It’s day 11 in the ICU for Scott. He is still in medically-induced coma and on ventilator, being treated for ARDS. The next day after Steve and Kathy’s arrival we received yet another bad news - ARDS, acute respiratory distress syndrome. In other words respiratory failure, lungs can’t work. The doctors suppose it’s due to aspiration of first, sea water, and later, when he collapsed, he had probably thrown up and breathed that in. It also could be a complication from the critical condition his body was in as a result of the heat stroke. But whatever the cause, it was another dangerous pathology, the one that has no 100% effective cure for it. Still today, with modern machines and medications, ARDS mortality is 40%. It means, that together with other problems, our chances have just gotten slimmer.
Difficulty communicating with French medical personnel and inability to receive answers to many questions boiling up in my head only fuel my dispair. I need to understand what's happening. Some doctors speak decent English, but nurses, for the most part, do not. Doctors are not easy to reach for more than one conversation a day, that's why I've grown especially fond of one nurse for her talent to explain what's going on in perfect English. Her Mom is American and her Dad is French. Her Grandfather is Russian, hence the Russian name - Nadege, which means Hope. Thanks to Nadege, numbers on the monitors are starting to make sense.
When Scott was first diagnosed with ARDS the setting on the ventilator showed 100, which meant that 100% of all possible oxygen was blown into his lungs by the machine. In 4 days this number was lowered to 40. Today, it’s 50. Techically, the lower the ventilator setting is, the better. In the air that we breath, there is 26% of O2, and that's enough for a healthy body to provide its organs with needed oxygen. If we can get Scott down to 30, he will be able to breath on his own.
I kind of thought that patience was one of my virtues. But, no sir, I have never known what patience meant until these days. Nothing can compare with an anguish of my soul, which I have to discipline every hour to hush it down anticipating any signs of improvement. Doctors keep reminding us, that Scott needs time, that there will be good days and not so good days, but we must be patient and hope for the best. I used to ask the doctors: "Do you think he'll live? When do you think he'll get better?" Now I see, how unfair it is to put such responsibility on their shoulders. I now ask them just this: "Do YOU have hope?" And I am thankful that every singe time, despite new issues and set backs, they always nod their heads affirmatively. This is MY daily dose of oxygen.
It's day 11 in the ICU for me next to Scott. Time had stopped, every day is like the one before. Every morning starts the same. I wake up from a scary dream into my nightmarish reality. I fall on my knees next to my bed and pray for strength to live through one more day in my Gethsemane. I read, read, read April General Conference talks and the Scriptures. Nothing else can give me comfort and courage. Even internet is not abound with inspirational stories of people who have survived the similar trauma. I feel that I am all alone with my pain and only God speaks to me:
"Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord." (Psalms 27:14) "We must learn to trust in His love and in His timing rather than in our own sometimes impatient and imperfect desires." (Cecil O. Samuelson Jr.) "I will go before your face. I will be on your right and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88) "My beloved brothers and sisters, fear not. Be of good cheer. The future is as bright as your faith." (Thomas S. Monson)
Having been somewhat cheered up, I go take a shower and put my make-up on. Why? It's my routine, I calm down doing the same thing I did when life used to be normal. Depending on how good was the day before, I either eat or don't eat my breakfast. I can only eat on good days. After that I go to my room and bawl and all my make-up work runs down the cheeks. Then we go to the hospital. Visiting hours are 1pm - 3pm and 6pm - 8pm. First, Scott's Mom and brother take turns to visit with Scott for 10 minutes or so. The rest of the time is mine. The worst is right before I enter the ICU. I tremble, getting ready to be crucified by more bad news. Yet, I am eager to go in and I stay there until they kick me out. I feel the most at peace holding Scott's hand, massaging his legs and arms, bugging doctors and nurses with questions, and reading Harry Potter aloud. It's good that Karen happened to have HP book 5 in English. I don't know if Scott can hear me, but reading HP takes me away from this hospital room and into a happier place where I can catch my breath and turn my attention away from my problems.
July 10, 2011 – Sunday
Big change took place in the past couple of days – Scott woke up!
First time they lowered levels of anesthetic 5 days ago, he didn’t wake up "correctly." He started breathing too fast and became too agitated, which was debilitating for his sick lungs, so they put him back to sleep. He never even opened his eyes. Following this episode, the doctor rushed Scott for an EEG and MRI tests to check his brain. Waiting for the results was yet another torment. What if there is irreparable damage, what if he loses his memory, becomes handicapped or falls into a vegetative state?!
...
The results were normal.
As of yesterday Scott is not only awake, he is responding to us by blinking once for “No” and twice for “Yes.” I am joyous! Doctors don’t appear to be concerned about his brain any more. His liver, too, has made a significant progress; functioning at only 8% at the time of admittance, it has regenerated to 40% by the end of the first week, and to 70% by today. There is no more need for a transplant. I am counting my blessings!
The main concern remains with his kidneys. They are working only at 20% and are needing dialysis. Doctor Olivier's prognosis is that it will probably take 3 weeks for the kidneys to fully restore their function. But the matter of utter importance, of course, is to rid Scott's lungs from the bad bacteria and treacherous ARDS. I hope the pulmonologist today will be able to prescribe Scott an effective antibiotic for his persistent lung infection.
You know, whatever limited understanding of God's ways I have, I never cought myself wondering "Why me?" Why is this happening to me and to my loved ones? Why is there so much sorrow in the world? I figure, cultivating bitter feelings toward God and life is a waste of time. I don't want to remain invalid because God lets life strike us hard. I just want to get up on my feet, get my husband back up and return home to our children. I know God lets bad things happen to people. This much I know, the meaning of life is not in getting ourselves comfortable while smoothly gliding through. It's in facing the adversity straight in the eye and telling to it: "I am not afraid of you, I am not going to run away, or hide away, or give up, I will fight and I'll become stonger."
In theory, it is so, but practising this truth is much more painful. I am awefully hurt and scared, and it even seems that God has forsaken and forgotten all about me in these dark woods. But then, some little miracle happens and testifies that indeed, God is near. He might have thrown me into this abyss, but time and again he lights up my way and flickering hope refuses to die. I just keep on going. Š•motionally wounded, physically drained, my soul is reaching out for God's love and I feel His healing presence like I've never felt before. I am close, I won't run away, I will believe and fight for you, Scottie, my love.
