Before that happy Monday, when Scott was found in good enough shape to be air-transported to the Military Hospital in Germany, there also happened a memorable Sunday, where I was asked to bear my testimony at the Sacrament meeting. I wrote it down, so those exact feelings can be relived again and again. This is my spiritual treasure, this is what has become a part of me, this is my answer to Heavenly Father's love and grace. And this is my sincere Merci to the French people and their wonderful beautiful and welcoming country. Sister Wood translated for me. Here goes:
"I have been here only a little over two weeks and I feel like Marseille is my home. In such a short time you genuinely learned about who we are, what our story is, and how you can help us. You acted as if you were my family and it meant the world to me.
During my time in France I had a lot of time to think about God's plan of happiness. Initially I thought that happiness consists of good things of this earth. But how feeble and fragile that happiness is! This life cannot be it, if God wants to make us all equally happy. He prepared for us much much more.
Before we came to this world we shouted with joy about coming to live on Earth. We were eager to proceed with this physical experiment even when were warned that mortal life won't always be butterflies and rainbows. But what we will gain from it - the knowledge, the experience, the strengths, the talents, the love and relationships - will far outweigh our pains and sacrifices. So, of course, no one here on earth deliberately wants bad things happen to them. But somewhere deep inside we know that pressing on and making through the storms of life will be worth it in the end.
My recent trials have helped me see my life in eternal perspective. Mortal life is wonderful and beautiful, but it is so because it contrasts with sorrow and hardships. In other words, opposition is what helps us appreciate and treasure the good.
But what if opposition is so dark and heavy that it eclipses all hope for much wanted miracles. Walking in the shadow of death in the past two months caused me to broaden my understanding of the plan of happiness. God's miracles extend beyond this life. They continue on beyond the veil. Everything that's been started here is to be continued in the eternity.
Ever since Scott suffered from the heat stroke in the Ironman competition, I have witnessed many miracles big and small, often in the midst of incredibly challenging situations and I am humbled and grateful for every one of those miracles. But I've also received the strongest testimony that there is an absolute miracle that has already happened for each and every one of us. This miracle is - Jesus Christ. It's Jesus and his Atonement, His power to conquer death and to provide the way for all humanity to be resurrected and reunited. This was the ultimate truth and hope that saved me during times of my deepest sorrow and despair.
God lives, brothers and sisters! You are the proof of that. You have exercised your faith with me. You have gone out of your way to visit Scott and administer priesthood blessings to him. You kindly gave us rides, fed us your great French food, translated for us, comforted and welcomed us every Sunday with kisses on our cheeks. You are so wonderful! I love you and thank you for everything.
Scott is breathing on his own, he is fully awake, he communicates with us, and he eats! He had some mashed potatoes, soup and apple sauce yesterday. He will be transferred to Germany tomorrow and I will see my children and tell them of all the wonderful things that happened in France this summer.
L'église est vrai. Je vous aime. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen."
Monday, June 25, 2012
30. The American Army Is Here!!
On Monday, August 30, 2011 the historical event took place in the life of the Thompson family and possibly in the history of Hôpital Nord de Marseille. An American Army airplane was sent to medevacuate Scott from France to Germany. It was the day that sometimes I thought of as a pipe dream, something that would never come true. And - boom! - it's finally here!
Instead of planned 10 am, it was past 1 pm when the male nurse triumphantly burst into Scott's room and announced: "Zee American Army is here!" rolling "R's" in his charming French way. What followed next was the scene from the Hollywood movie. U.S. Air Force doctors and nurses with huge bags full of medical equipment wheeled in the stretchers and greeted Scott warmly. It was hard to hold back tears of joy, Scott was finally with his own people. He was carefully handed over by the French doctors, who shared the space with their American colleagues around Scott, giving them the report on patient Thompson's case. He was in good hands this whole time, now he is going to head home, where even walls will help him back to his feet. It was a great finale to Scott's journey to the brink of death and back.
I went out into the hall, hiding tears, stopping before every familiar face in the ICU to thank them for my husband's new life. They were all amazing and great. Miracle workers!
Then it was time for me to say good-bye to Scott. I thought it would only be a short time before I see him again. But it turned out that after 1 week in Landstuhl he would be transferred to the States, while the kids and I would be back in Germany figuring out yet another survival skill - moving oversees all by our smart and capable selves. Waiting for official orders while registering kids to go back to Garmisch school, out-processing while attending soccer games with Dave, packing our unaccompanied baggage while stocking up on German Christmas decor and treats (don't ask me why), and finally cleaning our apartment while having a good-bye party with the sisters from the Munich Ward. It was a busy time in our lives filled with phone calls and Skype conversations, sometimes heated because I am a paranoid wife and tend to bug everyone around this one patient in their care. So, anyways, November 15 is the day when we would finally reunite again as a family.
But the feeling is and will be different in the next two and a half months. Because I knew Scott would be all right with his Mom by his side, who'd fly out to DC to hang out with Scott at the Walter Reed Naval Hospital. He breathes on his own and so he will continue to progress in his amazing recovery. The worst is over.
I kiss Scott good-bye one last time and they load him up on the plane.
I leave the hospital, the drama, the tears and catch a taxi to take me to the airport. Marseille - Munich, please. Time for life to be normal.
Instead of planned 10 am, it was past 1 pm when the male nurse triumphantly burst into Scott's room and announced: "Zee American Army is here!" rolling "R's" in his charming French way. What followed next was the scene from the Hollywood movie. U.S. Air Force doctors and nurses with huge bags full of medical equipment wheeled in the stretchers and greeted Scott warmly. It was hard to hold back tears of joy, Scott was finally with his own people. He was carefully handed over by the French doctors, who shared the space with their American colleagues around Scott, giving them the report on patient Thompson's case. He was in good hands this whole time, now he is going to head home, where even walls will help him back to his feet. It was a great finale to Scott's journey to the brink of death and back.
I went out into the hall, hiding tears, stopping before every familiar face in the ICU to thank them for my husband's new life. They were all amazing and great. Miracle workers!
Then it was time for me to say good-bye to Scott. I thought it would only be a short time before I see him again. But it turned out that after 1 week in Landstuhl he would be transferred to the States, while the kids and I would be back in Germany figuring out yet another survival skill - moving oversees all by our smart and capable selves. Waiting for official orders while registering kids to go back to Garmisch school, out-processing while attending soccer games with Dave, packing our unaccompanied baggage while stocking up on German Christmas decor and treats (don't ask me why), and finally cleaning our apartment while having a good-bye party with the sisters from the Munich Ward. It was a busy time in our lives filled with phone calls and Skype conversations, sometimes heated because I am a paranoid wife and tend to bug everyone around this one patient in their care. So, anyways, November 15 is the day when we would finally reunite again as a family.
But the feeling is and will be different in the next two and a half months. Because I knew Scott would be all right with his Mom by his side, who'd fly out to DC to hang out with Scott at the Walter Reed Naval Hospital. He breathes on his own and so he will continue to progress in his amazing recovery. The worst is over.
I kiss Scott good-bye one last time and they load him up on the plane.
***
I leave the hospital, the drama, the tears and catch a taxi to take me to the airport. Marseille - Munich, please. Time for life to be normal.
29. New Life
Aug 25, 2011 - Thursday
Scott was off the vent for 7 hours! His writing is 90% understandable. I get better at reading his lips.
August 26, 2011 - Friday
All day off the vent. His writing is solid. He also can whisper. He sits on a chair for an hour which wears him out. He feeds himself a whole carton of jello, brushes his teeth. He hates nights. He can't fall asleep. When they give him a sleeping pill, he falls asleep for an hour. Then they come back in, turn on the light, check his vital signs leaving him groggy, uncomfortable and unable to go back to sleep.
We talked to kids on the phone today, it's the twins' second Birthday! They had a great day. In the morning they had a breakfast of birthday chocolate cakes made by Nadia and her friend Maggie Metzger. I wish I was there to see my babies looking at those cakes mesmerized, then poke them, then destroy them! At 5 pm there was a bbq birthday party thrown for Ethan and Levi by our Garmisch community folk. Lots of people, lots of food, lots of presents under one of the many gigantic pine-trees in front of our apartment building. I bet my family felt so special! My friend Lena Volkova (who flew to Garmisch the day before the party to stay with my Mom and help) was so impressed by solidarity and service rendered to our family. So much love! How can I ever thank them fully? They were amazing! Thank you, my Garmisch friends!
Scott was in really good mood today. He had Steve take pictures of his stick legs and arms. They even made a video where Scott said: "This.. is.. what.. Ironman.. does.. to you," in his hyperventilating Darth Vader whisper. Then he shook his head and went: "All that training..." He seemed to start accepting the reality of his new life. I can only imagine how he feels now having lost so much of his strength. But if he is the same Scott I knew before June 26 of 2011, he'll build himself back up. First, mentally and spiritually, then physically.
August 27, 2011 - Saturday
Scott was off the vent the whole day and the night before. He was in a chair when we came in yesterday. He looked exhausted. He said he had a terrible time catching his breath, he was asking for help. The numbers on the screen looked fine, so the nurses did not rush to his rescue. He kept on leaning forward, resting his head on my shoulder and trying to get enough air. My heart ached for him, I could not bear him being so uncomfortable and kept on asking nurses to do something. Namely, hook him back up to the ventilator. It took awhile before nurses could fetch the doctor who would have to give it a go. Doctor explained that Scott was doing incredibly well and this discomfort is due to his weakened chest muscles. But if he wanted a break, they could hook him back on to the machine. So, we asked for a break. As soon as the ventilator was back on, Scott started coughing and choking. His face cringed with pain and discomfort. I panicked: "Is it worse? Do you want it off?" He nodded between his coughing fits and I asked the nurse to stop the ventilation in my most assertive French I could come up with. They turned it off and Scott was relieved. It was intense.
Later, he was transferred to bed (not an easy task for a female nurse, so I stuck around to help) and had a short nap, half of it on his left side (another new trick, 'cause before he could only be on his back.)
He was quiet the rest of the day, staring blankly into his 17 Again movie. Cute show!
At night he became more talkative, mainly demanding. "Rub my feet, I'm cold, Soup too yucky, Lay me dawn flat, Sit me up.... "If only he knew how happy it makes me to hear his commands, accompanied with rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. I told him I loved him soooo much! He said: "Even in my skeletal shape?" I said: "Even more so!"
Scott was off the vent for 7 hours! His writing is 90% understandable. I get better at reading his lips.
August 26, 2011 - Friday
All day off the vent. His writing is solid. He also can whisper. He sits on a chair for an hour which wears him out. He feeds himself a whole carton of jello, brushes his teeth. He hates nights. He can't fall asleep. When they give him a sleeping pill, he falls asleep for an hour. Then they come back in, turn on the light, check his vital signs leaving him groggy, uncomfortable and unable to go back to sleep.
We talked to kids on the phone today, it's the twins' second Birthday! They had a great day. In the morning they had a breakfast of birthday chocolate cakes made by Nadia and her friend Maggie Metzger. I wish I was there to see my babies looking at those cakes mesmerized, then poke them, then destroy them! At 5 pm there was a bbq birthday party thrown for Ethan and Levi by our Garmisch community folk. Lots of people, lots of food, lots of presents under one of the many gigantic pine-trees in front of our apartment building. I bet my family felt so special! My friend Lena Volkova (who flew to Garmisch the day before the party to stay with my Mom and help) was so impressed by solidarity and service rendered to our family. So much love! How can I ever thank them fully? They were amazing! Thank you, my Garmisch friends!
Scott was in really good mood today. He had Steve take pictures of his stick legs and arms. They even made a video where Scott said: "This.. is.. what.. Ironman.. does.. to you," in his hyperventilating Darth Vader whisper. Then he shook his head and went: "All that training..." He seemed to start accepting the reality of his new life. I can only imagine how he feels now having lost so much of his strength. But if he is the same Scott I knew before June 26 of 2011, he'll build himself back up. First, mentally and spiritually, then physically.
August 27, 2011 - Saturday
Scott was off the vent the whole day and the night before. He was in a chair when we came in yesterday. He looked exhausted. He said he had a terrible time catching his breath, he was asking for help. The numbers on the screen looked fine, so the nurses did not rush to his rescue. He kept on leaning forward, resting his head on my shoulder and trying to get enough air. My heart ached for him, I could not bear him being so uncomfortable and kept on asking nurses to do something. Namely, hook him back up to the ventilator. It took awhile before nurses could fetch the doctor who would have to give it a go. Doctor explained that Scott was doing incredibly well and this discomfort is due to his weakened chest muscles. But if he wanted a break, they could hook him back on to the machine. So, we asked for a break. As soon as the ventilator was back on, Scott started coughing and choking. His face cringed with pain and discomfort. I panicked: "Is it worse? Do you want it off?" He nodded between his coughing fits and I asked the nurse to stop the ventilation in my most assertive French I could come up with. They turned it off and Scott was relieved. It was intense.
Later, he was transferred to bed (not an easy task for a female nurse, so I stuck around to help) and had a short nap, half of it on his left side (another new trick, 'cause before he could only be on his back.)
He was quiet the rest of the day, staring blankly into his 17 Again movie. Cute show!
At night he became more talkative, mainly demanding. "Rub my feet, I'm cold, Soup too yucky, Lay me dawn flat, Sit me up.... "If only he knew how happy it makes me to hear his commands, accompanied with rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. I told him I loved him soooo much! He said: "Even in my skeletal shape?" I said: "Even more so!"
28. Slow And Steady Wins the Race
Aug 21, 2011 - Sunday
8 weeks on life support today. Scottie is doing better every day. They've stopped all sedation today. He's been awake since Wednesday but they've been "weaning" him off of his drugs gradually. On Thursday they performed a tracheostomy on Scott - a hole in his trachea (at the base of his neck) through which he would be attached to the ventilator. It's a transitional phase for patients ready to be weaned off the vent. No more big and uncomfortable tube down his throat. There is only a skinny feeding tube in his mouth right now.
He is coming back slowly and it is hard to see him so weak. His eyes sometimes stare helplessly and submissively like the eyes of a child who realizes his dependency on others.
His ventilated O2 is 36. Blood O2 is at 96. 37 breaths per minute. Temperature is 37.7 C. There are two drugs for high blood pressure in the dispenser and one syringe with saline water.
He doses on and off, I think sometimes he is dreaming with his eyes half-open. I bought him a portable DVD player with several light-hearted movies. For a movie lover like Scott, he is acting very atypical, more like me when watching a movie, falling asleep 15 minutes into it. But that's ok.
He lost tons of weight. The nurse says probably close to 60 pounds or so. There is no visible muscle left on his arms and legs. It takes a lot of effort for him to squeeze my hand and move his toes. My poor Scottie. But as long as you are recovering this does not matter. We'll fatten you up and get you back on your feet.
Tom has left Marseille yesterday. He also returned the rental car and now we are carless for a day until we make it to the airport and rent us one on Monday. This morning Steve and I took took a cab to go to Church. It was an expensive ride - 60 euro!
Aug 22, 2011 - Monday
This week they started weaning Scott off of breathing machine. Today he spent one whole hour breathing on his own with his trache disconnected and closed in.
Aug 23, 2011 - Tuesday
2 hours off the vent.
Aug 24, 2011 - Thursday
Scott was off the vent for 4 hours straight today. He started using a board and a marker to communicate with us. It's hard to read (but even harder for Scott to write) because his hand is trembling and many times it's unreadable. But with persistence on both sides we get our thoughts across. His first writing was: "Get really lonely." I hugged and kissed him many many times. I just wanted to hold him and make him feel loved. But before he wrote that, his lips said: "Where have you been?"That's the hard thing about being more and more awake, poor guy. Just imagine being in the foreign hospital and in the broken body that cannot always cooperate.
Then Scott wanted something we could not understand, he attempted to say it with his lips, he tried to write it, he even drew a picture of it.. I thought it looked like a bed, but finally we could decode the word "iPod" on the board. I gave him his phone and he tried to use it as a notepad. But those keys were too small for his trembling fingers, so we ditched that idea.
He kept on practicing his old-fashioned way of writing all day today. "I need to fix my bike!" "Call Grad school!" "I have to pee."....
He ate some jello.
8 weeks on life support today. Scottie is doing better every day. They've stopped all sedation today. He's been awake since Wednesday but they've been "weaning" him off of his drugs gradually. On Thursday they performed a tracheostomy on Scott - a hole in his trachea (at the base of his neck) through which he would be attached to the ventilator. It's a transitional phase for patients ready to be weaned off the vent. No more big and uncomfortable tube down his throat. There is only a skinny feeding tube in his mouth right now.
He is coming back slowly and it is hard to see him so weak. His eyes sometimes stare helplessly and submissively like the eyes of a child who realizes his dependency on others.
His ventilated O2 is 36. Blood O2 is at 96. 37 breaths per minute. Temperature is 37.7 C. There are two drugs for high blood pressure in the dispenser and one syringe with saline water.
He doses on and off, I think sometimes he is dreaming with his eyes half-open. I bought him a portable DVD player with several light-hearted movies. For a movie lover like Scott, he is acting very atypical, more like me when watching a movie, falling asleep 15 minutes into it. But that's ok.
He lost tons of weight. The nurse says probably close to 60 pounds or so. There is no visible muscle left on his arms and legs. It takes a lot of effort for him to squeeze my hand and move his toes. My poor Scottie. But as long as you are recovering this does not matter. We'll fatten you up and get you back on your feet.
Tom has left Marseille yesterday. He also returned the rental car and now we are carless for a day until we make it to the airport and rent us one on Monday. This morning Steve and I took took a cab to go to Church. It was an expensive ride - 60 euro!
Aug 22, 2011 - Monday
This week they started weaning Scott off of breathing machine. Today he spent one whole hour breathing on his own with his trache disconnected and closed in.
Aug 23, 2011 - Tuesday
2 hours off the vent.
Aug 24, 2011 - Thursday
Scott was off the vent for 4 hours straight today. He started using a board and a marker to communicate with us. It's hard to read (but even harder for Scott to write) because his hand is trembling and many times it's unreadable. But with persistence on both sides we get our thoughts across. His first writing was: "Get really lonely." I hugged and kissed him many many times. I just wanted to hold him and make him feel loved. But before he wrote that, his lips said: "Where have you been?"That's the hard thing about being more and more awake, poor guy. Just imagine being in the foreign hospital and in the broken body that cannot always cooperate.
Then Scott wanted something we could not understand, he attempted to say it with his lips, he tried to write it, he even drew a picture of it.. I thought it looked like a bed, but finally we could decode the word "iPod" on the board. I gave him his phone and he tried to use it as a notepad. But those keys were too small for his trembling fingers, so we ditched that idea.
He kept on practicing his old-fashioned way of writing all day today. "I need to fix my bike!" "Call Grad school!" "I have to pee."....
He ate some jello.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
27. Little Blessings
August 17, 2011 - Wednesday
I have to describe the experiences we had yesterday. Steve and I were visiting Scott when we saw Tom Butler right outside the room motioning us out. (Did I mention Scott was awake and recognized us ok?) Tom said that the doctor is there to talk to us. This time the doc was the same young girl we saw Saturday and we knew she spoke no English. As we come out of the room waving to Scott and reassuring him that we will soon return, Steve starts to dial Karen's number, so we can maybe put her on a speaker phone and have her translate for us. But his two calls failed. So, as we step out of the ICU, puzzled at how we are going to communicate, the door opposite from the ICU opens and there are two missionaries standing before us. Like the angels, much needed at the very right moment. One of them was from Utah, another - from Oregon, they spoke French and were at our service. All five of us proceeded into the doctor's office for a very good update. The thing is, Scott is getting better and better.
There were also sister missionaries waiting for us in the waiting room: sister Vasileva from Bulgaria and sister Wood from Utah. They brought me some old issues of Ensign, just the thing for my long stays at the hospital. They visited with me in the waiting room while Steven and the missionaries went in to give Scott a blessing.
The lady who brought the elders and the sisters was Aline Gregory, I remembered her from Church. She used to work as a clinical psychologist in that hospital and knew Dr. Papazian. She felt prompted to come to the hospital that day and pick up the missionaries on her way. And that's how this little miracle took place. If we let it happen, God governs us in such a way that our roads cross each other's at the right time and at the right place, bringing blessings.
About an hour into my second visit with Scott, a nurse said that there were more people to see us but she did not know who they were, so she wanted me to come out and see for myself. In the waiting area a beautiful French woman approached me, two teenage girls by her side. They introduced themselves in broken English. Turns out they are also from the Marseille Ward and heard about us this past Sunday. She said that they've been praying for us and that they LOVE OUR FAMILY! One of her pretty daughters handed me a tray with chocolate muffins and they tried to ask me what else I needed. I thanked and hugged them, touched by such attention and love. They love us! They don't even know us but they LOVE us! This means so much to me in a foreign country in difficult circumstances. Later that week we had a lovely dinner with this family. Their name is De Angeli. Muriel and Jean-Francoise have four children (Emma, Faustine, Benjamin et Ludivine.)
The Love of God, the most desirable gift of all, has reached us all the way in Marseille. What a testimony builder!
I have to describe the experiences we had yesterday. Steve and I were visiting Scott when we saw Tom Butler right outside the room motioning us out. (Did I mention Scott was awake and recognized us ok?) Tom said that the doctor is there to talk to us. This time the doc was the same young girl we saw Saturday and we knew she spoke no English. As we come out of the room waving to Scott and reassuring him that we will soon return, Steve starts to dial Karen's number, so we can maybe put her on a speaker phone and have her translate for us. But his two calls failed. So, as we step out of the ICU, puzzled at how we are going to communicate, the door opposite from the ICU opens and there are two missionaries standing before us. Like the angels, much needed at the very right moment. One of them was from Utah, another - from Oregon, they spoke French and were at our service. All five of us proceeded into the doctor's office for a very good update. The thing is, Scott is getting better and better.
There were also sister missionaries waiting for us in the waiting room: sister Vasileva from Bulgaria and sister Wood from Utah. They brought me some old issues of Ensign, just the thing for my long stays at the hospital. They visited with me in the waiting room while Steven and the missionaries went in to give Scott a blessing.
The lady who brought the elders and the sisters was Aline Gregory, I remembered her from Church. She used to work as a clinical psychologist in that hospital and knew Dr. Papazian. She felt prompted to come to the hospital that day and pick up the missionaries on her way. And that's how this little miracle took place. If we let it happen, God governs us in such a way that our roads cross each other's at the right time and at the right place, bringing blessings.
About an hour into my second visit with Scott, a nurse said that there were more people to see us but she did not know who they were, so she wanted me to come out and see for myself. In the waiting area a beautiful French woman approached me, two teenage girls by her side. They introduced themselves in broken English. Turns out they are also from the Marseille Ward and heard about us this past Sunday. She said that they've been praying for us and that they LOVE OUR FAMILY! One of her pretty daughters handed me a tray with chocolate muffins and they tried to ask me what else I needed. I thanked and hugged them, touched by such attention and love. They love us! They don't even know us but they LOVE us! This means so much to me in a foreign country in difficult circumstances. Later that week we had a lovely dinner with this family. Their name is De Angeli. Muriel and Jean-Francoise have four children (Emma, Faustine, Benjamin et Ludivine.)
The Love of God, the most desirable gift of all, has reached us all the way in Marseille. What a testimony builder!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
26. Just Sayin'
A few words about the Church in Marseille. It's located in a beautiful historic center of the city, right on the seashore. Same beautiful, dark complexion French people, smiles and kissed on cheeks... All the members of the bishopric spoke great English. We accepted an invitation from Brother Conte to come for dinner after Church.
Church is such a blessing for a stranger in a foreign land like myself. When I am there, I cannot ever doubt God's love. It is bliss amidst terror. Feasting upon His wonderful gifts of love is the sure way to conquer pain. The constant reminder that if there is place for hope, there is no place for fear.
Last night when planning our trip to Church, Steve invited Tom Butler to come along. He is Catholic and normally attends 1-hour long services at the Garmisch Chapel. He politely refused.
"No?" went Stephen, "You don't want to go to 3 hours of Church in French?" :o)
Aug, 15, 2011 - Monday
Scottie is right here by my side. He opened his eyes today and gave me this innocent blank stare. They started waking him up today. His artificial O2 is 35 today. His blood O2 was 94 in the morning, but 98 now. That's great! He still runs a fever - 38.3 C.
Not much going on in my life other than hospital visits. We can visit Scott from 12:30 to 20:30. It's hard to do it in one shot. So, I took a long break today, from 15:00 to 16:30. I can't believe how I crashed into a deep nap on a metal bench in the foyer. This hospital is not visitor friendly either. But I don't care about that, as long as they take good care of Scott.
Yesterday Stephen and I got lucky to talk to Dr.-Professor Papazian. He is the head guy of this ICU department. He spoke great English and was very patient with us. What struck me the most was that he looked like he's been badly burned. His face has patches of different color skin, no eyebrows, his right hand has only stubs in place of his fingers. This is someone who has been through terrible experience in his life. But his world did not crumble down on him. He chose to come out of his own tragedy and keep on going saving other people's lives. This kind of character evokes great emotion and respect in me.
There is also one male nurse here who speaks great English and understands that my hardship partly stems up from not knowing French. So, he speaks to us, whenever he stops by, explaining things which helps incredibly. He said that Scott is a true miracle. He had not seen anyone that sick to start improving so suddenly and positively. He believes that the reason behind it is the fact that Scott's lungs were absolutely clean and healthy before the accident. He never smoked and that alone is thousand times better than any medicine ever invented. Sometimes he sees an x-ray image of a 25-year-old smoker's lungs and it looks as if that person is 95 years old. So sad.
Stop smoking, people!!
Church is such a blessing for a stranger in a foreign land like myself. When I am there, I cannot ever doubt God's love. It is bliss amidst terror. Feasting upon His wonderful gifts of love is the sure way to conquer pain. The constant reminder that if there is place for hope, there is no place for fear.
Last night when planning our trip to Church, Steve invited Tom Butler to come along. He is Catholic and normally attends 1-hour long services at the Garmisch Chapel. He politely refused.
"No?" went Stephen, "You don't want to go to 3 hours of Church in French?" :o)
Aug, 15, 2011 - Monday
Scottie is right here by my side. He opened his eyes today and gave me this innocent blank stare. They started waking him up today. His artificial O2 is 35 today. His blood O2 was 94 in the morning, but 98 now. That's great! He still runs a fever - 38.3 C.
Not much going on in my life other than hospital visits. We can visit Scott from 12:30 to 20:30. It's hard to do it in one shot. So, I took a long break today, from 15:00 to 16:30. I can't believe how I crashed into a deep nap on a metal bench in the foyer. This hospital is not visitor friendly either. But I don't care about that, as long as they take good care of Scott.
Yesterday Stephen and I got lucky to talk to Dr.-Professor Papazian. He is the head guy of this ICU department. He spoke great English and was very patient with us. What struck me the most was that he looked like he's been badly burned. His face has patches of different color skin, no eyebrows, his right hand has only stubs in place of his fingers. This is someone who has been through terrible experience in his life. But his world did not crumble down on him. He chose to come out of his own tragedy and keep on going saving other people's lives. This kind of character evokes great emotion and respect in me.
There is also one male nurse here who speaks great English and understands that my hardship partly stems up from not knowing French. So, he speaks to us, whenever he stops by, explaining things which helps incredibly. He said that Scott is a true miracle. He had not seen anyone that sick to start improving so suddenly and positively. He believes that the reason behind it is the fact that Scott's lungs were absolutely clean and healthy before the accident. He never smoked and that alone is thousand times better than any medicine ever invented. Sometimes he sees an x-ray image of a 25-year-old smoker's lungs and it looks as if that person is 95 years old. So sad.
Stop smoking, people!!
Thursday, June 21, 2012
25. I Can't Believe...
August 14, 2011 - Sunday
I arrived yesterday to see my Scottie. His boss, Tom Butler, came with me. I have to mention that the Army took a very proactive role in our hardship and paid my way to Marseille as well as my stay in the hotel. My brother in law, Stephen, flew from Texas to Marseille the same day as we did.
It's a good thing Tom came with us. He rented a european car, which means a manual shift vehicle, which I am incapable of operating. And we need a car here, cause things are spread out in Marseille. It's nothing like slick and charming Nice where everything is conveniently laid out for tourists.
The first stop is the Hôpital Nord. We finally find our way through the empty and depressing corridors of a Soviet-era type construction with crumbling curbs and occasionally broken windows, and finally enter into the Above and Beyond of modern technology. The ICU specializing in serious respiratory infections, lung transplants and critical conditions is akin to a Startrek ship. It's all sliding doors, no-touch sensors, beeping coming from at least a hundred flat screens covering the walls. All the rooms are designated for just one patient and there are only two patients assigned for each nurse. There are total of about 20 rooms going along the perimeter of the ICU with nurses' station in the middle.
My heart beats so fast I am about to pass out. We sterilize our hands and put the blue tissue disposable hospital gowns to cover our germy clothes. I think, I see Scott as we approach to his number 14 glass room. Wait, I can't believe it's him! This is nothing like him!! He is propped up in sitting position, tubes are attached to him, the ventilator is blowing air into him which causes his upper body to shudder. He looks thin, pale, and lifeless, with lots of hair on his head and sideburns. His eyes are closed with awfully dark purple circles around them. I cannot believe how different he looks now from only 10 days ago. Not only different, he looks worse, he looks more sick, AND he still runs a 39 C fever (102.2 F)! How is that possible?! I thought he was getting better! My feet could not hold me any more. Nobody spoke English, menacing silence was interrupted by beeps and blows of the machines. I had to come out right quick and crushed on the floor right in front of the nurses' station bowling, unable to comprehend what's happening. I needed a minute to get used to this new reality. I could not wait to know more, but at the same time I was terrified of that knowledge.
A nurse brought me a chair. Soon after we were invited to visit with the doctor. Thank heaven, Fred and Karen came from Nice, specifically to comfort me and to translate. How sweet of them! We followed the young lady doctor into the meeting room. She gave us an update in French. Karen translated.
Doctor: "He is better."
Me: "But he looks so sick and weak!"
Doctor: "He really was much much worse just a couple of days ago!"
Me: "Why is he running a fever?"
Doctor: "He's been through a lot and his body is fighting to recover but there is no infection detected in his body."
Me (thinking that I've heard this before and can't really be comforted by this): "But what if infection returns?"
Doctor: "We have drugs to fight it. But his numbers are really better. He is down to O2 - 36 on his ventilator, it's a very good sign."
Basically, I've heard similar reports before and I had a choice: to believe that he really is improving or to deny it and to hold on to my fears. Of course, I chose to believe. I even ate pain au chocolate (chocolate pastry) that Karen brought for me. It was my little quiet celebration with God acknowledging his generosity and love amid my suffering.
I went back in to see Scott in his room. At a second glance, he does not look THAT bad. He looks like he has lost lots of weight, but so have I. He is in serious need of a hair cut, his Elvis style thick black hairline is what makes him look so much smaller. I hold his warm white hand and I feel his pulse, stubbornly indicating that his life still goes on.
I looked around Scott's room. It was big and bright with many equipment machines behind Scott's bed. Oh, one little detail, they've disconnected Scott from the ECMO machine the day before, so no strong images for my bruised senses. What is most notable about this hospital room - is the window, through which sunlight and blue skylight are beaming with hope. This was a pleasant change from dark and gloomy Nice ICU.
When the day was over Tom, Stephen and I said good-bye to the Lafittes (they had to drive back to Nice that same night) and went to find our hotel. Royanna booked us 3 rooms in a nice Comfort Inn in the suburbs of Marseille next to a shopping mall and a bunch of restaurants. We ate at the American-style diner that night. That was the end of my Day 1 in French Provence.
I can't believe, that after I have read Julia Child's biography and have dreamed of visiting Marseille where she lived, I am actually here. God moves in mysterious ways. Be careful what you wish for!
I arrived yesterday to see my Scottie. His boss, Tom Butler, came with me. I have to mention that the Army took a very proactive role in our hardship and paid my way to Marseille as well as my stay in the hotel. My brother in law, Stephen, flew from Texas to Marseille the same day as we did.
It's a good thing Tom came with us. He rented a european car, which means a manual shift vehicle, which I am incapable of operating. And we need a car here, cause things are spread out in Marseille. It's nothing like slick and charming Nice where everything is conveniently laid out for tourists.
The first stop is the Hôpital Nord. We finally find our way through the empty and depressing corridors of a Soviet-era type construction with crumbling curbs and occasionally broken windows, and finally enter into the Above and Beyond of modern technology. The ICU specializing in serious respiratory infections, lung transplants and critical conditions is akin to a Startrek ship. It's all sliding doors, no-touch sensors, beeping coming from at least a hundred flat screens covering the walls. All the rooms are designated for just one patient and there are only two patients assigned for each nurse. There are total of about 20 rooms going along the perimeter of the ICU with nurses' station in the middle.
My heart beats so fast I am about to pass out. We sterilize our hands and put the blue tissue disposable hospital gowns to cover our germy clothes. I think, I see Scott as we approach to his number 14 glass room. Wait, I can't believe it's him! This is nothing like him!! He is propped up in sitting position, tubes are attached to him, the ventilator is blowing air into him which causes his upper body to shudder. He looks thin, pale, and lifeless, with lots of hair on his head and sideburns. His eyes are closed with awfully dark purple circles around them. I cannot believe how different he looks now from only 10 days ago. Not only different, he looks worse, he looks more sick, AND he still runs a 39 C fever (102.2 F)! How is that possible?! I thought he was getting better! My feet could not hold me any more. Nobody spoke English, menacing silence was interrupted by beeps and blows of the machines. I had to come out right quick and crushed on the floor right in front of the nurses' station bowling, unable to comprehend what's happening. I needed a minute to get used to this new reality. I could not wait to know more, but at the same time I was terrified of that knowledge.
A nurse brought me a chair. Soon after we were invited to visit with the doctor. Thank heaven, Fred and Karen came from Nice, specifically to comfort me and to translate. How sweet of them! We followed the young lady doctor into the meeting room. She gave us an update in French. Karen translated.
Doctor: "He is better."
Me: "But he looks so sick and weak!"
Doctor: "He really was much much worse just a couple of days ago!"
Me: "Why is he running a fever?"
Doctor: "He's been through a lot and his body is fighting to recover but there is no infection detected in his body."
Me (thinking that I've heard this before and can't really be comforted by this): "But what if infection returns?"
Doctor: "We have drugs to fight it. But his numbers are really better. He is down to O2 - 36 on his ventilator, it's a very good sign."
Basically, I've heard similar reports before and I had a choice: to believe that he really is improving or to deny it and to hold on to my fears. Of course, I chose to believe. I even ate pain au chocolate (chocolate pastry) that Karen brought for me. It was my little quiet celebration with God acknowledging his generosity and love amid my suffering.
I went back in to see Scott in his room. At a second glance, he does not look THAT bad. He looks like he has lost lots of weight, but so have I. He is in serious need of a hair cut, his Elvis style thick black hairline is what makes him look so much smaller. I hold his warm white hand and I feel his pulse, stubbornly indicating that his life still goes on.
I looked around Scott's room. It was big and bright with many equipment machines behind Scott's bed. Oh, one little detail, they've disconnected Scott from the ECMO machine the day before, so no strong images for my bruised senses. What is most notable about this hospital room - is the window, through which sunlight and blue skylight are beaming with hope. This was a pleasant change from dark and gloomy Nice ICU.
When the day was over Tom, Stephen and I said good-bye to the Lafittes (they had to drive back to Nice that same night) and went to find our hotel. Royanna booked us 3 rooms in a nice Comfort Inn in the suburbs of Marseille next to a shopping mall and a bunch of restaurants. We ate at the American-style diner that night. That was the end of my Day 1 in French Provence.
I can't believe, that after I have read Julia Child's biography and have dreamed of visiting Marseille where she lived, I am actually here. God moves in mysterious ways. Be careful what you wish for!
Monday, June 04, 2012
24. Marseille Miracle
After the news of yet another bad Monday reached us, my world stopped turning. Even the silent vacuum of my soul was petrified. If only I could fly to Kolob and see the never-ending purpose of God's creation, if I could be reassured that nothing is lost, when it's passed through the veil, if I could just increase my faith to knowledge, then.... then... Then, there would be no miracles, because everything would be predictable and known to us. God's mystery would cease to be a mystery.
But, I guess, God decided that we've had enough of mysterious complications in the past few weeks and it was time to reveal a piece of truth to help Marseille doctors help Scott to actually stay on this earth. This sharp turn in the flow of our unfortunate events I perceived as a real miracle.
On Monday, Karen and Fred notified Marseille bishopric of the current situation. The next day, Tuesday, Aug 11, the first Counselor of Marseille Ward went and found Scott in the hospital Nord to administer a priesthood blessing to him. When we met later with Cyril Conte in Marseille he said how he felt so much warm love and prayers coming from Scott's family and friends from all over the world that he felt a strong impression that God would bring him back to his feet, so he blessed him for health.
My Tuesday was spent in reconciling with God and asking for peace and understanding. I had no idea, that Marseille saints were already serving my husband. Being there on his own, he for sure needed that blessing. And I needed to know that if he dies there, he would not be utterly alone.
An interesting update on Wednesday. During the routine check on Scott, which took place after the blessing, his pupils appeared to be enlarged. Normally, it's not a good sign, so they ran a CAT scan of his brain to check if it's still alive. His brain appeared to be ok. But while at that, they went ahead and scanned his whole body, looking closely at his lungs. They saw something they did not see before. They saw a lot of scar tissue that was blocking the alveoli, hindering the process of gas exchange. What's more, the scar tissue accumulated on lungs is often seen in patients suffering from cystic fibrosis. And there is a drug for that! Since Scott's case was not connected to cystic fibrosis, they haven't considered using that drug before. But now they decided to give it a try.
The next day we received a call from Karen saying that the new medicine seemed to be working and they were able to lower Scott's artificial O2 down to 40%. I must remind you that maximum of 100% was used when he was transferred to Marseille.
I felt like celebrating. Cautiously. The weather, too, finally decided to grace us with warmth and sunshine. Friday all 7 of us (kids, mom, Anya, and I) went out to downtown Garmisch, ate at the Burger King (kids' choice) and enjoyed gelato in each other's company. The kids were kids, happy and resilient. Mom, Anya and I, after praying and fasting for days felt less burdened by our trials and by our excessive weight. Light was finally overcoming darkness. We were afraid to believe our eyes. Because things have gone wrong so many times before.
The beauty of a miracle is that even when you are not physically present, you can feel it so strongly. You are afraid to call it that, but you know it's happening. Tomorrow cannot come quick enough, I have to make sure I'm not dreaming.
But, I guess, God decided that we've had enough of mysterious complications in the past few weeks and it was time to reveal a piece of truth to help Marseille doctors help Scott to actually stay on this earth. This sharp turn in the flow of our unfortunate events I perceived as a real miracle.
On Monday, Karen and Fred notified Marseille bishopric of the current situation. The next day, Tuesday, Aug 11, the first Counselor of Marseille Ward went and found Scott in the hospital Nord to administer a priesthood blessing to him. When we met later with Cyril Conte in Marseille he said how he felt so much warm love and prayers coming from Scott's family and friends from all over the world that he felt a strong impression that God would bring him back to his feet, so he blessed him for health.
My Tuesday was spent in reconciling with God and asking for peace and understanding. I had no idea, that Marseille saints were already serving my husband. Being there on his own, he for sure needed that blessing. And I needed to know that if he dies there, he would not be utterly alone.
An interesting update on Wednesday. During the routine check on Scott, which took place after the blessing, his pupils appeared to be enlarged. Normally, it's not a good sign, so they ran a CAT scan of his brain to check if it's still alive. His brain appeared to be ok. But while at that, they went ahead and scanned his whole body, looking closely at his lungs. They saw something they did not see before. They saw a lot of scar tissue that was blocking the alveoli, hindering the process of gas exchange. What's more, the scar tissue accumulated on lungs is often seen in patients suffering from cystic fibrosis. And there is a drug for that! Since Scott's case was not connected to cystic fibrosis, they haven't considered using that drug before. But now they decided to give it a try.
The next day we received a call from Karen saying that the new medicine seemed to be working and they were able to lower Scott's artificial O2 down to 40%. I must remind you that maximum of 100% was used when he was transferred to Marseille.
I felt like celebrating. Cautiously. The weather, too, finally decided to grace us with warmth and sunshine. Friday all 7 of us (kids, mom, Anya, and I) went out to downtown Garmisch, ate at the Burger King (kids' choice) and enjoyed gelato in each other's company. The kids were kids, happy and resilient. Mom, Anya and I, after praying and fasting for days felt less burdened by our trials and by our excessive weight. Light was finally overcoming darkness. We were afraid to believe our eyes. Because things have gone wrong so many times before.
The beauty of a miracle is that even when you are not physically present, you can feel it so strongly. You are afraid to call it that, but you know it's happening. Tomorrow cannot come quick enough, I have to make sure I'm not dreaming.
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