Resilient Kids; My Scariest Moment Yet; and Cautious, Cautious Optimism

I’ll start with my scariest moment yet. Last night, it probably wasn’t ten minutes after I posted the blog update when the phone rang. Of course, I assumed it was Janel, and it was. “Nate, I don’t think the roller coaster ride is over yet.” These were not the words I wanted to hear, and I could tell by her voice she was quite distressed. I was prepared to hear of another downturn in Isaac’s condition. Instead, Janel informed me she was preparing to go to the emergency room because she believed she was coming down with a urinary tract infection. I know Janel has an incredibly high pain tolerance (no pain meds for delivering either Joshua or Jenna; she never made a sound while delivering Joshua). She proceeded to tell me that her pain level was comparable to giving birth, and she couldn’t walk.

She had already put a call into the midwives where she receives her OB/GYN care, but had not heard back from them yet. The PICU nurses were telling her to get to the ER. We got off the phone to think through what our options were. Was I supposed to find someone to come stay at our place while I went to be with Janel in the ER? Should I go stay with Isaac and let Mary go with Janel to ER? Can this really be happening? I sat on our couch in a condition beyond despair. I was exhausted, empty, angry, scared, and anxious. While I was despairing on the couch at home, one of the PICU nurses brought a wheelchair to Isaac’s room to give Janel a ride to the ER. As they are getting ready to head out, a midwife finally called back. Janel gave her the specifics of her symptoms, and the midwife proceeded to assure her she was just having post-delivery contractions.

“Just take 800mg of Motrin, and you’ll be fine.” Really?!?! Do you know how much pain my wife is in?

Janel was able to track down some Motrin and take it, but she was questioning whether the midwives weren’t taking an overly conservative approach. About this same time, one of Janel’s close friends who is an ICU nurse read my blog post from last night. Feeling sympathy for our challenging evening she decided to call Janel to check in. Wouldn’t you know Janel’s friend had experienced similar contractions after her third child. Supposedly, they get worse with each child. This was a moment of true grace, as Janel was concerned that something more might be going on. In an hour or so Janel was feeling better, and has been doing fine since.

Yikes. That nearly pushed me over the edge.

On to the resilient kids: If you read yesterday’s blog, you know it was a difficult bedtime last night. Well, the comment of the morning at breakfast came from Joshua. We were talking about Janel and Isaac, and how we miss them when Joshua said most matter-of-factly, “I cried three times last night before bed.” It was like he was so comfortable with the emotions he had. It did not seem traumatic to him this morning. And this was grace to me.

Ok, ok, time for the cautious, cautious optimism. In some ways I hate to even write about it for fear of having to later relay the next downhill trend. Oh well, here’s to hoping…

Last night, the last time Janel called me (after the freakoid contraction had mostly passed) she said she went to check on Isaac. She’d been watching the monitor and knew his blood oxygen saturation (sats, for short) was staying up. When she looked at Isaac, though, she noticed only one prong of his nasal canula was in his nose. It has shifted across his face, leaving one prong in his nose, and the other prong beside his nose. Since his sats were still good, she left it. It stayed that way the whole night, and his sats remained good the whole night. Soooooooo…theoretically, Isaac was getting half as much oxygen as the flow meter indicated, and yet he was doing fine.

This morning when a new nurse started her shift, Janel told her about the night. She wanted to fix the canula (move it so it would stay in both nostrils), but then turned the oxygen flow down 50%. Previously, Isaac was on 1 liter of oxygen. Now he’s on a half liter. He’s been this way all day and we haven’t seen his sats dipping like they have been the past ten days. In addition to this, his breathing rate seems to be coming down as well. Up until recently, he would have times when he would breathe over 100 breaths a minute. We haven’t seen numbers that high for probably 24 hours. This feels like measurable improvement!

Again, I’m hesitant to even write the news. It’s not that I want to keep the good news to myself; I just want it to actually be good news. Every spark of hope we’ve had thus far has led only to more despair. And still, we hope.

I’m at the hospital now while Janel heads back to Princeton to spend the afternoon and evening with Mary and the kids. We think we see light at the end of the tunnel, but we’re still rubbing our eyes just wanting to make sure we’re not hallucinating. Thanks again and again to all who have been praying, commenting, visiting, and loving. Without your care we would have long been pushed over the edge. We love you, too--more than words can express. We’ll keep you posted.