Wednesday, May 1, 2013
It's The Calm
I talked to Mom today. She seemed in good spirits. When I called she had some visitors that were just leaving. She told me that they were all having a laugh at her expense because she keeps doing "stupid stuff", as she put it. She said she keeps going into the wrong room of the house. She tells stories about people she's talked to and doesn't remember if she was face to face or on the phone with them. She can't type, she can't text, she can't spell. She can't be alone.
She didn't once mention dying. That's an improvement from when she first received the news.
It was nice to hear her laughing. Even if it was at her own expense.
Tomorrow she and Dad have an appointment with a Neurosurgeon. I don't know his name, but I know that they are in the process of making sure they have the right Neurosurgeon before they proceed. They've already seen one, and they didn't feel right. They have a pretty good idea about the one they're seeing tomorrow, so hopefully we will have some more answers after that.
We still don't know what kind of cancer it is, or, as my dad put it, "if this 'thing' has a name". We don't have a prognosis; we are just clinging to hope & faith at this early point in the game.
One thing mom said tonight was how much better she feels after getting so much rest. She has been napping at her leisure, and getting pretty good sleep at night. She feels more clarity than just a few days ago.
As far as Dad is concerned... well, he's just... Dad. Being the rock for her, all the while trying to be the communicator to all of the concerned friends and family. He's juggling a full time job, the normal household duties, phone calls, arrangements, appointments, dates, times, and everything else that's just "day-to-day". I'll tell you what, I don't know how he does it. He is seemingly juggling everything quite well, but asking for help when it gets to be too much.
We are taking things one day at a time. One appointment at a time. One phone call at a time. One moment at a time. It helps no one if we are all so overwhelmed and fall apart. I'm trying to keep the information I have to give at bay, so as not to overload him. I sent him 2 emails and one text today with names of highly recommended Neurosurgeons and Oncologists.
The response I got back?
"I'm starting to feel information overload".
My response?
"Ok".
My bad. Sometimes I get so eager to help, as I guess most people would, that I forget what else he has on his plate.
Once she gets established with a Neurosurgeon, and we set a date for surgery, or whatever comes next, then we can move on to the next task.
This is all new to all of us. We are all just learning how to deal with something of this magnitude. We have no idea what's around the next corner, but even though we don't know what to expect, we'll still be ready to face it. What other choice is there?
I feel this is the calm before the storm. And things are pretty chaotic right now. Anyone who's been through this exact thing knows from their own experience what lies ahead. Of course, every case is different, but the process is similar.
I cannot put into words the meaning of all of the prayers and thoughtful words of support from everyone - at least everyone in my world. I cannot imagine the outpouring in their world. Thank you so much for reading, passing the word along, praying, making meals, calling, checking in... you name it. THANK YOU.
I will hopefully have an update tomorrow with the outcome of their appointment.
Hopefully we can prepare for the next step.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Never Give Up The Fight
Monday April 29, 2013
I would imagine that most, if not all of us have lost someone near and dear to us. Hopefully, this post doesn't end up being about loss, because it's not meant to be. However, at this point in my life I am being faced with the thought of losing someone very near and dear to me.
In the very least, over the course of the next year, or years, I will watch this person endure what is probably going to be the most monumentous battle of her life.
I'm going to take you on this journey from my perspective. I will be as factual as I can with the details. I asked her if I could blog about this... starting now. Of course she said yes. I promised her that I wouldn't reveal anything super personal or anything that she wouldn't want the world to know. But she knows me. She knows that writing for me is better than any bit of paid therapy I can receive. As close as she and I are, she knows that this situation, no matter the outcome, will be very difficult for me, but I will be her rock when she's around. I will fall apart later. And that will show in some of my posts.
Our family just found out on Friday that my step-mom has a baseball sized tumor inside her brain. And it's cancer.
Cancer.
I hate that word.
The mere sound of that word sends my mind into a tailspin.
It's early in the diagnosis. We know it's there. We know it's cancer. We know it's been growing for a long long time. We know she has to have surgery. And chemo. And radiation.
What we don't know is what kind of cancer it is. We also don't know for certain if it's a solid mass or if it "spiders" out, amoungst many other things.
She and my dad have an appointment tomorrow with the Nerosurgeon. Hopefully we will know more then.
From what I've been told, this all started within the last week, maybe two. She was extra-forgetful. She started getting lost in her own home. She made a doctor's appointment for Friday of last week, but called my dad to bring her because she had no idea where her doctor's office is. She's been with her doctor for years.
As soon as she got to her appointment and told her doctor about her symptoms, they were told to go to the ER THAT DAY. So they did. What followed was a series of tests and questions. A MRI and CAT Scan later, they got the news.
She spent one night in the hospital. On Saturday when she got home, she was disoriented and extremely exhausted. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before (or nights before that), and could hardly keep her balance. Talking with her was reminiscent of what I would imagine talking with an Alzheimer's patient would be like. She repeated herself many times - forgot many details of the sentence just before. She couldn't find the seat that she was going to sit on without someone guiding her back. A couple of times, she tried to sit and almost fell on the floor.
She forgot why she was getting up, or what she needed to do.
She felt the need to discuss final arrangements. She is prepared to make them. And we openly talked about some of her wishes. Needless to say, this has been extremely overwhelming news for both her and my dad to digest.
And of course, she is scared beyond belief. I won't begin to speculate what she is scared of, but I would imagine it's what the rest of us would be scared of had we been told that we have two-ish weeks before surgery to hopefully find out what is killing us. Or maybe she feels she has two weeks to say goodbye to everyone she knows & loves. Maybe she is scared to leave my dad alone. Maybe it's not even about the fear of what comes after dying. I know she's not afraid to die. Maybe it's the fear of the battle she is about to face - and what comes after when she survives. Maybe it's the pain she will experience. Maybe it's the thought that she will never be the same person, or she will lose memories of things she loves. Maybe it's all of these things.
I will say this. Mom, if you're reading this, don't be filled with fear.
The first time I heard this poem was from you. You have always taught me about keeping hope and faith alive in the lowest points of my life, when it's sometimes hardest to have hope & faith. Now, it's your turn.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."
The LORD replied:
"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."
GOD is going to carry you through this.
I remember you teaching me about God closing doors in order to open a bigger one. I remember you teaching me about all of the trials you and Dad have been through in life, and the one thing that never waivered was your faith. Never.
We just had a conversation the other day about faith and how important it is to you to take time each day to tap in to your faith. Keep that up. I know it will be hard. But not because you don't want to, but because of the physical toll your battle may take. If you need me to read to you, I will. If you need me to remind you, I will. You are a beautiful, kind and giving person. Never forget that.
Never forget the many lives you have touched. The lives you have saved. The people you have blessed - just by giving of yourself whatever you had to give. Sometimes, it wasn't much, or maybe more than you yourself had, but you gave it anyway.
Never, never, never give up this fight... And I want you to know that if it comes time to give up, you're not giving up. You're not letting anyone down. For once in your life, don't worry about us. We are carrying this load with you, and for you when we can. You are loved. You are cherished. And WE will never give up.
This is not goodbye. We have many years left to enjoy each other. Life events, birthdays, grandkids, great-grandkids. We are going to take this battle one day at a time, one fact at a time, one moment at a time. And we will do it together. As a family. Our family pulls together - the whole family - and we are strong!
Today, I asked her if I could get to writing. She said of course... honestly, I don't think she or my dad know how to even begin telling all of their friends and loved ones. Of course, the family knows, and those that they see on a regular basis. If you are close to them and you are learning of this for the first time, please don't be offended. They are focused on so many details right now, with so little time left to put them all together.
We have begun making meals for them - meals that freeze and can be easily heated. We're thinking RECOVERY. When mom has that surgery, she will be in the hospital for a time. When she gets home, the last thing Dad's going to want to do is cook. Or clean. Just little things like that. We all want a piece of them right now, but without overwhelming, we're just letting them know that we're here. Even if we're sneaking around in the background.
So, if it's not too much to ask, could you send up extra prayers for us? Especially Dianne (Mom, Step-Mom, Grams, Aunt, Cousin, Sister, Wife, Daughter-In-Law). I will be writing regularly throughout this journey. If you know someone who is friends or family of Dianne who isn't connected somehow, please share this blog with them. I will try to be as detailed and factual as possible - read as much or as little as you want. This will also be one of our ways of getting news out to everyone.
And Mom, one more time... Hang tough, and NEVER give up this fight. We're gonna be just fine.
*Ditto*... ;)
I would imagine that most, if not all of us have lost someone near and dear to us. Hopefully, this post doesn't end up being about loss, because it's not meant to be. However, at this point in my life I am being faced with the thought of losing someone very near and dear to me.
In the very least, over the course of the next year, or years, I will watch this person endure what is probably going to be the most monumentous battle of her life.
I'm going to take you on this journey from my perspective. I will be as factual as I can with the details. I asked her if I could blog about this... starting now. Of course she said yes. I promised her that I wouldn't reveal anything super personal or anything that she wouldn't want the world to know. But she knows me. She knows that writing for me is better than any bit of paid therapy I can receive. As close as she and I are, she knows that this situation, no matter the outcome, will be very difficult for me, but I will be her rock when she's around. I will fall apart later. And that will show in some of my posts.
Our family just found out on Friday that my step-mom has a baseball sized tumor inside her brain. And it's cancer.
Cancer.
I hate that word.
The mere sound of that word sends my mind into a tailspin.
It's early in the diagnosis. We know it's there. We know it's cancer. We know it's been growing for a long long time. We know she has to have surgery. And chemo. And radiation.
What we don't know is what kind of cancer it is. We also don't know for certain if it's a solid mass or if it "spiders" out, amoungst many other things.
She and my dad have an appointment tomorrow with the Nerosurgeon. Hopefully we will know more then.
From what I've been told, this all started within the last week, maybe two. She was extra-forgetful. She started getting lost in her own home. She made a doctor's appointment for Friday of last week, but called my dad to bring her because she had no idea where her doctor's office is. She's been with her doctor for years.
As soon as she got to her appointment and told her doctor about her symptoms, they were told to go to the ER THAT DAY. So they did. What followed was a series of tests and questions. A MRI and CAT Scan later, they got the news.
She spent one night in the hospital. On Saturday when she got home, she was disoriented and extremely exhausted. She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before (or nights before that), and could hardly keep her balance. Talking with her was reminiscent of what I would imagine talking with an Alzheimer's patient would be like. She repeated herself many times - forgot many details of the sentence just before. She couldn't find the seat that she was going to sit on without someone guiding her back. A couple of times, she tried to sit and almost fell on the floor.
She forgot why she was getting up, or what she needed to do.
She felt the need to discuss final arrangements. She is prepared to make them. And we openly talked about some of her wishes. Needless to say, this has been extremely overwhelming news for both her and my dad to digest.
And of course, she is scared beyond belief. I won't begin to speculate what she is scared of, but I would imagine it's what the rest of us would be scared of had we been told that we have two-ish weeks before surgery to hopefully find out what is killing us. Or maybe she feels she has two weeks to say goodbye to everyone she knows & loves. Maybe she is scared to leave my dad alone. Maybe it's not even about the fear of what comes after dying. I know she's not afraid to die. Maybe it's the fear of the battle she is about to face - and what comes after when she survives. Maybe it's the pain she will experience. Maybe it's the thought that she will never be the same person, or she will lose memories of things she loves. Maybe it's all of these things.
I will say this. Mom, if you're reading this, don't be filled with fear.
The first time I heard this poem was from you. You have always taught me about keeping hope and faith alive in the lowest points of my life, when it's sometimes hardest to have hope & faith. Now, it's your turn.
One night a
man had a dream. He dreamed
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."
The LORD replied:
"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."
GOD is going to carry you through this.
I remember you teaching me about God closing doors in order to open a bigger one. I remember you teaching me about all of the trials you and Dad have been through in life, and the one thing that never waivered was your faith. Never.
We just had a conversation the other day about faith and how important it is to you to take time each day to tap in to your faith. Keep that up. I know it will be hard. But not because you don't want to, but because of the physical toll your battle may take. If you need me to read to you, I will. If you need me to remind you, I will. You are a beautiful, kind and giving person. Never forget that.
Never forget the many lives you have touched. The lives you have saved. The people you have blessed - just by giving of yourself whatever you had to give. Sometimes, it wasn't much, or maybe more than you yourself had, but you gave it anyway.
Never, never, never give up this fight... And I want you to know that if it comes time to give up, you're not giving up. You're not letting anyone down. For once in your life, don't worry about us. We are carrying this load with you, and for you when we can. You are loved. You are cherished. And WE will never give up.
This is not goodbye. We have many years left to enjoy each other. Life events, birthdays, grandkids, great-grandkids. We are going to take this battle one day at a time, one fact at a time, one moment at a time. And we will do it together. As a family. Our family pulls together - the whole family - and we are strong!
Today, I asked her if I could get to writing. She said of course... honestly, I don't think she or my dad know how to even begin telling all of their friends and loved ones. Of course, the family knows, and those that they see on a regular basis. If you are close to them and you are learning of this for the first time, please don't be offended. They are focused on so many details right now, with so little time left to put them all together.
We have begun making meals for them - meals that freeze and can be easily heated. We're thinking RECOVERY. When mom has that surgery, she will be in the hospital for a time. When she gets home, the last thing Dad's going to want to do is cook. Or clean. Just little things like that. We all want a piece of them right now, but without overwhelming, we're just letting them know that we're here. Even if we're sneaking around in the background.
So, if it's not too much to ask, could you send up extra prayers for us? Especially Dianne (Mom, Step-Mom, Grams, Aunt, Cousin, Sister, Wife, Daughter-In-Law). I will be writing regularly throughout this journey. If you know someone who is friends or family of Dianne who isn't connected somehow, please share this blog with them. I will try to be as detailed and factual as possible - read as much or as little as you want. This will also be one of our ways of getting news out to everyone.
And Mom, one more time... Hang tough, and NEVER give up this fight. We're gonna be just fine.
*Ditto*... ;)
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Ava Update 3-13-13
I was going to update my Facebook status again, but I haven't written in a LOOOOONG time, and I'm sitting here at the hospital, just Ava and me, and I was smart enough to bring a laptop so I didn't have to update on my tiny iPhone... Plus, I've had the serious urge to write.
No More IV! THIS miraculous event happened on accident... her IV blew out again, and instead of putting her through the trauma of trying to find a good vein, we asked the Powers That Be if we could do medication orally from now on and behold! They said YES! One less point of misery for my baby, and one small step closer to going home! After the trauma of last night and blowing out three veins while trying to find a good one, this is MUCH welcomed news!
Big sister Hannah came up to see Ava today and that did both girls good. Ava sure did cry when she left though. They have missed each other, and Hannah has been a little confused as well with everything going on.
Still no lab results - either from the blood or the biopsy they took. We were told that since she started receiving antibiotics so soon in the ER, the blood and tissue samples would already have been tainted by those antibiotics. Each day that goes by without an answer is hard - and fills the future with a bit of fear that this may happen again. But with faith, we try to cling to the chance that this was a freak thing.
She is SO crabby! And it's hard to see her so crabby, when I know that any other time she is awake, she is FULL of joy. She goes from yelling at people to move out of her way because she can't see the TV, to telling us all to stop talking because she can't hear her movie (Tangled - for the 15th time today), to telling whoever is closest that they have stinky breath. I made the monumental mistake of asking her ever so nicely to try to be a little nicer to people, and that just made her cry! She can't help it... she's grumpy! She's been through so much in the last 3 days! Immediately after one of her lash-outs, she either falls asleep or has one of her many-a-day meltdowns about wanting to go home. She misses home. My heart aches for her. Aches. Literally. Watching in pure helplessness as my baby girl is poked and prodded, she doesn't feel good, she doesn't understand, and she can't go home. It's torture for me... and worse for her.
I haven't been alone with her yet... which is good I guess - we are blessed to be surrounded by so many friends and family. But I want to be alone with her. I want to feel like her Mommy. Tonight is my night to stay overnight at the hospital. The rest of the week has been split up between her daddy, her Bumpa (overnights) and the visitors we've had during the day. I am truly in awe by how Matt's and my friends and families have come together to not only be here for Ava, but also for Hannah. Hannah's 7th birthday was yesterday. I stayed home that morning, made her favorite - birthday pancakes, and drove her to school. I spent the rest of the day and evening at the hospital. Hannah got to go to her BFF's house for a sleepover - ON A SCHOOL NIGHT - and they made her a birthday cake and the girls stayed up late just being girls. It was the distraction that she needed. But today as she got off the bus after school, she was crying. Her Grams picked her up at the bus stop, and she was confused about which bus she was riding and which stop she was getting off. She hadn't seen her Dad since Monday morning, and me since Tuesday morning, and she obviously knew her baby sister was in the hospital. So, this has taken a toll on Hannah as well.
I promised pictures...
At this point, the Pediatric Orthopedic Surgeon had decided not to wait for the antibiotics to make an effect and they pretty much rushed her to surgery.
After her surgery, Matt and I went in to see her post-op. We were told under no uncertain terms that she almost didn't make it. Not because of the surgery itself, or any complications from her infection, but because her asthma flared up and they couldn't get her breathing under control.
Today, she had her second surgery to explore the tissue and muscle that was infected. They didn't promise that they could stitch her up, just that they were going to take a look and hopefully find improvement. While waiting for the anesthesiologist, we were told additional details about her first surgery and the complications she had while coming out of anesthesia. We had forgotten that she drank a slushy about an hour before her surgery. It was doctor ordered... we didn't anticipate surgery at that point and didn't see a thing wrong with it. When she was taken back for surgery it was, we were also later told, a "life or limb" situation, so VERY much an emergency. Well, while being extubated, she threw up, but aspirated (breathed in her vomit) and it got in her lungs. Thus, causing her to go into major trauma. They almost couldn't get her back from that.
It was another 24 hours before we saw any kind of a smile. It was the balloons and stuffed animals that did it.
And this was the difference between day 2 and today (day 3) after surgery:
This was Ava straight out of her second surgery - before she even returned to her room. WHAT A DIFFERENCE!!
So, today we are doing much better! She's eating, she's drinking, she's talking and interacting, she's bossy, she's REALLY crabby and a little mean (an understatement, but wouldn't you be? I know I would), and every minute that goes by I start to see a little glimpse of my Ava Gracie... My sweet, sweet Ava Gracie. She hasn't been bathed since Sunday (she won't let anyone near her with a sponge or water), the rat's nest (another understatement) of hair she has on her head makes me wonder if we'll have to shave it before we ever get it straight again... but I'll take it. I'll take it all. I am thankful for the scars on her leg that will always remind us of this week (they're very minimal - we had a very talented surgeon), I'm thankful for the hours I'll spend untangling her hair, I'm thankful for the make-up tooth brushings we'll have to do, and the extra long bath she'll take when she can. I'm thankful for the grumpiness and the yelling and impatience. I would give anything, DO anything for either one of my kids. And getting through it would make us all stronger and that much more able to handle life as it comes.
I am so thankful for the outpouring of support, love, prayers, gifts for Ava, offers to help with the kids, bringing me or any family member a hot meal, help with Hannah - you name it, it's been offered. Words cannot express our gratitude and humility toward everyone that has offered to help. It's humbling... to say the least.
I barely proofread this, I just wanted to get it out. It feels so good to write again - unfortunately it took this trauma for me to make the time. I apologize for the misspellings and jumping from day to day, and situation to situation - it's not my norm, but I'm deliriously tired, and don't really care. You guys are smart and you can put 2 and 2 together to get the picture! I basically wanted to get more details out - since this is so bizarre, yet intriguing.
Thank you again for your continued prayers. We aren't out of the woods yet, but I'm hoping the trail is getting more clear. She's a fighter - and so are we. And we have the power of prayer on our side. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Till next time...
No More IV! THIS miraculous event happened on accident... her IV blew out again, and instead of putting her through the trauma of trying to find a good vein, we asked the Powers That Be if we could do medication orally from now on and behold! They said YES! One less point of misery for my baby, and one small step closer to going home! After the trauma of last night and blowing out three veins while trying to find a good one, this is MUCH welcomed news!
Big sister Hannah came up to see Ava today and that did both girls good. Ava sure did cry when she left though. They have missed each other, and Hannah has been a little confused as well with everything going on.
Still no lab results - either from the blood or the biopsy they took. We were told that since she started receiving antibiotics so soon in the ER, the blood and tissue samples would already have been tainted by those antibiotics. Each day that goes by without an answer is hard - and fills the future with a bit of fear that this may happen again. But with faith, we try to cling to the chance that this was a freak thing.
She is SO crabby! And it's hard to see her so crabby, when I know that any other time she is awake, she is FULL of joy. She goes from yelling at people to move out of her way because she can't see the TV, to telling us all to stop talking because she can't hear her movie (Tangled - for the 15th time today), to telling whoever is closest that they have stinky breath. I made the monumental mistake of asking her ever so nicely to try to be a little nicer to people, and that just made her cry! She can't help it... she's grumpy! She's been through so much in the last 3 days! Immediately after one of her lash-outs, she either falls asleep or has one of her many-a-day meltdowns about wanting to go home. She misses home. My heart aches for her. Aches. Literally. Watching in pure helplessness as my baby girl is poked and prodded, she doesn't feel good, she doesn't understand, and she can't go home. It's torture for me... and worse for her.
I haven't been alone with her yet... which is good I guess - we are blessed to be surrounded by so many friends and family. But I want to be alone with her. I want to feel like her Mommy. Tonight is my night to stay overnight at the hospital. The rest of the week has been split up between her daddy, her Bumpa (overnights) and the visitors we've had during the day. I am truly in awe by how Matt's and my friends and families have come together to not only be here for Ava, but also for Hannah. Hannah's 7th birthday was yesterday. I stayed home that morning, made her favorite - birthday pancakes, and drove her to school. I spent the rest of the day and evening at the hospital. Hannah got to go to her BFF's house for a sleepover - ON A SCHOOL NIGHT - and they made her a birthday cake and the girls stayed up late just being girls. It was the distraction that she needed. But today as she got off the bus after school, she was crying. Her Grams picked her up at the bus stop, and she was confused about which bus she was riding and which stop she was getting off. She hadn't seen her Dad since Monday morning, and me since Tuesday morning, and she obviously knew her baby sister was in the hospital. So, this has taken a toll on Hannah as well.
I promised pictures...
This is what her leg looked like at 11:30 AM when Matt decided to take her in to Urgent Care (her ankle is on the left of the picture)
By 1:00pm, shortly after we arrived at DeVos, her leg had worsened to this. They drew around the area with a magic marker to watch it grow.
And within 2 hours of that, they had decided to admit her.
Around 4:00, this is what her leg looked like:
And it was moving up into her groin area. You can see the
redness moving up her leg, outside of the marked area, and
onto her knee.
After her surgery, Matt and I went in to see her post-op. We were told under no uncertain terms that she almost didn't make it. Not because of the surgery itself, or any complications from her infection, but because her asthma flared up and they couldn't get her breathing under control.
Today, she had her second surgery to explore the tissue and muscle that was infected. They didn't promise that they could stitch her up, just that they were going to take a look and hopefully find improvement. While waiting for the anesthesiologist, we were told additional details about her first surgery and the complications she had while coming out of anesthesia. We had forgotten that she drank a slushy about an hour before her surgery. It was doctor ordered... we didn't anticipate surgery at that point and didn't see a thing wrong with it. When she was taken back for surgery it was, we were also later told, a "life or limb" situation, so VERY much an emergency. Well, while being extubated, she threw up, but aspirated (breathed in her vomit) and it got in her lungs. Thus, causing her to go into major trauma. They almost couldn't get her back from that.
It was another 24 hours before we saw any kind of a smile. It was the balloons and stuffed animals that did it.
And this was the difference between day 2 and today (day 3) after surgery:
So, today we are doing much better! She's eating, she's drinking, she's talking and interacting, she's bossy, she's REALLY crabby and a little mean (an understatement, but wouldn't you be? I know I would), and every minute that goes by I start to see a little glimpse of my Ava Gracie... My sweet, sweet Ava Gracie. She hasn't been bathed since Sunday (she won't let anyone near her with a sponge or water), the rat's nest (another understatement) of hair she has on her head makes me wonder if we'll have to shave it before we ever get it straight again... but I'll take it. I'll take it all. I am thankful for the scars on her leg that will always remind us of this week (they're very minimal - we had a very talented surgeon), I'm thankful for the hours I'll spend untangling her hair, I'm thankful for the make-up tooth brushings we'll have to do, and the extra long bath she'll take when she can. I'm thankful for the grumpiness and the yelling and impatience. I would give anything, DO anything for either one of my kids. And getting through it would make us all stronger and that much more able to handle life as it comes.
I am so thankful for the outpouring of support, love, prayers, gifts for Ava, offers to help with the kids, bringing me or any family member a hot meal, help with Hannah - you name it, it's been offered. Words cannot express our gratitude and humility toward everyone that has offered to help. It's humbling... to say the least.
I barely proofread this, I just wanted to get it out. It feels so good to write again - unfortunately it took this trauma for me to make the time. I apologize for the misspellings and jumping from day to day, and situation to situation - it's not my norm, but I'm deliriously tired, and don't really care. You guys are smart and you can put 2 and 2 together to get the picture! I basically wanted to get more details out - since this is so bizarre, yet intriguing.
Thank you again for your continued prayers. We aren't out of the woods yet, but I'm hoping the trail is getting more clear. She's a fighter - and so are we. And we have the power of prayer on our side. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Till next time...
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