Greater things are yet to come....

Just a warning, this may be a long and random post with a lot of random thoughts. I’m sitting in the ICU for the night shift to make sure dad remains calm (again how I’m suppose to keep him calm is beyond me, but I’m up for the challenge). Trish, Chris and I are going to try to rotate throughout the night so we don’t get too tired. I’m glad they let me bring in my laptop so I can stay awake a little easier and I can get a lot of thoughts out. 

It’s definitely been one of the toughest times I’ve been through seeing pops like this, when my mom was sick as well as many others I was a little too young to understand and mostly appreciate the greater things in life. The past couple years I’ve started to have a great respect for the things my dad did for me. I think it mainly started when he moved back down south and I started my bachelor life. You see the sacrifices that were made  for you and the love that he had for us. I can’t fathom the idea of trying to raise two young kids on your own. He changed his career so that he would have the same schedule as us, he took a pay cut and I’m sure it was quite a bit more stressful. We were laughing the other day about no one being to more state capitals than my father, and that’s something that brought back some fond memories.

Dad always wanted to take us on at least one vacation a year as a family. I didn’t enjoy some of the places at times (what kid does like historical stuff), but I look back at the chances and opportunities he has given both Tricia and I and the people that he has surrounded us with; it says something about how much he cares for us. It’s tough to see him in the condition because he’s always so full of life. As I was sitting talking to him and he opened his eyes, it was hard to look at the eyes that watched me grow up. They track me a little at times, but other times, they’re looking straight up and I can’t get a read on them on if he knows we’re here. He is able to follow some commands when he’s not too tired, but looking in his eyes with little response besides pain and confusion is what hurts to most.  I know he’s slightly sedated and on a decent amount of pain medicine, but I just don’t see my “Dad”.  I know he knows I’m here, the way he responded the first time I walked in the room. I know that he’s in there, but I miss those eyes which have shown me happiness, disappointment, excitement, sadness and many other emotions. As I’ve written before, eyes can tell you so much and all I see now is pain and fright and I want to take that away. I know that I can’t but God can, and we need to realize that it’s just difficult because I want it to happen quick. I want him to tell me “o brother” again, I want him to end our phone calls with I love you. I want to see him (I’ll regret this) smiling ear to ear as Chris is flirting and showing way too much PDA.

Each one of you reading this blog has more than likely been touched by my father at some point in your life. Whether he was making you puke while running suicides for basketball, talking to you about your grades, bringing you to the front of the bus to talk about the game plan, eating pizza somewhere or just being there for you and giving you one of those hugs that he can only give. It’s without a doubt tough for all of us who know him, but if you know him you know he’s a stubborn (it’s a good thing) and extremely faithful man who strives to teach others to be strong in their faith, and every other aspect of their life. The outpouring of love and support we have seen has been incredible. I knew my dad is a great man, but it’s been humbling to hear how he has touched so many other people.

I’m confident he’s going to pull through these trials, and as I said in an earlier blog, everything is happening for a purpose. I feel that this has a greater thing to come and that there is a bigger picture to this whole situation than a change in diet when he recovers. It may be a nurse who has seen the outpouring of support by family and friends, it could be a fellow patients family member who sees us camped in the waiting room, and it may even be a fellow family member. But there is a greater plan. One of the songs that keep running through my head is one I’ve sung at church many times and I keep thinking about it over and over again tonight is God of this City by Chris Tomlin :

Verse 1.
You're the God of this city
You're the King of these people
You're the Lord of this nation
You Are

You're the light in this darkness
You're the hope to the hopeless
You're the peace to the restless
You are

Bridge:
For there is no one like our God
There is no one like You God

Chorus 1:
For greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done
In this city
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here

Verse 2:
You're the Lord of Creation
The Creator of all things
You're the King above all kings
You Are

You're the strength in our weakness
You're the love to the broken
You're the joy in the sadness
You Are

Bridge:

Chorus 2:
For greater things have yet to come
Greater things are still to be done
In this city
When glory shines from hearts alive
With praise for You and love for You
In this city

Greater things have yet to come
Greater things are still to be done
In this city
Greater things have yet to come
And greater things are still to be done here

Throughout the night pops was coughing quite a bit and was requiring more suctions. If you’ve never seen a suction through a tube, it’s really no fun to watch. He starts to cough and gets worked up and then a thin wire is pushed down the tube and it gags you as it passes through your reflexes. His blood pressure spikes and he turns really red, I know it’s helping but seeing it and seeing him go through it isn’t something that I want to see long. I’m ready to get this tube taken out! We did try to wean the vent off earlier in the night, but it’s so difficult to do without much sedation. You’re used to the vent breathing for you and then you start to realize that you have some weird object down your throat and you want it out, so you start to become anxious and worried which elevates all the levels we want to stay low, and it’s just not a good situation. The decision was made to let him rest since he worked so good this morning and breathing mostly on his own and we’ll try it again tomorrow!

The first time they weaned him it was weaned with what is called a volume support. I’m not sure the best way to describe but I’ll attempt too.  Basically the machine is set to a specific volume, and when he breathes in and it measures that volume, and if it’s not up to the set volume the machine kicks in and helps. The plan tomorrow is to start pressure support which is a little different. It’s basically not helping with the volume, but it’s going to rely on him pulling air in through the tube, but it’s going to help a little because he’s breathing through a straw. If that goes well the hope is to take the tube out!! That would be huge for him, and I think it’ll be the biggest gain we’ll make so far. He’s still in critical condition but he’s working hard and we can’t ask for anything more than that!

Friday

I’m going to apologize right off the bat for this post, I’m on a lack of sleep and too stubborn to nap. Sadly I was kind of disappointed that I wasn’t in the “house” last night for my ear drums to be stimulate by the lawn mower convention (snoring) but I had a good time  sitting in the big guys room trying to keep from nodding off so I don’t get a head injury from hitting the side of the bed. He started today with a little of breathing on his own. I’m not sure if it was volume or pressure support but they had to put him back on more vent assist because the dialysis can be stressful to the system. He’s tolerating it really well and they’re able to increase the rate (so it filters the blood more). He has a slight fever and elevated white count. The amount of secretions coming from his lungs makes the doctors think that he may have a little pneumonia. He visibly hates the suction and I would too! The doctor reported that he will not get extubated today and that it’s a process to come off. Things won’t happen overnight, and we need to stick to the process. I think that’s definitely the hardest part for us.  Our generation wants things to happen here and now, and it’s best for dad to take it easy and work his lung muscles up to being able to tolerate fully breathing on his own.

We have our favorite nurse back today, and we also have the harmonica playing dialysis nurse as well. Today is a tough day for a lot of people because they’ll be leaving tomorrow. I think I’ve decided that it would be best to stay a little longer, and my grandparents are doing the same. My dad sister and her family will be heading out tomorrow as well as Tricia. She’s pretty upset about it, because she wanted to see dad off of the vent and we had such high hope for awhile. Again we need to realize there is a process and a greater plan, dad is still hanging in there and working hard, but has been wiped out pretty much most of the morning. At this stage I think it’s probably for the best to decrease anxiety and allow for a little more healing! Just keep praying for him to relax and for whatever infection it is to be taken care of!