out completely.

He was able to rest comfortably and woke up with an appetite, ate some of my food, and conked out again.

While he was sleeping, I took a closer look at his incisions.

I felt like a total creeper, peeking at his incisions while he slept.

*shrug*

He had dressing over all the incisions, numerous staples, and 3 drains coming from strategic spots.

Later, we were finally able to conference with the surgeon.

She reiterated what the nurse said and added since his incisions needed no additional debrideing, she closed the wounds.

His incisions had roughly 50-60 staples – no stitches.

Due to the size of the wound, stitches wouldn’t hold the expanse closed.

I was told in 10 days half of the staples, every other one, could be removed.

And, the drains could be removed in a week.

(Drains look like translucent tubing with a bulb at the end where fluid collects from the wound).

And, the remaining staples around day 20.

Due to the tightness of closing the incision, his surgeon said he would experience some additional pain.

Super positive moment, Brent was slated to move out of the ICU tomorrow!

This information flooded my brain with relief, sadness, excitement, and anxiety.

The news was good.

It pointed to a closing of one season littered with complete uncertainty, and darkness.

And yet, it whisked us to a season of new uncertainty, leaning on the only One who will sustain us.

I didn’t know this song at the time, but whenever I hear it, this season pops up as an example of His faithfulness and presence through it all.

These are the lyrics to the song, Hills and Valleys by Tauren Well:

I’ve walked among the shadows
You wiped my tears away
And I’ve felt the pain of heartbreak
And I’ve seen the brighter days
And I’ve prayed prayers to heaven from my lowest place
And I have held the blessings
God, you give and take away

No matter what I have, Your grace is enough
No matter where I am, I’m standing in Your love

On the mountains, I will bow my life
To the one who set me there
In the valley, I will lift my eyes to the one who sees me there
When I’m standing on the mountain aft, didn’t get there on my own
When I’m walking through the valley end, no I am not alone!

You’re God of the hills and valleys!
Hills and Valleys!
God of the hills and valleys
And I am not alone!

I ended the previous blog post retelling about the moment Brent, while still ventilated, opened his eyes and looked at me.

The following begins the next day.

FRIDAY

I woke up that morning, got ready and headed to the hospital.

I sent a note to my father-in-law and told him I was on the way.

He informed me that when Brent woke up, he became anxious upon noticing I wasn’t in the room.

When my father-in-law relayed that I was on the way, Brent audibly sighed and relaxed.

I finally arrived with Sprite in tow.

She had yet to see him since his ventilation.

I felt seeing her daddy in that state would be traumatizing.

-Since we’re on the topic of Sprite and I’m remembering as I write, I am reminded of the many people who helped me with childcare and things for her to do during these long days at the hospital.-

-Each and every one of you were a huge blessing to us.-

While Sprite was hanging in the hospital waiting room with family and friends, I visited with Brent, who was still ventilated, though awake and responsive.

I walked in and rubbed his arm.

He looked up at me and smiled, but it was a “I want to hold you, but I can’t” smile.

It was bittersweet.

I kept thinking, “I want to talk with you and be with you, yet I can’t.”

But, those aren’t thoughts you share in those moments.

I also kept wondering, how is he on the inside?

Does he feel trapped? mad? sad? anxious? confused?

It really bothered me that I couldn’t talk with him about what was happening.

He was here right in front of me, and yet, not really.

I missed him.

As these thoughts swarmed my brain, I remembered today was another surgery to check for progress, etc.

Although he had a good couple of days, the surgeon still noticed some spreading redness up his back, so some additional incisions were necessary.

I was really hoping his report would include vent removal, but in addition to the spreading infection, Brent’s lungs were also collecting some fluid.

And, remaining on the vent would allow for easier fluid removal.

I held it together until the surgeon left.

Upon her leaving, I cried.

These weren’t the words I wanted to hear.

I wanted to speak with my husband.

I wanted a sense of returning to normal.

Sprite witnessed my tears and began to cry as well.

I wiped her tears and explained that I was just sad.

She looked at me and said, “I don’t like you sad.”

I snuggled her in close and we cried together.

Soon after this update, he was taken up to his room where shortly after a multitude of visitors came trickling in.

So many people came to his room, inquired about his well being and mine, brought food, offered prayers with and over us.

That afternoon I called Brent’s work and began the process of applying for short term disability.

I could tell he wasn’t returning to work anytime soon, so I made the call.

After I was transferred from person to person, I finally landed an individual who knew what I needed.

I told the lady I needed to begin this paperwork process, but because it was for my spouse, they wouldn’t let me – Brent had to do it.

So, I’m sitting there in the waiting room trying to not completely lose my mind as I’m being told that my husband, who is ventilated, has to provide consent.

I could feel my blood pressure rise and frustration boil to the surface.

With extra shrill and exasperation in my tone I replied, “My husband can’t talk to you because he’s on a ventilator!”

The silence and misunderstanding were palpable.

She may have missed the imbedded message before, but now she understood.

With her revelation, we moved forward with the short term disability process with intent for him to sign and approve once he improved.

As the evening came to a close, his temperature finally fell below 100 degrees.

And, this being Friday night, I jokingly sent a text message to our Kids Director at our church, where we coordinate on Sunday mornings, “I assume there isn’t anything for us to do for Sunday with Sojourn Kids?”

She replied, “Haha, thanks for that. I needed a good laugh.”

SATURDAY

I arrived that morning and had the opportunity to relax with Brent in his room.

He was able to communicate with me through facial expressions and head nods; not ideal, but much better than nothing.

This mode of communication was frustrating because he wasn’t able to use his hands.

They were in restraints.

Although decreasing his sedative allowed for increased responsiveness, it also allows for additional movement without complete understanding.

Many individuals in this position tend to manually remove their vent tubing, so hand restraints were necessary.

Later that afternoon, we had a visit from our pastor and his oldest son.

He checked in on his progress, our needs, and prayed over us.

I, however, made the mistake of waking Brent.

He woke up and saw our pastor, which created some excitement.

But, with the medication fueling some disorientation, the tubing, restraints, and more, he wasn’t able to properly interact or communicate well.

So, this caused a decent amount of frustration for him and total confusion for the rest of us.

After our Pastor left, I continued to try and figure out what Brent was trying to communicate, but to no avail.

Eventually, he just gave up.

He was so frustrated, and I felt entirely helpless.

I really wanted to help him, but couldn’t.

Thankfully, following that episode, we had additional visitors which helped improve his demeanor.

Brent wrapped up the evening with receeding redness and less firmness, as noted by the nurse, and a temperature below 99 degrees.

I saw many signs of healing.

I felt it was an answer to all the prayers being lifted on our behalf.

I wrote in my journal, “God is good, even during trials.”

We were far from over, but resting in this promise.

SUNDAY

Before I even arrived at the hospital on this day, I received a text message from my brother-in-law that Brent’s temperature was 97.9 degrees.

The absolute lowest it has ever been since we arrived at the hospital just over a week ago.

As I arrived, I was informed he sported a significant rash on the underside of his body.

His back, back of the arms, and back of his legs were purple from an allergic rash to the penicillin.

We all hoped he would avoid a reaction, but were so glad it took a few days before his body reacted.

To counteract the rash, he was given significant doses of benadryl.

Following this, his nurse gave a heads up that her and some other nurses would be coming in to change his wound dressings.

I couldn’t stay and look.

I’m not normally totally grossed out by things like that, but the dynamics are different when it’s your spouse with the wounds.

Large, open, debrieding wounds at that.

Those of you who don’t know about debridement – it’s where a wound is opened up and the infection drains and airs out.

It’s as horrible as it sounds.

Brent was literally laying in the hospital bed with open wounds, slightly covered to keep some germs out, but, that was it.

While the dressing was being changed, the weekend doctor was making rounds and checked on his progress.

His report would decide if he needed surgery before Monday.

I was in the room, but on the opposite side of the room away from wound view.

I didn’t even write this part in the journal, but remembered upon reading and recollecting that I could see a reflection of the wound in my father-in-laws glasses.

All I could see was a bright white light and red.

Later my father-in-law said it was a good thing I didn’t look because it was bad.

That made my heart hurt.

That his wounds were that shocking and awful.

Thankfully, he received gold stars for his progress.

The doctor noted that he was showing no signs of redness, nor signs of additional necrosis.

So, no surgery needed today, and more than likely not tomorrow, if progress continued.

I remembered posting this updated information on Facebook and was overwhelmed by all the people following his progress.

Also on this day, his dad brought pens and legal pads for Brent to use.

As soon as he had the items in hand, he wrote down, “diet coke.”

Soon after that, there was discussion in his room about needing restaurant suggestions.

So, he pulled out his pen and wrote down, “wild eggs.”

His Aunt Janet said, “even while sedated, he’s still the smartest person in the room.”

A very accurate statement indeed.

Later that day, we had a visit from our Kids Director.

She wanted to check in on us.

Just a few days prior she lost her grandfather, and because Brent is so selfless, instead of using the visit to “talk” about himself, he instead asked about her grandfather.

As she was asking questions about his well-being, he pulled out his pad of paper, and wrote the following:

He turned the paper around so we could read it.

“Grandpa?”

When we realized the meaning, she began fighting back tears.

Even completely drugged, a tube down his throat, hands restrained, and in immense pain, he still thought about someone else.

It just blows me away.

MONDAY

I woke up this morning to a text message informing me the doctors were changing his antibiotic.

It felt like a step backwards, but his rash wasn’t improving and thankfully the penicillin did its job fighting off the worst of the infection.

I got moving and readied Sprite and myself.

As we ate breakfast, I received another text message that his breathing was removed.

I REALLY wanted to be present for this momentous, and much desired occasion.

But, that’s okay.

His dad was able to be present, and I was ecstatic the tube was finally removed.

I finally made it to the hospital and saw him de-tubed.

Although he was hoarse, it was a step back to normal.

I was also informed the surgeon already cleared him for no surgery!

The relief was visible.

The remainder of the morning was uneventful, which was quite the shift and wonderfully welcomed.

During lunch Brent was given a swallow test and began some physical therapy.

Let me remind you – he was bedridden, on a ventilator for 5 days.

His body was tired, atrophied, healing, and still fighting the infection.

Later when I asked how PT went, he said it was some of the most intense pain he ever felt.

Following this, a handful of nurses arrived with a machine to assist with healing.

They brought something called a Wound Vac.

The Wound Vac is a machine with a sponge-like extension that sit in a large wound and help extract all the infectious fluid.

Yeah, the name of the device is also its descriptor.

It’s a wound vacuum.

The sponges are literally packed into the wound.

The tubing takes the vacuumed fluid and deposits it in a container.

Y’all, the color of the fluid was…special – brown and red.

But, as gross as that was, it was literally removing all of that from his body.

All of that infectious fluid removed speeds up healing.

And, interestingly enough, the sponges are laced with silver, which is a natural anti-microbial metal.

So, even as it sits in there for a day or three, it doesn’t grow bacteria.

As we learned about its dynamic, Brent was doubtful.

But, I can tell you, after watching it for days – what was collected, the look of his wounds (on the outside), and all the other indicators, it definitely works.

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.

On this day 7 years ago and unbeknownst to us, Brent and I embarked on a heavy, scary season.

But, does anyone ever really see seasons of this nature coming ahead of time?

Anyway, every year this day comes, and I’m vividly reminded of the events leading up to Brent’s terrifying hospital stay.

You see, 7 years ago we had the opportunity to participate and attend my friends wedding, really she’s my Brasilian sister.

And, we were able to celebrate with her and her husband for a few days following.

During those post-wedding days, Brent was bobbing back and forth with a no-known cause high fever.

And, I remember the day before we left, he spiked a high fever again, but still no symptoms that could really point to a reason.

So, he does what any self-researching individual would do – googled.

We all know googling leads to all kind of incorrect diagnoses.

And, this was no exception.

Because, according to an online Dr site, his random fever spikes were likely due to syphillis.

So, because he likes stirring trouble, he sent me this newly discovered diagnosis in a message.

I in my wit and eye rolling respond, “well, if that’s the case, we have more important things to discuss than your fever.”

Moving ahead to the next morning.

He’s feeling a little better and we’re off to the airport.

We make it past all the checkpoints, get on the airplane, and soon take-off.

As we’re in the air, Brent starts to rapidly decline.

I study him with much concern and worry, all the while trying to entertain a 3 year old on a giant airplane, with a ton of tiny seats all crammed together.

I look over – he’s really flush, sweating, phasing in and out, and physically feeling uncomfortable saying it feels like his belt is pressing in to his behind.

Based on those symptoms, his fever spiked higher than it had before, though I didn’t have a thermometer handy.

We deplane in Miami and he isn’t with it.

I’m grabbing all the things, and he’s barely able to stand, walk, or communicate.

It was awful and frightening.

I considered going to a “if you’re sick, go there” spot in the Miami airport, but I dodged it because I just wanted to get home.

So, I pushed through.

I practically raced us through the airport, trying to flag down the motorcar thingy that helps assist individuals getting to a gate.

But, of course, none were in sight when I needed them to be.

I purchased gatorade, water, snacks, basically anything that would help him feel better.

No dice.

A couple of hours go by and we’re finally ready to board our final plane home.

He’s even worse.

As we’re high in the sky, I look over and his head is bobbing with the turbulence, still flushed, and overall looking bad and my concern grows.

We finally get home and I take a look where he says hurts: it’s the backside of his right hip.

I notice 3 red streaks across the area.

I know enough to know that isn’t good.

So, I call over my mother-in-law to sit with Sprite and we jet to the hospital.

Just to top it all off, we enter the ER with all these symptoms as the Ebola outbreak was making the news.

Because of that, we were quickly whisked away to another room, separated from all the patients in the waiting room.

Aside from bleeding from the eyes, he had a decent amount of the Ebola symptoms.

Here we are.

Finally moved to a room, where he’s given broad spectrum antibiotics to assist the unknown spreading infection, and we wait.

We wait for the next day, Sunday, hoping for actual answers and not bandaid medicine.

What we didn’t realize, like I stated before, is this was just the beginning of a very heavy, scary season.

I’ve had this written for a few months, so these are musings from last fall.

Let me walk you through numerous instances where we can view a five year old (obviously, mine) in the wild.

The photo above, it’s caption is truthful. She asked me at 9:30am if she could have a popsicle. So, thinking I’m a decent parent, said, “you can have one later for snack, but not right now.”

Unacceptable.

She proceeded to flop down on the couch, face first, and loudly whine that she never gets to do anything fun.

Hashtag, worst mom ever.

Let’s look at couple of weeks ago when an ice cream truck, a shady one at that, makes it way into our neighborhood culdesac.

The children hear the siren call and light up with excitement. But, I had to break the news that I didn’t have any cash.

Wait for it.

Next thing I know, she falls to the floor of our garage, like all her bones have magically disappeared, and cry whines.

Then..in utter despair, she begins to army crawl/drag herself out of the garage, simultaneously reaching out for the now leaving ice cream truck, and dramatically screaming “nooooooo!”

Maybe this makes me a bad parent, but I had to turn away many times to gain my composure, so I could comfort and care for her.

I promised I would scrounge for change so the next time, we could snag some ice cream.

Also, a couple of weeks ago, my five year old was putting on pajamas after her bath (slightly damp skin) and still feels chilly.

So, she pulls a sweater, a fleece like fuzzy pullover with a hood.

Well, it shifts her night shirt around and she hated the way it felt. So, logic kicked in and she tried to remove the sweater…

Keyword, tried.

It was like watching a stupid, funny meltdown that I couldn’t fix.

As she’s attempting to remove said sweater, it starts taking her pajama shirt with it, getting stuck around her head, sticking to her arms because she’s still damp, and generally refusing to do what she intended.

So, you know, anyone in that situation would move slowly, take an arm out at a time, etc.

Nope, not a frustrated five year old.

This guttural sounds escapes her mouth, she begins writhing around, arms flailing, bending up and down from the waist, screaming, trying to remove this sweater.

I offered help multiple times, and every time was met with a screaming, “NO!”

So, I just stand there, in my bedroom doorway, looking into her room, trying not to completely lose my mind and audibly laugh.

Y’all, 5 year olds are something else.

I’ve gone through this my first Sprite.

There is something about the 5th year that throws everything you know to the wind.

In between the intense, insane moments, I get to see her personality flourish and enjoy the hilarity and compassion she brings.

I was reminded about the following incident when speaking to a friend about their fear of wasps.

As we were discussing, I said, “did I tell you about the time a wasp fell down my shirt and stung me in the boob?

*shocked face*

So, to all you readers – here is some hilarity for your day.

A few years ago, I was in a kids department training about safety and emergency protocols for our church.

While I was sitting, listening, and note taking, something falls down the top part of my dress.

Take note, I said dress.

It wasn’t a low cut dress, more like a v-neck variety.

Anyway, I had no idea what it could be so I take a look.

HOLY CRAP!

I am literally staring at a wasp down the front of my dress – take a guess where…

Yeah, there.

I jump up out of my seat and begin trying to swipe the wasp up out of my dress.

Thankfully, I had the wherewithal to move and turn from all the people.

So, as I am trying to diligently swipe a wasp out of my dress I am being stung.

To be honest, I couldn’t even feel it.

Probably because I was so completely freaked out.

But, listen, this stupid buggar would not leave.

And, because I am wearing a dress I couldn’t just lift up my clothes in hopes it would fall out.

By this point, Brent noticed something is legitimately wrong – probably because I am acting like a total weirdo.

I am so freaked out that when he gets to me, I lack the ability to even communicate the issue.

Finally, I loudly whisper “wasp”.

Y’all, the dude looks down my dress – but how else was he supposed to help me?

This plan is obviously not working, so I pull the middle of my dress outward, along with everything else and the wasp falls out.

Brent immediately stomps on the intruder.

By this time, the meeting halted and curious minds were gazing in my direction.

I quickly explain, then scurry into the church kitchen where I could gather myself.

While I am in there, a couple of ladies come to my rescue.

One lady offers me any essential oil from her go-bag.

I use essential oils regularly, so this was a godsend.

And, another finds a small refrigerated gatorade and shoves it down my top.

A few minutes pass and I’m slightly more calm so I take a look.

I have three stings on my chest.

Y’all, that crap hurt.

Never in my life have I been stung by a wasp, so I guess this dude wanted to come in swinging.

Sheesh.

Also, you see the information about the paper wasp?

It’s legit.

“Has no concept of personal space or social distancing”

100% true.

You ever have those moments, when you’re looking through photos, or someone sends you a photo that floods your brain with a plethora of memories?

And, each memory is attached with its own feeling(s)?

For me, it happened a couple of days ago when my Brasilian sister sent me some photos of our time in Brasil for her wedding.

It was an amazing time.

Exploring another country with her family and mine to celebrate a wonderful occasion.

Beaches, good food, friends, and more.

But, also laced within those photos are memories of an impending, unforeseen heavy season upon our return to the states.

I love the capture of this photo.

It highlights Brent as a dad: playing with his kid, making memories, and pushing through not feeling well.

Because, during this time, he was jumping back and forth from feeling okay to spiking a high fever without any idea of cause.

And, this photo, capturing a moment on the beautiful beach at night: making memories, laughing, enjoying the company of one another.

Yet, that following night Brent went down again with another fever.

These seemingly innocent, joy filled photos also brought back grief, worry, and sadness.

Those of you who know our story during this season know upon our return we headed to the hospital.

It led us to Brent having a 28 day stay in the hospital.

Spending almost a week on a ventilator.

Multiple surgeries within a few days.

Him learning to walk all over again.

Me crying out in the shower for God to not take him.

Me dragging my very sick husband through the Miami airport so we could just get home.

Friends loving on us with food, prayer, childcare, housekeeping, and funds.

Me experiencing this all while 8 weeks pregnant.

These memories and feelings are more palpable right now since we’re approaching our anniversary of this time in our lives.

A time when God held us all together.

A time of uncertainty.

A time of gratefulness.

A time of fear.

And, a time that impacted our lives more than we realize sometimes.

Over the next few weeks, I’m going to share the details of season with you all.

What I hope to communicate is the big-ness of our God.

How he is working for our good in the midst of trials.

Because, our God is awesome, no matter our life circumstances.