There's a pastor in Florida that plans on marking the ninth anniversary of 9/11 by burning Korans. So far, it seems like the main argument against it is fear that it will some how encourage fanatics to be, umm, more fanatical I guess. Supporters of the book burning believe that this act will honor those who died during the attacks, as well as send a message to Muslims everywhere. If the message is "If you burn our buildings and kill thousands of our people, we'll burn a few copies of your sacred book," well, I guess they're right.
I'm not sure that message will have the effect they are intending. If I were a Muslim intent on imposing Sharia everywhere, and my most hated target replied to the murder of thousands and the loss of billions of dollars by burning a few dozen books, well, let's just say that I would like the math on that transaction very much.
Of course, the moderates have their own argument. Well, they're moderates, so they would probably object, not too strenuously of course, to the term argument, preferring instead the more innocuous position. But they'll hold it very firmly, thank you very much, as long as nobody is offended of course. And there position? Usually abject bowing, along with a cower or two as needed.
That was mean of me, I know, but I have a hard time with folks who lack the conviction to take a stand, and then congratulate themselves on how superior they are for their cowardice.
Me? What do I think?
Well, it's pretty simple. I haven't read the Koran from cover to cover but I have done more than a little bit of study, and I'm pretty much convinced that if the Devil decided to write a book that totally corrupted every major Christian principle, he could buy a copy of the Koran and save himself some time.
Oh dear. A moderate just passed out.
Maybe someday I'll have the time to walk through the Koran with you and show you why I've come to that conclusion, but then again, instead of taking my word for it, why not read it for yourself? Of course, you'll have to read an English translation, which isn't really considered a Koran, at least, not by fundamentalist Muslims, who claim that the Koran can only be a Koran if it is in the original language. Of course this raises an interesting question. If the folks in Florida are burning English language Korans, why would anybody get upset, since they aren't really Korans in the first place?
But let's not get sidetracked.
So, in my opinion, the Koran, written roughly 600 years after the New Testament books, seems to almost deliberately pervert the Gospel contained in those books, and reaching even further back, rewrites much of the Old Testament as well. It explicitly calls for the murder or subjugation of all non believers, saving the bloodiest, nastiest language for Jews and Christians. And, unlike the Bible, there is no New Testament to moderate the bloodier requirements of Islam.
But does that mean we should burn a few Korans in an effort to make some asinine gesture?
Nope.
If you want to burn some books, start with everything published by Harlequin; reading a few of those books is like dipping your mind in hydrochloric acid.
For any Christian out there who thinks burning Korans is a good thing, ask yourself one question; will this help win lost souls away from the deceptions of Islam, or will it harden the hearts of the very people you are supposed to be trying to reach?
It's so simple when you stop and think about it, isn't it?
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Burning the Koran
Monday, August 30, 2010
Handgun Carry in a Restaurant
Lissa and I ate at Carrabas last weekend and noticed that they have posted a sign regarding handguns. Basically the sign says that they respect the rights of gun owners, but their policy is that guns are not allowed in the restaurant.
Question: Does this sign meet the requirements of Tennessee Law for banning handguns? IN other words, if I carry there, am I in violation of the law?
Answer: No, their sign does not meet the requirements of the law, which states:
Since the Carrabas sign states that it is their policy, not the law, and fails to state that violation of their policy is a criminal offense, their sign does not meet the standard imposed by the law and I would not be in violation if I chose to carry there while eating.
And that brings up the question: If your sign does not meet the requirements of the law, then why post it? My guess is that the management wants to coddle the gun fearing crowd while relying on the fact that those of us who carry are more familiar with the law and will recognize that the sign is basically meaningless.
Nice try, but no dice Carrabas. Just like the places that still have the old signage posted in a similar attempt to ease the groundless fears of the ignorant, you are signalling that you don't want my business.
And I am happy to comply. There are plenty of restaurants that do acknowledge the fact that I am an intelligent, law abiding person with rights that must be respected in deed, not just in words.
Question: Does this sign meet the requirements of Tennessee Law for banning handguns? IN other words, if I carry there, am I in violation of the law?
Answer: No, their sign does not meet the requirements of the law, which states:
(b)(1) Notice of the prohibition permitted by subsection (a) shall be accomplished by displaying one (1) or both of the notices described in subdivision (3) in prominent locations, including all entrances primarily used by persons entering the property, building, or portion of the property or building where weapon possession is prohibited. Either form of notice used shall be of a size that is plainly visible to the average person entering the building, property, or portion of the building or property, posted.
(2) The notice required by this section shall be in English, but a duplicate notice may also be posted in any language used by patrons, customers or persons who frequent the place where weapon possession is prohibited.
(3)(A) If a sign is used as the method of posting, it shall contain language substantially similar to the following:
AS AUTHORIZED BY TCA § 39-17-1359, POSSESSION OF A WEAPON ON POSTED PROPERTY OR IN A POSTED BUILDING IS PROHIBITED AND IS A CRIMINAL OFFENSE.
(B) As used in this section, "language substantially similar to" means the sign contains language plainly stating that:
(i) The property is posted under authority of Tennessee law;
(ii) Weapons or firearms are prohibited on the property, in the building, or on the portion of the property or building that is posted; and
(iii) Possessing a weapon in an area that has been posted is a criminal offense.
Since the Carrabas sign states that it is their policy, not the law, and fails to state that violation of their policy is a criminal offense, their sign does not meet the standard imposed by the law and I would not be in violation if I chose to carry there while eating.
And that brings up the question: If your sign does not meet the requirements of the law, then why post it? My guess is that the management wants to coddle the gun fearing crowd while relying on the fact that those of us who carry are more familiar with the law and will recognize that the sign is basically meaningless.
Nice try, but no dice Carrabas. Just like the places that still have the old signage posted in a similar attempt to ease the groundless fears of the ignorant, you are signalling that you don't want my business.
And I am happy to comply. There are plenty of restaurants that do acknowledge the fact that I am an intelligent, law abiding person with rights that must be respected in deed, not just in words.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Ground Zero Mosque
I haven't written much about it because really, there's no good answer. I believe in free expression of religion, and that Muslims have a right to buy property and to construct a mosque anywhere as long as it complies with local laws. On the other hand, putting a mosque that close to ground zero is like putting a Catholic Cathedral in Mecca.
Insensitive is putting it mildly.
Before we dig too deeply into it, let's get a couple things out of the way. First of all, it is a mosque, and it is at Ground Zero. Some supporters are calling it a community center, and saying that it isn't really at ground Zero; it's two blocks from ground zero. Well, let's look at both claims.
The church I go to has a coffee shop, a warehouse, a picnic pavilion, a bookstore, and there are plans to build a lodge, a school, and a retirement community.
It's still a church.
The Park 57 development is a mosque, plain and simple. It has an Imam, and regular prayer services will be conducted there.
The property is available because the building that used to be there was destroyed on 9/11 by chunks of the WTC.
It's at ground zero.
Second, there are sound reasons to oppose the building of this mosque, reasons that have nothing to do with fear, racism, or hate. The antipathy felt be some towards building a mosque on ground that was covered with the dust of bodies killed in the 9/11 attack is understandable. The juxtaposing of a mosque within a stone's throw of the biggest, costliest terror attack on the US is a provocation, one whose ramifications must be carefully considered. Calling the opposition racist and prejudiced is childish and inane, and signifies a weak mind.
The foolishness is not limited to supporters.
There are people running around claiming that the Imam is a radical that blames the US for 9/11, and that the purpose of putting the mosque at ground zero is to claim victory over the US. While there may or may not be some truth to the latter, the former is very exaggerated. These people rely on tenuous links that would fail the Kevin Bacon test in order to link The Imam is about as moderate as a Muslim can be without getting a fatwa called down on himself, and despite some mildly troubling statements, I don't see him as coddling terrorists. As for the victory claims, well, I think it's safe to say that if this mosque is constructed, there will be Muslim radicals who do see it as a sign of victory, and will be encouraged to more acts of violence. I think you would have to be in complete denial of reality to believe otherwise.
But the question is: "Does our belief that future violent attacks will likely be spurred by the building of this mosque give us the right to deny the Constitutional rights of those who want to build it?"
As a Christian and a conservative, I know how I want to answer, As an American and libertarian, I know how I must answer.
As Americans, we have rights given to us by our Creator. We deemed some of those rights to be important enough that we enumerated them in our Constitution, the document upon which all of our laws should be founded. Among those enumerated rights are both the right to free speech and assembly, and the right to worship in the manner we see fit. If these right are important enough to receive special attention in the Constitution, then they are important enough to outweigh concerns over potential future events. In other words, no matter how offensive and distasteful a mosque at ground zero is to me personally, no matter how much I believe it dishonors the memories of the 3000 innocent Americans slaughtered that day be the followers of Islam, no matter how strong the possibility that building this mosque may encourage other terrorists to act out their violent plans of conquest and oppression, the principles upon which our freedoms rest must not be infringed.
While I understand and sympathize with the protesters and their point of view, and defend their right to protest without being called racists, bigots, or hate-mongers, I have to say that as long as all laws and regulations are followed, the owners of the property have a right to build a mosque there if they so choose.
Insensitive is putting it mildly.
Before we dig too deeply into it, let's get a couple things out of the way. First of all, it is a mosque, and it is at Ground Zero. Some supporters are calling it a community center, and saying that it isn't really at ground Zero; it's two blocks from ground zero. Well, let's look at both claims.
The church I go to has a coffee shop, a warehouse, a picnic pavilion, a bookstore, and there are plans to build a lodge, a school, and a retirement community.
It's still a church.
The Park 57 development is a mosque, plain and simple. It has an Imam, and regular prayer services will be conducted there.
The property is available because the building that used to be there was destroyed on 9/11 by chunks of the WTC.
It's at ground zero.
Second, there are sound reasons to oppose the building of this mosque, reasons that have nothing to do with fear, racism, or hate. The antipathy felt be some towards building a mosque on ground that was covered with the dust of bodies killed in the 9/11 attack is understandable. The juxtaposing of a mosque within a stone's throw of the biggest, costliest terror attack on the US is a provocation, one whose ramifications must be carefully considered. Calling the opposition racist and prejudiced is childish and inane, and signifies a weak mind.
The foolishness is not limited to supporters.
There are people running around claiming that the Imam is a radical that blames the US for 9/11, and that the purpose of putting the mosque at ground zero is to claim victory over the US. While there may or may not be some truth to the latter, the former is very exaggerated. These people rely on tenuous links that would fail the Kevin Bacon test in order to link The Imam is about as moderate as a Muslim can be without getting a fatwa called down on himself, and despite some mildly troubling statements, I don't see him as coddling terrorists. As for the victory claims, well, I think it's safe to say that if this mosque is constructed, there will be Muslim radicals who do see it as a sign of victory, and will be encouraged to more acts of violence. I think you would have to be in complete denial of reality to believe otherwise.
But the question is: "Does our belief that future violent attacks will likely be spurred by the building of this mosque give us the right to deny the Constitutional rights of those who want to build it?"
As a Christian and a conservative, I know how I want to answer, As an American and libertarian, I know how I must answer.
As Americans, we have rights given to us by our Creator. We deemed some of those rights to be important enough that we enumerated them in our Constitution, the document upon which all of our laws should be founded. Among those enumerated rights are both the right to free speech and assembly, and the right to worship in the manner we see fit. If these right are important enough to receive special attention in the Constitution, then they are important enough to outweigh concerns over potential future events. In other words, no matter how offensive and distasteful a mosque at ground zero is to me personally, no matter how much I believe it dishonors the memories of the 3000 innocent Americans slaughtered that day be the followers of Islam, no matter how strong the possibility that building this mosque may encourage other terrorists to act out their violent plans of conquest and oppression, the principles upon which our freedoms rest must not be infringed.
While I understand and sympathize with the protesters and their point of view, and defend their right to protest without being called racists, bigots, or hate-mongers, I have to say that as long as all laws and regulations are followed, the owners of the property have a right to build a mosque there if they so choose.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
New Toy!
Lissa and I went to the range for a blogshoot last week, and I got a chance to shoot SayUncle's AR-15 with the .22 conversion kit in it. In a word, sweet!
Lissa shot my AR a couple of times, but the recoil really bothered her neck and shoulder, but shooting Uncle's conversion didn't bother her a bit. While the recoil didn't bother me, My head kept saying "There goes 30 cents" every time I pulled the trigger.
Putting those two things together, it wasn't a hard decision to order a CMMG, Inc ARC-22 AR Conversion Kit
, along with a spare magazine.
Installing the conversion is easy, even for a neophyte like me. All you do is remove the rear pin holding the upper to the lower, pull back on the charging handle about halfway, and remove the bolt assembly from the rifle. Slide the conversion bolt assembly in, push the charging handle forward, and then pin the upper and lower together again. It's actually faster to do it than to type about it. After that, load the conversion mag with .22 rounds, and away you go. One of the things I like about the conversion is that it is so fast and easy to swap back and forth, and since I have to use different magazines, that means my defense loads are always ready to go, unlike when I shoot the XDm.
I tested the conversion out with some high velocity ammo, American Eagle 38 grain High Velocity hollow points to be exact, and shot through 2 magazines with no issues at all. The rifle was just as accurate, and my head was much happier saying "There goes a nickel" with each shot. I paid $180 for the conversion kit, and $25 for the spare magazine, so if I save 25 cents per shot, in 820 rounds, the kit will have paid for itself.
As fun as this thing is to shoot, I should do that by next Friday.
Lissa shot my AR a couple of times, but the recoil really bothered her neck and shoulder, but shooting Uncle's conversion didn't bother her a bit. While the recoil didn't bother me, My head kept saying "There goes 30 cents" every time I pulled the trigger.
Putting those two things together, it wasn't a hard decision to order a CMMG, Inc ARC-22 AR Conversion Kit
, along with a spare magazine.Installing the conversion is easy, even for a neophyte like me. All you do is remove the rear pin holding the upper to the lower, pull back on the charging handle about halfway, and remove the bolt assembly from the rifle. Slide the conversion bolt assembly in, push the charging handle forward, and then pin the upper and lower together again. It's actually faster to do it than to type about it. After that, load the conversion mag with .22 rounds, and away you go. One of the things I like about the conversion is that it is so fast and easy to swap back and forth, and since I have to use different magazines, that means my defense loads are always ready to go, unlike when I shoot the XDm.
I tested the conversion out with some high velocity ammo, American Eagle 38 grain High Velocity hollow points to be exact, and shot through 2 magazines with no issues at all. The rifle was just as accurate, and my head was much happier saying "There goes a nickel" with each shot. I paid $180 for the conversion kit, and $25 for the spare magazine, so if I save 25 cents per shot, in 820 rounds, the kit will have paid for itself.
As fun as this thing is to shoot, I should do that by next Friday.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
What If?
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
What does 5400 rpm look like?
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Arizona, Immigration, and the Rule of Law
Two men cross the border illegally. One moves far from the border. He gets a job, then a second job, working hard and saving money. He sends some back home to support his parents, but saves the rest. He buys a car. He rents an apartment. Then he uses money he's saved to buy a trailer and rents it out. He uses the rent money to pay for a second trailer where he lives. He continues to work hard, saving his money, and he builds a real life for himself here. The other gets here and also gets a job, only this time, it's peddling drugs and doing small jobs for the local gang. He joins up and becomes one more petty thug among thousands.
Here's my question. Does it make sense that our immigration laws treat both men the same?
On the other hand, we have the federal government. Arizona crafted a state law that virtually mirrored the federal laws on immigration and identification. The only difference between the two was that the Arizona law empowered state and local police to do the job the federal government wouldn't. Now, a federal judge has determined that it is illegal for states to enforce federal laws when the federal government, in this case, the Obama administration, doesn't want them enforced. Think about that just for a moment. The federal government has just declared that it can ignore it's own laws as it wishes, and the people and the states have no legal recourse.
Of course, this is no real surprise to anybody who has been paying attention. The Obama justice department has already shown with the New Black Panthers that they will engage in selective prosecution, enforcing laws only when it benefits them, and ignoring them when they don't. If you don't believe me, then just ask yourself one simple question. If Klansmen in full regalia had engaged in the same acts in, say, Mississippi, as the NBP thugs did in Pennsylvania, would Eric Holder declined to push the case?
Nope, I don't think so. We would have seen the biggest media circus trial since OJ.
So, our federal government has now officially declared that not only are they above the law, they can legally squelch any attempt by the states to hold them accountable for their inaction. Does it sound like we're still living in a representational republic? Or any kind of republic at all?
Laws are effective only when the people have confidence that they will be applied and enforced equally. When the people lose that confidence, they lose respect for the law, and for those who enforce it, and more importantly, begin to reject the legitimacy of the laws and the government which makes them. Folks, this is how revolutions get started. If you're a rancher in Arizona, and you're property has been vandalized repeatedly by illegal aliens over the last 10 years, costing you thousands of dollars, how would you feel if the federal government told you that not only weren't they going to do anything about it, they were going to forbid your state to do anything about it? Would you feel angry and betrayed? Would you maybe decide that if the government refused to do their job, that you might have to do it for yourself? Would you feel like the government represented you fairly? Would you feel like you owed any loyalty to that government?
I don't live on the border so I can't answer any of those questions, but somebody in Washington better start thinking about them pretty quick because I'm willing to bet that there are thousands of people living in Arizona right now that are thinking about those questions every night as they patrol their property, trying to prevent further damage and destruction.
The bottom line is starkly simple: If the federal government is unwilling to do one of the few jobs specifically allocated to it by the Constitution, then what good is it?
Here's my question. Does it make sense that our immigration laws treat both men the same?
On the other hand, we have the federal government. Arizona crafted a state law that virtually mirrored the federal laws on immigration and identification. The only difference between the two was that the Arizona law empowered state and local police to do the job the federal government wouldn't. Now, a federal judge has determined that it is illegal for states to enforce federal laws when the federal government, in this case, the Obama administration, doesn't want them enforced. Think about that just for a moment. The federal government has just declared that it can ignore it's own laws as it wishes, and the people and the states have no legal recourse.
Of course, this is no real surprise to anybody who has been paying attention. The Obama justice department has already shown with the New Black Panthers that they will engage in selective prosecution, enforcing laws only when it benefits them, and ignoring them when they don't. If you don't believe me, then just ask yourself one simple question. If Klansmen in full regalia had engaged in the same acts in, say, Mississippi, as the NBP thugs did in Pennsylvania, would Eric Holder declined to push the case?
Nope, I don't think so. We would have seen the biggest media circus trial since OJ.
So, our federal government has now officially declared that not only are they above the law, they can legally squelch any attempt by the states to hold them accountable for their inaction. Does it sound like we're still living in a representational republic? Or any kind of republic at all?
Laws are effective only when the people have confidence that they will be applied and enforced equally. When the people lose that confidence, they lose respect for the law, and for those who enforce it, and more importantly, begin to reject the legitimacy of the laws and the government which makes them. Folks, this is how revolutions get started. If you're a rancher in Arizona, and you're property has been vandalized repeatedly by illegal aliens over the last 10 years, costing you thousands of dollars, how would you feel if the federal government told you that not only weren't they going to do anything about it, they were going to forbid your state to do anything about it? Would you feel angry and betrayed? Would you maybe decide that if the government refused to do their job, that you might have to do it for yourself? Would you feel like the government represented you fairly? Would you feel like you owed any loyalty to that government?
I don't live on the border so I can't answer any of those questions, but somebody in Washington better start thinking about them pretty quick because I'm willing to bet that there are thousands of people living in Arizona right now that are thinking about those questions every night as they patrol their property, trying to prevent further damage and destruction.
The bottom line is starkly simple: If the federal government is unwilling to do one of the few jobs specifically allocated to it by the Constitution, then what good is it?
Monday, July 26, 2010
Haslam Lost My Vote
It was his until a few days ago when I saw one of his mailers the other day.
Now, I can handle the fact that as mayor of Knoxville, Mr. Haslam decided to join Bloomberg's anti-gun rights group. I can handle that it took him way too long to get out of the group. I can even handle his decision to ban law abiding citizens from legally carrying their handguns in city parks.
I disagree with all of those stands, but he, as mayor, has the duty to follow through on his principles.
What I can't handle is his posturing as a pro gun second amendment supporter by touting his "lifetime membership" in the NRA when the ink on his enrollment check hasn't even had time to dry.
Stand for what you believe in, and even if I disagree with you, I'll respect you. Try to hide your beliefs in order to get elected, and you're just like every Democrat who ever ran for public office. If you'll lie to me to get elected, you'll lie to me after you're elected.
Wamp voted for TARP. Enough said.
Ramsey gets my vote.
Now, I can handle the fact that as mayor of Knoxville, Mr. Haslam decided to join Bloomberg's anti-gun rights group. I can handle that it took him way too long to get out of the group. I can even handle his decision to ban law abiding citizens from legally carrying their handguns in city parks.
I disagree with all of those stands, but he, as mayor, has the duty to follow through on his principles.
What I can't handle is his posturing as a pro gun second amendment supporter by touting his "lifetime membership" in the NRA when the ink on his enrollment check hasn't even had time to dry.
Stand for what you believe in, and even if I disagree with you, I'll respect you. Try to hide your beliefs in order to get elected, and you're just like every Democrat who ever ran for public office. If you'll lie to me to get elected, you'll lie to me after you're elected.
Wamp voted for TARP. Enough said.
Ramsey gets my vote.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Luke Update, and Then Some
First, I apologize to those of you who have been following Luke's story here that can't access Facebook. I admit that possibility never crossed my mind, so while I kept updating the Facebook page, I haven't done anything here. I have a really good excuse though:
LUKE IS HOME!
When I posted last, Luke was off the vent and being considered for Long Tern Acute Critical Care because they thought he wasn't strong enough or well enough for rehab at Patricia Neal. Well, when God works a miracle, he doesn't go half way. Shortly after I wrote the last entry, Luke's respiratory therapist decided to try capping the trach tube to see how well Luke could breathe through his mouth and nose. They expected him to go for 30 minutes to an hour before needing to go back on the trach collar. Eight hours later, when it was about time to go to bed, Luke indicated that he was feeling a little short of breath, and asked for the cap to be pulled for the night. While the cap was off, he talked to us, and let us know that his mind was intact for the most part, although with all of the drugs, it was hard to assess just how much damage there was, if any.
The next day, they capped his trach again and allowed him to breathe in supplemental oxygen through a nasal cannula as needed. He never went back on the trach again. That afternoon, he saw a physical therapist for the first time. I helped with the evaluation. Luke was able to respond to all commands, and while he was very weak, he was able to sit on the side of his bed for ten minutes, working with the therapist. He required significant support, but he was working for the entire rime. After 30 minutes of therapy, the PT looked at me and said "This young man is ready for Patrica Neal!"
I did not cry; I just got a little sweat in my eye.
The Pat Neal rep was a little bit more realistic, and told us that while Luke was too strong for LTACC, he wasn't quite ready for full rehab yet, so they decided to move him to a regular room to get him out of the ICU and let him start gaining some strength. On July 3rd, Luke moved to the 10th floor. His meds were reduced, and he was allowed to have ice chips. We managed to get one popsicle for him, but they didn't want him to take in anything by mouth until they pulled the trach tube. After three days in the room, he was ready to transfer, but there were delays in getting all the doctors and therapists there to sign off on his release and it wasn't until July 9 that he made the transfer to Patricia Neal. At that time, he was cleared to eat solid food, and had his trach tube removed.
During the six days he was on the 10th floor, Luke ws visited by his nurses and a couple of the doctors. They all wanted to see the young man they had worked so hard and long for. Working in a trauma ICU is extremely difficult. The doctors and nurses have to give their patients the best care possible, all the while realizing that most everybody there is facing some pretty long odds. I can't imagine having to go into work each day knowing that the young man or woman that you've been working on so hard is liable to die. Their ability to maintain their focus and their intensity, and their ability to invest a little piece of themselves into each patient they care for is nothing short of heroic. That's why it comes as no surprise that when they have a patient who defies the odds, who not only survives, but recovers fully, and rapidly, they want to celebrate with the patient and the family. They are a part of our family now, and even though Luke doesn't really know them, we will go back and introduce him to the heroes that worked with energy, intelligence and a large helping of prayer and faith to save his life.
Luke went to Patricia Neal on Friday. Saturday morning, they did an assessment. Monday, he met his doctor and began rehab. They asked him to walk 15 steps. He walked 80. On Tuesday, he asked what he had to do to go home by the weekend. The doctor told him to work hard during his therapy sessions, and that it was a realistic goal. On Thursday, he came home!
On June 13th, they told us he was hours from death. On June 20th, they told us he would be in the ICU for weeks, the hospital even longer, then months of inpatient rehab. By June 27th, the smart ones had stopped making predictions. Luke was recovering too quickly, and too fully. God was at work in him, and Luke progressed as quickly as they would let him. Now he's at home, and getting ready to go to his first outpatient rehab class tomorrow. LAst night, he went out to dinner with his family, digging in to lasagna and chicken parmigiana like nothing ever happened.
There are some signs that he was sick. He lost 50 lbs. He walks with a pronounced limp due to a bad bone bruise on his knee. He tires easily, and his hands are shaky. There may be some residual nerve damage from the sedation and paralysis, or it could be related to the anoxia, but in either case, we know it will be healed as well. Luke is working hard to get back to the man he was before the accident, a teenager with a pickup truck, a pretty girlfriend, and a new puppy. It's going to be hard for us to let him be that teenager; we know how close we came to losing him. It's going to be hard to sit back and watch him go his own way again; I'm going to worry about him every time he gets on the road, whether he's driving or not. Then again, I'm worrying more about all of my kids. As a parent, I've been exceptionally lucky. I've raised six kids, and never hd to deal with a really bad illness or injury before. Sure, we've had our crises and our dramas, and many many trips to the emergency room, and one or two scares, but never anything like this. The bubble of invulnerability has been fractured before, but never shattered.
Now it has. Like a teenager finally coming to grips with their own mortality, I've been faced with a parent's worst fear: losing a child. From a distance, I watched my friend Katie as she went through it, and through my own fear and sorrow, I mourned for Henry with her even as I prayed that I would not have to follow her into that grief. And thanks be to God, I didn't have to. But I was forced to confront an aweful truth: my children are not in my hands, but in God's. And my spelling of 'aweful' was deliberate. I released Luke into God's hands, and God gave him back to me. It's an awful thing to have to learn, that you are powerless to save your child; it is an awesome thing to to learn, that God isn't.
As grateful as I am to God for sparing my son, I am left with a question that has no easy answer. Why did Luke live, and not Henry? Katie and her friends and family prayed just as hard and just as earnestly for Henry. A God who works miracle could surely have worked two at the same time. Why did Henry have to die in God's plan?
I know what the Bible says: "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?" In other words, "Who are you to think you can understand My ways?" While I concede the logic of the answer, emotionally, it is unsatisfying and for a grieving parent, it's no help at all. Understanding that God's plan, while working for good, is incomprehensible to the limited mortal mind doesn't help much when you're mourning the loss of your child.It bothers me because part of being a Christian is to love your neighbors, and part of that is trying to bring them comfort when they need it, and right now, I don't know of any comfort I can give except the cold comfort of faith in the goodness of God. How can I convince a grieving mother of the glory of God when I would have a hard time believing it myself? I rejoice today because Luke lives. If one of my children died tomorrow, would I still rejoice and proclaim God's glory? I don't know and I don't want to know. I want to believe that I could still stand in praise like my friend Kathy, who lost her son to cancer, but I just don't know. I'd like to believe I have the faith of the Centurion, but honesty compels me to admit that I only reach that level of faith intermittently, when I'm left with no other choice.
So did God save Luke because I'm a better Christian than Katie? Hardly! I am a Christian, but I am also a sinner, and I'm no better than any other man or woman. Like the bumper sticker says, I'm just forgiven.
So we're left with faith again, but on second thought, maybe faith isn't such a cold comfort after all. Maybe I'm being deceived, even now. When I prayed those nights for the life of my son, when I had to give him up and place him in God's hands, I was comforted, and it was through faith. I believed Luke would be healed and that faith did comfort me even on the darkest night. That faith also allowed me to finally place Luke in God's hands and to let God take him if that was His plan. I can't claim to walk in that level of faith right now, but I did that night, and I'm trying to stay there. Faith doesn't have to be perfect to be effective; it just has to be there. I still don't know why Luke lived and not Henry, and I don't know what I would say to Katie if she asked me that question, but maybe this is one of those times when I don't need to know what to say, but to let the Holy Spirit speak through me..
I'd still like to have a better answer.
LUKE IS HOME!
When I posted last, Luke was off the vent and being considered for Long Tern Acute Critical Care because they thought he wasn't strong enough or well enough for rehab at Patricia Neal. Well, when God works a miracle, he doesn't go half way. Shortly after I wrote the last entry, Luke's respiratory therapist decided to try capping the trach tube to see how well Luke could breathe through his mouth and nose. They expected him to go for 30 minutes to an hour before needing to go back on the trach collar. Eight hours later, when it was about time to go to bed, Luke indicated that he was feeling a little short of breath, and asked for the cap to be pulled for the night. While the cap was off, he talked to us, and let us know that his mind was intact for the most part, although with all of the drugs, it was hard to assess just how much damage there was, if any.
The next day, they capped his trach again and allowed him to breathe in supplemental oxygen through a nasal cannula as needed. He never went back on the trach again. That afternoon, he saw a physical therapist for the first time. I helped with the evaluation. Luke was able to respond to all commands, and while he was very weak, he was able to sit on the side of his bed for ten minutes, working with the therapist. He required significant support, but he was working for the entire rime. After 30 minutes of therapy, the PT looked at me and said "This young man is ready for Patrica Neal!"
I did not cry; I just got a little sweat in my eye.
The Pat Neal rep was a little bit more realistic, and told us that while Luke was too strong for LTACC, he wasn't quite ready for full rehab yet, so they decided to move him to a regular room to get him out of the ICU and let him start gaining some strength. On July 3rd, Luke moved to the 10th floor. His meds were reduced, and he was allowed to have ice chips. We managed to get one popsicle for him, but they didn't want him to take in anything by mouth until they pulled the trach tube. After three days in the room, he was ready to transfer, but there were delays in getting all the doctors and therapists there to sign off on his release and it wasn't until July 9 that he made the transfer to Patricia Neal. At that time, he was cleared to eat solid food, and had his trach tube removed.
During the six days he was on the 10th floor, Luke ws visited by his nurses and a couple of the doctors. They all wanted to see the young man they had worked so hard and long for. Working in a trauma ICU is extremely difficult. The doctors and nurses have to give their patients the best care possible, all the while realizing that most everybody there is facing some pretty long odds. I can't imagine having to go into work each day knowing that the young man or woman that you've been working on so hard is liable to die. Their ability to maintain their focus and their intensity, and their ability to invest a little piece of themselves into each patient they care for is nothing short of heroic. That's why it comes as no surprise that when they have a patient who defies the odds, who not only survives, but recovers fully, and rapidly, they want to celebrate with the patient and the family. They are a part of our family now, and even though Luke doesn't really know them, we will go back and introduce him to the heroes that worked with energy, intelligence and a large helping of prayer and faith to save his life.
Luke went to Patricia Neal on Friday. Saturday morning, they did an assessment. Monday, he met his doctor and began rehab. They asked him to walk 15 steps. He walked 80. On Tuesday, he asked what he had to do to go home by the weekend. The doctor told him to work hard during his therapy sessions, and that it was a realistic goal. On Thursday, he came home!
On June 13th, they told us he was hours from death. On June 20th, they told us he would be in the ICU for weeks, the hospital even longer, then months of inpatient rehab. By June 27th, the smart ones had stopped making predictions. Luke was recovering too quickly, and too fully. God was at work in him, and Luke progressed as quickly as they would let him. Now he's at home, and getting ready to go to his first outpatient rehab class tomorrow. LAst night, he went out to dinner with his family, digging in to lasagna and chicken parmigiana like nothing ever happened.
There are some signs that he was sick. He lost 50 lbs. He walks with a pronounced limp due to a bad bone bruise on his knee. He tires easily, and his hands are shaky. There may be some residual nerve damage from the sedation and paralysis, or it could be related to the anoxia, but in either case, we know it will be healed as well. Luke is working hard to get back to the man he was before the accident, a teenager with a pickup truck, a pretty girlfriend, and a new puppy. It's going to be hard for us to let him be that teenager; we know how close we came to losing him. It's going to be hard to sit back and watch him go his own way again; I'm going to worry about him every time he gets on the road, whether he's driving or not. Then again, I'm worrying more about all of my kids. As a parent, I've been exceptionally lucky. I've raised six kids, and never hd to deal with a really bad illness or injury before. Sure, we've had our crises and our dramas, and many many trips to the emergency room, and one or two scares, but never anything like this. The bubble of invulnerability has been fractured before, but never shattered.
Now it has. Like a teenager finally coming to grips with their own mortality, I've been faced with a parent's worst fear: losing a child. From a distance, I watched my friend Katie as she went through it, and through my own fear and sorrow, I mourned for Henry with her even as I prayed that I would not have to follow her into that grief. And thanks be to God, I didn't have to. But I was forced to confront an aweful truth: my children are not in my hands, but in God's. And my spelling of 'aweful' was deliberate. I released Luke into God's hands, and God gave him back to me. It's an awful thing to have to learn, that you are powerless to save your child; it is an awesome thing to to learn, that God isn't.
As grateful as I am to God for sparing my son, I am left with a question that has no easy answer. Why did Luke live, and not Henry? Katie and her friends and family prayed just as hard and just as earnestly for Henry. A God who works miracle could surely have worked two at the same time. Why did Henry have to die in God's plan?
I know what the Bible says: "Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?" In other words, "Who are you to think you can understand My ways?" While I concede the logic of the answer, emotionally, it is unsatisfying and for a grieving parent, it's no help at all. Understanding that God's plan, while working for good, is incomprehensible to the limited mortal mind doesn't help much when you're mourning the loss of your child.It bothers me because part of being a Christian is to love your neighbors, and part of that is trying to bring them comfort when they need it, and right now, I don't know of any comfort I can give except the cold comfort of faith in the goodness of God. How can I convince a grieving mother of the glory of God when I would have a hard time believing it myself? I rejoice today because Luke lives. If one of my children died tomorrow, would I still rejoice and proclaim God's glory? I don't know and I don't want to know. I want to believe that I could still stand in praise like my friend Kathy, who lost her son to cancer, but I just don't know. I'd like to believe I have the faith of the Centurion, but honesty compels me to admit that I only reach that level of faith intermittently, when I'm left with no other choice.
So did God save Luke because I'm a better Christian than Katie? Hardly! I am a Christian, but I am also a sinner, and I'm no better than any other man or woman. Like the bumper sticker says, I'm just forgiven.
So we're left with faith again, but on second thought, maybe faith isn't such a cold comfort after all. Maybe I'm being deceived, even now. When I prayed those nights for the life of my son, when I had to give him up and place him in God's hands, I was comforted, and it was through faith. I believed Luke would be healed and that faith did comfort me even on the darkest night. That faith also allowed me to finally place Luke in God's hands and to let God take him if that was His plan. I can't claim to walk in that level of faith right now, but I did that night, and I'm trying to stay there. Faith doesn't have to be perfect to be effective; it just has to be there. I still don't know why Luke lived and not Henry, and I don't know what I would say to Katie if she asked me that question, but maybe this is one of those times when I don't need to know what to say, but to let the Holy Spirit speak through me..
I'd still like to have a better answer.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
How to Win a New Client: Luke Update
Sorry I haven't written in the last few days, but we've been keeping the Facebook page updated. Luke is still doing very well, so well that even doctors are using the "m" word. He's off the ventilator (30 hours as of right now) and handling it fine. He responds to all commands and is able to move his arms, legs, finger, and toes when asked. He's shown a full range of emotions, from anger and sorrow, to humor and love. He's still very groggy due to heavy sedation, and the doctor who examined him yesterday says he sees some signs of brain damage in his motions and posture, bu that he believes that any damage can be corrected by therapy and time.
And that brings me to the point of today's post. Luke is now well enough to leave the ICU, but not well enough to go to a standard room. They used the term LTACC, which stands for Long Term Acute Critical Care. I was not a big fan of that label, as long term sounds very ominous, and not at all in line with what we've seen from Luke, but I was relieved when the doctor explained that in this case, long term means a time measured in weeks instead of days. If they thought he would be ready for Patricia Neal or other full rehab facilities in a few days then they would move him to a floor room, but he believes Luke will need a little more time than that to get his trach out and to be weaned from the high level of sedation he's on. UT no longer maintains beds for transitional patients like Luke, so they're presenting options to the insurance company for the next phase of his care.
I met with representatives from the two facilities in Luke's room today to assess their programs, capabilities, and see how well Luke would fit in.
The rep from Facility A was an RN with 20 years of experience in a hospital setting in various capacities. She was familiar with Luke's history, and had read his chart in full. She was aware of some of the unique features of his stay here at UT, and outlined a multi-pronged strategy to perform rehab on his brain and his lungs, including stimulation of the damaged nuerons. Facility A is located within a hospital setting, with doctors on site 24/7, and is fully capable of handling any contingency in house.
The rep from Facility B was a respiratory technician who looked like he finished his training sometime last week. He didn't know anything about Luke's case, not even basic information, like how long he'd been in the ICU, or the extent of his injuries, or even that there was a brain trauma involved. He said they were very good at weaning patients off of ventilators. I pointed to Luke and said that he was already off the ventilator, and the rep said that was okay, they were good at weaning patients off of trachs as well. Facility B is located in a nursing home. and the rep very proudly assured me that they kept a RN and a respiratory therapist on site 24/7. I asked him how many beds they had and he said 16.
One RN for 16 beds. Luke is too sick to be in a regular hospital room with one nurse to four beds, and some clown wants to send him to a facility with one nurse for 16 beds.
I don't think so.
I asked how they would handle an emergency, and he said they had a doctor on call, but if the emergency were severe, they could call 911.
Let's just say that I know where I want Luke to go, and if the insurance company picks Facility B, there will be a bit of a ruckus. I'll bring him home first.
And that brings me to the point of today's post. Luke is now well enough to leave the ICU, but not well enough to go to a standard room. They used the term LTACC, which stands for Long Term Acute Critical Care. I was not a big fan of that label, as long term sounds very ominous, and not at all in line with what we've seen from Luke, but I was relieved when the doctor explained that in this case, long term means a time measured in weeks instead of days. If they thought he would be ready for Patricia Neal or other full rehab facilities in a few days then they would move him to a floor room, but he believes Luke will need a little more time than that to get his trach out and to be weaned from the high level of sedation he's on. UT no longer maintains beds for transitional patients like Luke, so they're presenting options to the insurance company for the next phase of his care.
I met with representatives from the two facilities in Luke's room today to assess their programs, capabilities, and see how well Luke would fit in.
The rep from Facility A was an RN with 20 years of experience in a hospital setting in various capacities. She was familiar with Luke's history, and had read his chart in full. She was aware of some of the unique features of his stay here at UT, and outlined a multi-pronged strategy to perform rehab on his brain and his lungs, including stimulation of the damaged nuerons. Facility A is located within a hospital setting, with doctors on site 24/7, and is fully capable of handling any contingency in house.
The rep from Facility B was a respiratory technician who looked like he finished his training sometime last week. He didn't know anything about Luke's case, not even basic information, like how long he'd been in the ICU, or the extent of his injuries, or even that there was a brain trauma involved. He said they were very good at weaning patients off of ventilators. I pointed to Luke and said that he was already off the ventilator, and the rep said that was okay, they were good at weaning patients off of trachs as well. Facility B is located in a nursing home. and the rep very proudly assured me that they kept a RN and a respiratory therapist on site 24/7. I asked him how many beds they had and he said 16.
One RN for 16 beds. Luke is too sick to be in a regular hospital room with one nurse to four beds, and some clown wants to send him to a facility with one nurse for 16 beds.
I don't think so.
I asked how they would handle an emergency, and he said they had a doctor on call, but if the emergency were severe, they could call 911.
Let's just say that I know where I want Luke to go, and if the insurance company picks Facility B, there will be a bit of a ruckus. I'll bring him home first.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Luke is Improving
He got his trach and feeding tube on Wednesday,and they started weaning him from the fentanyl and Versed almost immediately. As of 11:30PM Thursday night, he was off the IV drugs. He's tolerated it very well, and tomorrow they'll begin to work him off of the ventilator. The process could take several days, longer if he reacts badly, but since his lungs were in decent shape before putting in the trach tube, I expect he'll regain ground quickly, and really start to show progress. When he's close to getting off the vent, they'll start to eliminate the new sedatives,oxycodone and Adavan and then he'll be waking up for real.
I'm trying to stay patient, but I'm really ready to get my son back.
I'm trying to stay patient, but I'm really ready to get my son back.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
A Mystery Solved
For a long time, I've marveled at the sheer stupidity of the Israelites in Exodus. I mean, think about it for a minute. Here they are, they've just been liberated from several centuries of slavery. They've seen their God rain down plagues upon Egypt including the deaths of all the first born of Egypt. Making things even more impressive, the first born of Israel were spared as long as they followed God's command. Then on their way out of the city, they crossed a sea on dry land, and then saw that same sea swallow the armies of Egypt. They were led by a column of cloud by day and fire by night, fed with manna daily, fed with wild fowl when they got tired of the manna, and given water when they were thirsty. Yet every time that things went the slightest bit wrong, they were ready to turn around and go back to Egypt.
And it gets worse.
They finally arrive at the Promised, and when their scouts come back and tell them that there are giants there, they are struck dumb with fear, apparently believing that the God who did all of that can't handle a giant or two.
Who could be that stupid?
Apparently, I can and am.
I'm living in a miracle. My son should have died in the crash. I've seen the jeep, and where the driver's side used to be, there's an impression of a very large tree. The floorboard is crumpled around where his feet were, the gas pedal was in his steering wheel, the gas tank was thrown 75 feet from the car, the battery was found even further away, and the hat that was on his head was found over the next hill. My son should have died from the damage to his lungs. We came within hours of losing him as his organ systems were in jeopardy of shutting down due to extended hypoxia. But my son is being healed of the injuries to his lungs and I am certain that he will be healed from all of his other injuries as well. I'm certain because there's another miracle going on here.
As I wrote about earlier, I believe that God answered a prayer from me by telling me that my son would be given back to me whole and healthy. This occurred before the big crisis with his lungs and it is the only thing that kept me from folding up during that long night. I've also seen God's hand at work moving people and events to conform to His plan, and I know for a fact that He is very active in my life right now.
And that leads me back to the Israelites because right now, I'm almost exactly like them. Like them, I'm living a life surrounded by miracles, but I'm still afraid. When Luke doesn't improve as quickly as I think he should, I start to worry. When something doesn't go exactly right, I get scared. I want him to wake up now and when he won't, I start to worry that he won't ever wake up, and I get scared. He gets an infection, and I start to worry that he'll slide backwards into ARDS and I get scared. How can I be afraid when I see all these miracles around me?
I believe what I was told, that Luke will be okay, but while I have plenty of faith, it is not constant. I doubt. I don't doubt God; I doubt myself. I wonder whether I understood His message correctly. Did I get it wrong? Was He only giving me peace, and not really a promise? Did I not pray enough, or hard enough? Have I taken too much for granted? Have I not praised Him enough? All of these questions boil down to one grave fear; what have I done to make me worthy enough for the Creator of the Universe to stretch out His hand and heal my son?
The answer to that question is simple: Nothing. I am not worthy of a miracle, yet I'm in the middle of one, and that is where my doubt comes from. That's where my fear comes from. And it turns out that I'm in pretty good company. Sure the Israelites balked at entering the Promised Land, and cost themselves an entire generation, and while I have a new understanding for why they did so, I've got a better example to follow.
Matthew 14:22-32
That passage answers a lot of questions for me. Peter, the rock upon which Christ built his church doubted the power of God even while he was in the middle of a miracle himself!
Suddenly, I don't feel so bad.
And I'm going to follow his example. Whenever I feel that the high winds and heavy seas of the real world are causing me to doubt, to fear, or to question my faith, when I feel myself beginning to sink beneath the waves, I'll cry out, "Lord, save me." I may sink like a stone every time I step out of the boat, but I'll step out every time He asks me to. And when my faith isn't enough, I know His Grace is always sufficient. Luke will be okay, and will be leaving the ICU soon,not in weeks or months like some of his new nurses are saying. I'll take God's word over theirs every time. There may be some giants ahead for us, but I know that the God who brought Luke back from the very brink of death is big enough to handle a couple of Giants for me.
Besides, my middle name is David.
And it gets worse.
They finally arrive at the Promised, and when their scouts come back and tell them that there are giants there, they are struck dumb with fear, apparently believing that the God who did all of that can't handle a giant or two.
Who could be that stupid?
Apparently, I can and am.
I'm living in a miracle. My son should have died in the crash. I've seen the jeep, and where the driver's side used to be, there's an impression of a very large tree. The floorboard is crumpled around where his feet were, the gas pedal was in his steering wheel, the gas tank was thrown 75 feet from the car, the battery was found even further away, and the hat that was on his head was found over the next hill. My son should have died from the damage to his lungs. We came within hours of losing him as his organ systems were in jeopardy of shutting down due to extended hypoxia. But my son is being healed of the injuries to his lungs and I am certain that he will be healed from all of his other injuries as well. I'm certain because there's another miracle going on here.
As I wrote about earlier, I believe that God answered a prayer from me by telling me that my son would be given back to me whole and healthy. This occurred before the big crisis with his lungs and it is the only thing that kept me from folding up during that long night. I've also seen God's hand at work moving people and events to conform to His plan, and I know for a fact that He is very active in my life right now.
And that leads me back to the Israelites because right now, I'm almost exactly like them. Like them, I'm living a life surrounded by miracles, but I'm still afraid. When Luke doesn't improve as quickly as I think he should, I start to worry. When something doesn't go exactly right, I get scared. I want him to wake up now and when he won't, I start to worry that he won't ever wake up, and I get scared. He gets an infection, and I start to worry that he'll slide backwards into ARDS and I get scared. How can I be afraid when I see all these miracles around me?
I believe what I was told, that Luke will be okay, but while I have plenty of faith, it is not constant. I doubt. I don't doubt God; I doubt myself. I wonder whether I understood His message correctly. Did I get it wrong? Was He only giving me peace, and not really a promise? Did I not pray enough, or hard enough? Have I taken too much for granted? Have I not praised Him enough? All of these questions boil down to one grave fear; what have I done to make me worthy enough for the Creator of the Universe to stretch out His hand and heal my son?
The answer to that question is simple: Nothing. I am not worthy of a miracle, yet I'm in the middle of one, and that is where my doubt comes from. That's where my fear comes from. And it turns out that I'm in pretty good company. Sure the Israelites balked at entering the Promised Land, and cost themselves an entire generation, and while I have a new understanding for why they did so, I've got a better example to follow.
Matthew 14:22-32
Immediately he made the disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but the boat by this time was a long way from the land, beaten by the waves, for the wind was against them. And in the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them, saying, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.”
And Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and took hold of him, saying to him,“O you of little faith, why did you doubt?
That passage answers a lot of questions for me. Peter, the rock upon which Christ built his church doubted the power of God even while he was in the middle of a miracle himself!
Suddenly, I don't feel so bad.
And I'm going to follow his example. Whenever I feel that the high winds and heavy seas of the real world are causing me to doubt, to fear, or to question my faith, when I feel myself beginning to sink beneath the waves, I'll cry out, "Lord, save me." I may sink like a stone every time I step out of the boat, but I'll step out every time He asks me to. And when my faith isn't enough, I know His Grace is always sufficient. Luke will be okay, and will be leaving the ICU soon,not in weeks or months like some of his new nurses are saying. I'll take God's word over theirs every time. There may be some giants ahead for us, but I know that the God who brought Luke back from the very brink of death is big enough to handle a couple of Giants for me.
Besides, my middle name is David.
Monday, June 21, 2010
So Much to Say; So Many Stories
It's a little after midnight and I'm sitting in the hospital lounge wondering what to tell you and what to skip. Lindsey's mom Sandy saw me getting ready to post and she told me I'm not allowed to write anymore because I keep making people cry. It's not intentional I assure you; I just write what comes to mind.
First of all, Luke is holding steady. We're in a sort of holding pattern while we wait for a slot in the OR. Luke's lungs have improved to the point where it's safe to give him a tracheotomy, and we really need to do that in order to wake him up. If we try to wake him up right now, the irritation from his breathing and feeding tubes would probably lead to him hurting himself or damaging his lungs, which are greatly improved, but by no means healed. We're hoping to get a slot in the OR Tuesday, but the doctors said we might have to wait until Wednesday. I've very nervous about waiting; the longer he's on the vent, the more time we have for something bad to happen. This pins and needles waiting is awful. Of course, I'm much happier to be where we are now than where we were last week, but I really, really want them to let Luke wake up.
Father's Day was a very interesting day. Lissa got herself a new netbook. Lindsey got a new bloodhound puppy. (Don't tell Luke. It's a surprise.) My sister bought herself a smoker. And I got to take my wife and Lindsey out for pizza. That I paid for. Oh, they did take me out to Marble Slab for ice cream, but that doesn't really count because mine was free.
I got a better present than anybody. Luke opened his eyes while I was in his room. He was still heavily sedated, and he probably wasn't really aware I was there, except in a vague almost unconscious way, but then again, he's 18, and that's probably pretty close to his usual level of awareness of my presence.
An update for those who are concerned about Jill, the English lady whose husband suffered a stroke. First of all, the preliminary prognosis of an unrecoverable stroke has been adjusted dramatically. Her husband is not out of the woods, but he's off the ventilator, able to speak and recognize her, and is now expected to recover, although the extent of any deficits is unknown. Her son Paul flew out to be with her, and although he had to go back home yesterday, her sister-in-law will be out to stay with her later in the week.
I met Paul in the SCC lounge, and despite the fact that I knew Jill's son was coming, and that he was watching soccer, and that he spoke with a clear English accent, I didn't identify him as Jill's son until she came up and started talking to him. Yes, sleep deprivation is taking its toll on a once great mind.
People ask me how I deal with the stress and strain over such a long period of time. I wish I had some answers to give them, but the truth is I just keep stepping forward and trusting God to carry me forward. I can tell you that every time I start to feel sorry for myself, God shows me just how well off I really am. A couple of days ago, I sat in the lounge and pretended not to hear as a mother fought for the life of one son while making plans to bury another. My heart was breaking for her, but I knew there was nothing I could do or say, and that she would just resent it if I tried to intrude. I said a quiet prayer for her.
I find myself doing that a lot these days. Lissa and I were leaving Luke's bed yesterday and as we walked through the hall, there was a small family group praying. I put my hand on Lissa's shoulder and let her lead me as I bowed my head, closed my eyes and prayed for strength for them. I prayed for Judy, who lost her loved one; for Gary, whose wife of 15 years is fighting an aneurysm; for Brandon, who was in a car wreck like Luke; for Jeff and his sister Michelle; I pray for people I don't even know, that I just pass in the hallway.
I guess that's how I deal with it, by praying for those who need it.
Luke's nurses have been exceptional through the whole thing. I can't praise them highly enough except to say that God is working miracles through their hands and more importantly, their hearts. I won't name names because I don't want to embarrass them or cause them any difficulties, but I will be forever grateful to each one of them because they truly invested themselves in my son. They treated him like he was part of their family, and let us be part of their team. We bonded with them almost immediately. I can't imagine the emotional cost that bringing that level of commitment to your patient must cost them, but I can say that it was deeply appreciated.
One of Luke's nurses got sick and had to take some time off. Her replacement impressed me tremendously because instead of just reading the chart, she asked us to tell her all about Luke. She wanted to get to know him as a person, and not just a patient.
Another one of Luke's nurses confided that they had thought about taking another patient after their days off because they didn't think they could handle it emotionally if things went any further south. But in an act of what I consider to be tremendous courage, they did come back to nurse him because they knew they were needed, both by Luke, and by us. I don't know what they pay you guys, but whatever it is, it isn't enough.
I know some of Luke's nurses are reading this, and I want you to know, even though I've already told most of you directly, that your passion and commitment to Luke didn't just save his life, it gave me the strength to stand strong for him. You kept me informed, which allowed me to worry when appropriate; you educated me so I could assess what was going on; you kicked me out and made me go home when I needed to; you paid me the compliment of being totally honest with me, and you did so with kindness and grace. Because of you, I didn't wind up in a bed next to Luke.
The doctors are pretty good too.
I believe there may be something of a double standard at work in the SCC. When Sandy spends the night back with Luke, the staff works to accommodate her and make her comfortable. When I stay back there, I sit on the toilet seat cover, lean up against the cold glass and try not to slide off the seat. Maybe I'm not showing enough leg...
There is still a union protest going in in front of the hospital which suits me just fine. As long as they are out there sitting under the shade behind their sign, I know that the people who are in the hospital right now taking care of my son are motivated by something a little bit stronger than greed.
I'm going to close this out by saying "Thank You" to all the people who have come by, written, sent food or flowers, posted comments, or added Luke to their prayer circles and chains. Your love, support, and prayers have helped us tremendously and I pray that you are all blessed in return. I've been blessed so much through this, and am being allowed to be in the middle of a miracle. I've been given the smallest of glimpses into God's Plan, and while I don't ever hope to understand it all, He's given me enough insight to know that even tremendous trials like this one work for good in accordance with His purpose. This gives me great comfort, and I hope I can share that comfort with as many people as possible.
One of the most troubling questions for Christianity is "Why do bad things happen to good people?" I tried to answer that one earlier, but I've learned that what I used to believe barely scratched the surface. I was right in what I believed, but my knowledge was very shallow; it was intellectual, not spiritual.
Not anymore.
The question now is how do I communicate that depth of knowledge and understanding to other people without requiring them to go through what I just went through. When I get an answer, I'll let you know.
First of all, Luke is holding steady. We're in a sort of holding pattern while we wait for a slot in the OR. Luke's lungs have improved to the point where it's safe to give him a tracheotomy, and we really need to do that in order to wake him up. If we try to wake him up right now, the irritation from his breathing and feeding tubes would probably lead to him hurting himself or damaging his lungs, which are greatly improved, but by no means healed. We're hoping to get a slot in the OR Tuesday, but the doctors said we might have to wait until Wednesday. I've very nervous about waiting; the longer he's on the vent, the more time we have for something bad to happen. This pins and needles waiting is awful. Of course, I'm much happier to be where we are now than where we were last week, but I really, really want them to let Luke wake up.
Father's Day was a very interesting day. Lissa got herself a new netbook. Lindsey got a new bloodhound puppy. (Don't tell Luke. It's a surprise.) My sister bought herself a smoker. And I got to take my wife and Lindsey out for pizza. That I paid for. Oh, they did take me out to Marble Slab for ice cream, but that doesn't really count because mine was free.
I got a better present than anybody. Luke opened his eyes while I was in his room. He was still heavily sedated, and he probably wasn't really aware I was there, except in a vague almost unconscious way, but then again, he's 18, and that's probably pretty close to his usual level of awareness of my presence.
An update for those who are concerned about Jill, the English lady whose husband suffered a stroke. First of all, the preliminary prognosis of an unrecoverable stroke has been adjusted dramatically. Her husband is not out of the woods, but he's off the ventilator, able to speak and recognize her, and is now expected to recover, although the extent of any deficits is unknown. Her son Paul flew out to be with her, and although he had to go back home yesterday, her sister-in-law will be out to stay with her later in the week.
I met Paul in the SCC lounge, and despite the fact that I knew Jill's son was coming, and that he was watching soccer, and that he spoke with a clear English accent, I didn't identify him as Jill's son until she came up and started talking to him. Yes, sleep deprivation is taking its toll on a once great mind.
People ask me how I deal with the stress and strain over such a long period of time. I wish I had some answers to give them, but the truth is I just keep stepping forward and trusting God to carry me forward. I can tell you that every time I start to feel sorry for myself, God shows me just how well off I really am. A couple of days ago, I sat in the lounge and pretended not to hear as a mother fought for the life of one son while making plans to bury another. My heart was breaking for her, but I knew there was nothing I could do or say, and that she would just resent it if I tried to intrude. I said a quiet prayer for her.
I find myself doing that a lot these days. Lissa and I were leaving Luke's bed yesterday and as we walked through the hall, there was a small family group praying. I put my hand on Lissa's shoulder and let her lead me as I bowed my head, closed my eyes and prayed for strength for them. I prayed for Judy, who lost her loved one; for Gary, whose wife of 15 years is fighting an aneurysm; for Brandon, who was in a car wreck like Luke; for Jeff and his sister Michelle; I pray for people I don't even know, that I just pass in the hallway.
I guess that's how I deal with it, by praying for those who need it.
Luke's nurses have been exceptional through the whole thing. I can't praise them highly enough except to say that God is working miracles through their hands and more importantly, their hearts. I won't name names because I don't want to embarrass them or cause them any difficulties, but I will be forever grateful to each one of them because they truly invested themselves in my son. They treated him like he was part of their family, and let us be part of their team. We bonded with them almost immediately. I can't imagine the emotional cost that bringing that level of commitment to your patient must cost them, but I can say that it was deeply appreciated.
One of Luke's nurses got sick and had to take some time off. Her replacement impressed me tremendously because instead of just reading the chart, she asked us to tell her all about Luke. She wanted to get to know him as a person, and not just a patient.
Another one of Luke's nurses confided that they had thought about taking another patient after their days off because they didn't think they could handle it emotionally if things went any further south. But in an act of what I consider to be tremendous courage, they did come back to nurse him because they knew they were needed, both by Luke, and by us. I don't know what they pay you guys, but whatever it is, it isn't enough.
I know some of Luke's nurses are reading this, and I want you to know, even though I've already told most of you directly, that your passion and commitment to Luke didn't just save his life, it gave me the strength to stand strong for him. You kept me informed, which allowed me to worry when appropriate; you educated me so I could assess what was going on; you kicked me out and made me go home when I needed to; you paid me the compliment of being totally honest with me, and you did so with kindness and grace. Because of you, I didn't wind up in a bed next to Luke.
The doctors are pretty good too.
I believe there may be something of a double standard at work in the SCC. When Sandy spends the night back with Luke, the staff works to accommodate her and make her comfortable. When I stay back there, I sit on the toilet seat cover, lean up against the cold glass and try not to slide off the seat. Maybe I'm not showing enough leg...
There is still a union protest going in in front of the hospital which suits me just fine. As long as they are out there sitting under the shade behind their sign, I know that the people who are in the hospital right now taking care of my son are motivated by something a little bit stronger than greed.
I'm going to close this out by saying "Thank You" to all the people who have come by, written, sent food or flowers, posted comments, or added Luke to their prayer circles and chains. Your love, support, and prayers have helped us tremendously and I pray that you are all blessed in return. I've been blessed so much through this, and am being allowed to be in the middle of a miracle. I've been given the smallest of glimpses into God's Plan, and while I don't ever hope to understand it all, He's given me enough insight to know that even tremendous trials like this one work for good in accordance with His purpose. This gives me great comfort, and I hope I can share that comfort with as many people as possible.
One of the most troubling questions for Christianity is "Why do bad things happen to good people?" I tried to answer that one earlier, but I've learned that what I used to believe barely scratched the surface. I was right in what I believed, but my knowledge was very shallow; it was intellectual, not spiritual.
Not anymore.
The question now is how do I communicate that depth of knowledge and understanding to other people without requiring them to go through what I just went through. When I get an answer, I'll let you know.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wake Up Call for All Penguins
This morning when the doctors made their rounds, they were very excited about Luke's progress. I could tell because one of them almost cracked a smile. Luke's vent O2 had been reduced 30% overnight and he was breathing 50% O2 and his sat looked great. The doctors are ready to wean him off his sedation and to start waking him up. They are eager to begin doing neurological assessment and find out what, if any, damage the prolonged hypoxia did to him. Luke has several advantages going for him. He's young, which means his brain is still developing, which means any rehab needed should be very successful. Also, he was very heavily sedated during the crisis, which should have reduced his brain's O2 requirement. His biggest advantage however is that God is driving this train, and I believe He won't stop until Luke is completely well.
If all goes as planned tomorrow, Luke will be moved from the prone bed onto a standard hospital bed. He'll have his endotracheal tube replaced by a tracheotomy tube, he'll finally get the CT scan they've been waiting two weeks for, and they'll get him to begin to wake up for the first time. It's an ambitious schedule, and while I'm excited to see him making so much progress, I'm a little bit nervous about pushing too far too fast, but I know God has things under control.
It was kind of funny today. I've spent more time with Luke over the last three weeks than I have in probably all of last year. Between school and his girlfriend, I don't get to see much of him. And fathers don't generally get a lot of physical contact with their kids after a certain age. As they grow up, a quick manly hug or a handshake replace holding hands, brushing their hair out of their face, and kissing boo-boos to make them better. As I sit beside him in the ICU, I find myself touching him like I did when he was little. I place my hand on his chest, so I can feel his heartbeat, and his lungs move as he breathes.I hold his hand, feeling his pulse just beneath the skin as I talk to him about yesterday and tomorrow. I rub his back while I tell him over and over again about how much I love him and how proud I am of him. Every now and then, because he can't stop me, I touch his feet. What's really strange is that even though I've spent hours talking to him, touching him, or just sitting with him, I'm really starting to miss him. It's been almost three weeks since I've heard his voice or felt his hug.It's been nineteen days since I heard him laugh or saw him smile.
That's too long.
On his third day in the ICU, Luke's girlfriend Lindsey brought in a small stuffed penguin, It was a bit ragged and held together with duck tape where the dog had gotten hold of it. Her mother Sandy explained the significance of the toy. Luke and Lindsey had been watching a TV show about a certain species of penguins that mates for life. The show followed two penguins that mated, then were separated. One wound up in a zoo, while the other remained free. Years passed, and the pair did not mate with other penguins. Then fate intervened, and the free penguin was captures, and brought to the same zoo. The two penguins recognized each other, and the next season, they mated.
Luke looked at Lindsey and in all seriousness asked her, "Will you be my penguin?"
He'll probably kill me for telling this story, but that's my boy in a nutshell, and that's why I'm really missing him.
Lord, let him wake up tomorrow and still be that kind of a man. And while you're answering prayers, make me more like him please.
Amen.
If all goes as planned tomorrow, Luke will be moved from the prone bed onto a standard hospital bed. He'll have his endotracheal tube replaced by a tracheotomy tube, he'll finally get the CT scan they've been waiting two weeks for, and they'll get him to begin to wake up for the first time. It's an ambitious schedule, and while I'm excited to see him making so much progress, I'm a little bit nervous about pushing too far too fast, but I know God has things under control.
It was kind of funny today. I've spent more time with Luke over the last three weeks than I have in probably all of last year. Between school and his girlfriend, I don't get to see much of him. And fathers don't generally get a lot of physical contact with their kids after a certain age. As they grow up, a quick manly hug or a handshake replace holding hands, brushing their hair out of their face, and kissing boo-boos to make them better. As I sit beside him in the ICU, I find myself touching him like I did when he was little. I place my hand on his chest, so I can feel his heartbeat, and his lungs move as he breathes.I hold his hand, feeling his pulse just beneath the skin as I talk to him about yesterday and tomorrow. I rub his back while I tell him over and over again about how much I love him and how proud I am of him. Every now and then, because he can't stop me, I touch his feet. What's really strange is that even though I've spent hours talking to him, touching him, or just sitting with him, I'm really starting to miss him. It's been almost three weeks since I've heard his voice or felt his hug.It's been nineteen days since I heard him laugh or saw him smile.
That's too long.
On his third day in the ICU, Luke's girlfriend Lindsey brought in a small stuffed penguin, It was a bit ragged and held together with duck tape where the dog had gotten hold of it. Her mother Sandy explained the significance of the toy. Luke and Lindsey had been watching a TV show about a certain species of penguins that mates for life. The show followed two penguins that mated, then were separated. One wound up in a zoo, while the other remained free. Years passed, and the pair did not mate with other penguins. Then fate intervened, and the free penguin was captures, and brought to the same zoo. The two penguins recognized each other, and the next season, they mated.
Luke looked at Lindsey and in all seriousness asked her, "Will you be my penguin?"
He'll probably kill me for telling this story, but that's my boy in a nutshell, and that's why I'm really missing him.
Lord, let him wake up tomorrow and still be that kind of a man. And while you're answering prayers, make me more like him please.
Amen.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
God said Yes
(Since I have badly neglected my own site for months, no one goes there anymore, so I am cross-posting this here, to add my own testimony to Rich's, since we are one flesh by the Covenant of Marriage and a team in all we do ... ~LissaKay)
The Bible tells us that God loves our prayers. We are to pray to Him our praise and worship, tell Him the desires of our hearts, request guidance and strength in our daily lives, and ask that He speak to us. The Bible also tells us that God can and will perform miracles for us, even today - He confirms and attests to us His love and our salvation "by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will." (Heb 2:4)
For the first time in my life, I have found myself in need of a true miracle.
On Memorial Day, Rich's youngest son was in a car wreck. His Jeep slid on a rain-slick curve and ran off the road. He sustained a head injury, in addition to broken ribs, lacerated lung with hemo-pneumothorax, and a minor fracture of his ankle. After a 90 minute extrication, he was rushed to the nearest trauma center. In the ER, he was responding appropriately, smiling at his dad and laughing with his best friend. Due to the knock on the head and the fractured ribs, he was taken to the ICU for observation. Shortly after arriving there, his level of consciousness started to decline. An astute nurse saw this and soon, Luke was being put under heavy sedation, intubated and put on a ventilator. A CT scan showed bleeding in his head and he had signs of increased cranial pressure.
While more than a little concerned, I felt assured that God had this under control. Of course I was praying for healing and recovery for Luke. The possibilities they were speaking of were very dire - the name for the injury he had is Diffuse Axonal Injury. A bit of research on the term revealed a very grim prognosis. Of those who sustain this kind of brain injury, 90% will never wake up. Of those who do, 90% will have major cognitive and/or motor deficits. Of the rest of that 1% the injury results in minor to moderate disability. When I read this, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I prayed harder.
Wednesday morning, after I spent much of the previous night in deep prayer, the CT scan was repeated. Praise God in Heaven - the damage turned out to be very minor, limited to a small part of the brain and best of all, was not progressing. While he still had sustained the damage from the bleed, it was small.
Our celebration that Luke would be OK was short-lived however. As they started to back down the paralytic that was keeping him still, they soon found that his lungs were not functioning very effectively. After only three days on the ventilator, he developed ARDS - acute respiratory syndrome. His lungs were stiff, filled with fluid and could not transfer oxygen effectively to his bloodstream. They had to keep him on the ventilator and let his lungs heal - but the Catch 22 is that being on the ventilator is what made his lungs sick in the first place.
Over the next week, his progress went from 3 steps forward and 2 steps back to 2 steps forward and 3 steps back. We continued praying - seeking God's face and His divine guidance and reassurance. Rich got some answers, but I still felt adrift and useless. My faith sustained, I continued having faith that Luke would still recover, and I focused on being there to support my husband while he was there for his children and family.
As the days turned into a week, and Luke made little to no progress, in my prayers, I asked God to show me what I needed to do. Two things kept coming to my mind ... the word "supplication" and the verse Jeremiah 29:11 - which happens to be my life verse: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." To this I answered, "Guide me, Holy Spirit, to do the works commanded of me. Use me as you will."
Sunday evening, I was preparing to leave the hospital when we were called back to speak with the doctor. He gave us the news that we had hoped to never have to hear, that Luke was deteriorating and was headed to what was eventually going to be his final respiratory crisis. It could be days, it could be hours. But there was little else that could be done. But there was one hope - a special bed that would allow them to easily change his position to prone, and rotate from side to side and tilt up and down. The chances of this bed working were small, and the risks in moving him were great. It would take several hours for the bed to arrive, as there were only three in the region. I believe Rich knew that he had to go for the only chance we had - having already placed Luke in God's hands. With my support, he told the doctor to go for it. Get the bed. It was already on the way.
The doctor also told us that it would be reasonable to gather the entire family at that time - even the children who were far away. One daughter in Birmingham, one in California, and even the son deployed with the Army in Iraq. The calls went out and local family began gathering at the hospital within minutes.
And then I began praying. I was begging God to not take him, that we needed him here with us. I said, "Your will, Lord, not ours, but please hear our prayer that he stay here with us - healed, whole and healthy. Lord, Lord, Lord ... please don't take him! Have mercy on his father, his mother, his family, and most of all on his beloved Lindsey. Please don't take him, Lord ... DON'T!"
Even as I spoke with Rich and the rest of the family, that prayer repeated unceasing in my mind. Then we were called back to Luke's bedside. He was deteriorating faster than previously thought. Though his oxygen levels were good, he was not perfusing well, CO2 was building up and he was becoming acidotic. They needed to move him to the prone position right away. But this would be an additional move, and another big risk of causing an irreversible crisis.
We had a while to be with Luke while they prepared for the move. God came down and weighed on me heavily. Hardly thinking about it, I just did it ... I went to Luke's side and layed my hands on his chest, and then I prayed.
I prayed with every ounce of energy, every fiber of my soul, and with every bit of love in my heart. Now it seems as if in a dream, all I remember is repeating the prayer over and over, "Your will, Lord, not ours, but please hear our prayer that he stay here with us - healed, whole and healthy. Lord, Lord, Lord ... please don't take him! Have mercy on his father, his mother, his family, and most of all on his beloved Lindsey. Please don't take him, Lord ... DON'T! In the sweet name of our Glorious Lord Jesus Christ, I pray!" alternating with that supplication that was demanded of me, "Lord, I know I am unworthy, my prayers are but a whisper, but I come to You humbly begging for Your grace and favor. We need a miracle for this child of Yours, please hear me, Lord, and grant us this miracle. In His Name, Lord ... I beg of you!"
Tears washed from my eyes in great torrents, I was shaking and my legs quickly grew weak, but I knew I had to keep on. I had God's ear and I meant to shout our pleas into it. The nursing team was moving around me, I was barely aware of their presence, yet I was taking it all in, every detail. One nurse's aid, despite the gravity of the situation, made jokes and laughed. I prayed for grace and compassion for her. I prayed for divine guidance of the medical team - "Lord, be here with us, work through the nurses, guide their hands so that no harm comes to Luke!"
Rich and I stood across the hall as they moved him, holding each other, still praying. And then it was done. His numbers were bad, and we all held our breath waiting for him to recover. The prayers were unceasing - "A miracle, Lord ... oh please grant us this miracle!" And slowly, but surely, Luke's numbers crept back up ... but we would still have to face the move, and risks, again when the bed arrived later that morning.
Although I was able to speak to others, I remained in this prayerful state. We finally retired to the family lounge to try to sleep, but I could not relax, and so I prayed.
They started calling other families back for doctors rounds at 7:30. They called us last, around 8:30. The bed was there and they were going to start moving him soon. It was a new shift of nurses by then, and Luke had held on in his face down position quite well. We had a glimmer of hope that the bed would be beneficial.
Again, as they prepared, I prayed with my hands on Luke. The same prayers, with some thanksgiving for the hope we had received ... the same physical and total emotional and mental involvement, with same dreamlike state as before. This time though, when the team was ready to start the move, they stopped ... and then they circled around Luke with us, we joined hands and were lead in a beautiful prayer by Jeanie, the clinical specialist.
It would take about an hour to move Luke, and due to the size of the bed, and close quarters in the room, they had us leave the ICU and return to the family lounge. As we did, a strange and wonderful sense of peace settled over me, and I knew in my heart that Luke was going to be OK.
A little while later, we went back in to see Luke in this huge bed ... hanging upside down, gently cradled in this crazy looking contraption, Luke began healing ... REALLY healing. Within a couple more hours, his oxygen was up at near normal levels, and his CO2 was dropping. His fever, though encased in the bed without the cooling blanket, came down to 101. By every measurement and number, he was doing so much better.
Three days later, as I write this, he has improved magnificently. The medical team is astounded. We again speak of WHEN Luke wakes up, not IF. The family that was called in from out of town, and out of country, is not here for the worst a family can face, but a celebration.
We are seeing a miracle unfold here ... the doctors tell us that Luke could wake up with cognitive deficits and possible long term or permanent damage to his lungs, which could limit his activities. But I firmly believe, and have faith that when God starts a miracle, he finishes it. Luke is going to be OK, really OK.
There have been hundreds of people called to pray for Luke, to ask God for this miracle. Hundreds of people obeyed that call. Their lives have been blessed. We are seeing this miracle. We asked, He answered ...
God said "Yes"
The Bible tells us that God loves our prayers. We are to pray to Him our praise and worship, tell Him the desires of our hearts, request guidance and strength in our daily lives, and ask that He speak to us. The Bible also tells us that God can and will perform miracles for us, even today - He confirms and attests to us His love and our salvation "by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will." (Heb 2:4)
For the first time in my life, I have found myself in need of a true miracle.
On Memorial Day, Rich's youngest son was in a car wreck. His Jeep slid on a rain-slick curve and ran off the road. He sustained a head injury, in addition to broken ribs, lacerated lung with hemo-pneumothorax, and a minor fracture of his ankle. After a 90 minute extrication, he was rushed to the nearest trauma center. In the ER, he was responding appropriately, smiling at his dad and laughing with his best friend. Due to the knock on the head and the fractured ribs, he was taken to the ICU for observation. Shortly after arriving there, his level of consciousness started to decline. An astute nurse saw this and soon, Luke was being put under heavy sedation, intubated and put on a ventilator. A CT scan showed bleeding in his head and he had signs of increased cranial pressure.
While more than a little concerned, I felt assured that God had this under control. Of course I was praying for healing and recovery for Luke. The possibilities they were speaking of were very dire - the name for the injury he had is Diffuse Axonal Injury. A bit of research on the term revealed a very grim prognosis. Of those who sustain this kind of brain injury, 90% will never wake up. Of those who do, 90% will have major cognitive and/or motor deficits. Of the rest of that 1% the injury results in minor to moderate disability. When I read this, I felt like I had been punched in the gut. I prayed harder.
Wednesday morning, after I spent much of the previous night in deep prayer, the CT scan was repeated. Praise God in Heaven - the damage turned out to be very minor, limited to a small part of the brain and best of all, was not progressing. While he still had sustained the damage from the bleed, it was small.
Our celebration that Luke would be OK was short-lived however. As they started to back down the paralytic that was keeping him still, they soon found that his lungs were not functioning very effectively. After only three days on the ventilator, he developed ARDS - acute respiratory syndrome. His lungs were stiff, filled with fluid and could not transfer oxygen effectively to his bloodstream. They had to keep him on the ventilator and let his lungs heal - but the Catch 22 is that being on the ventilator is what made his lungs sick in the first place.
Over the next week, his progress went from 3 steps forward and 2 steps back to 2 steps forward and 3 steps back. We continued praying - seeking God's face and His divine guidance and reassurance. Rich got some answers, but I still felt adrift and useless. My faith sustained, I continued having faith that Luke would still recover, and I focused on being there to support my husband while he was there for his children and family.
As the days turned into a week, and Luke made little to no progress, in my prayers, I asked God to show me what I needed to do. Two things kept coming to my mind ... the word "supplication" and the verse Jeremiah 29:11 - which happens to be my life verse: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope." To this I answered, "Guide me, Holy Spirit, to do the works commanded of me. Use me as you will."
Sunday evening, I was preparing to leave the hospital when we were called back to speak with the doctor. He gave us the news that we had hoped to never have to hear, that Luke was deteriorating and was headed to what was eventually going to be his final respiratory crisis. It could be days, it could be hours. But there was little else that could be done. But there was one hope - a special bed that would allow them to easily change his position to prone, and rotate from side to side and tilt up and down. The chances of this bed working were small, and the risks in moving him were great. It would take several hours for the bed to arrive, as there were only three in the region. I believe Rich knew that he had to go for the only chance we had - having already placed Luke in God's hands. With my support, he told the doctor to go for it. Get the bed. It was already on the way.
The doctor also told us that it would be reasonable to gather the entire family at that time - even the children who were far away. One daughter in Birmingham, one in California, and even the son deployed with the Army in Iraq. The calls went out and local family began gathering at the hospital within minutes.
And then I began praying. I was begging God to not take him, that we needed him here with us. I said, "Your will, Lord, not ours, but please hear our prayer that he stay here with us - healed, whole and healthy. Lord, Lord, Lord ... please don't take him! Have mercy on his father, his mother, his family, and most of all on his beloved Lindsey. Please don't take him, Lord ... DON'T!"
Even as I spoke with Rich and the rest of the family, that prayer repeated unceasing in my mind. Then we were called back to Luke's bedside. He was deteriorating faster than previously thought. Though his oxygen levels were good, he was not perfusing well, CO2 was building up and he was becoming acidotic. They needed to move him to the prone position right away. But this would be an additional move, and another big risk of causing an irreversible crisis.
We had a while to be with Luke while they prepared for the move. God came down and weighed on me heavily. Hardly thinking about it, I just did it ... I went to Luke's side and layed my hands on his chest, and then I prayed.
I prayed with every ounce of energy, every fiber of my soul, and with every bit of love in my heart. Now it seems as if in a dream, all I remember is repeating the prayer over and over, "Your will, Lord, not ours, but please hear our prayer that he stay here with us - healed, whole and healthy. Lord, Lord, Lord ... please don't take him! Have mercy on his father, his mother, his family, and most of all on his beloved Lindsey. Please don't take him, Lord ... DON'T! In the sweet name of our Glorious Lord Jesus Christ, I pray!" alternating with that supplication that was demanded of me, "Lord, I know I am unworthy, my prayers are but a whisper, but I come to You humbly begging for Your grace and favor. We need a miracle for this child of Yours, please hear me, Lord, and grant us this miracle. In His Name, Lord ... I beg of you!"
Tears washed from my eyes in great torrents, I was shaking and my legs quickly grew weak, but I knew I had to keep on. I had God's ear and I meant to shout our pleas into it. The nursing team was moving around me, I was barely aware of their presence, yet I was taking it all in, every detail. One nurse's aid, despite the gravity of the situation, made jokes and laughed. I prayed for grace and compassion for her. I prayed for divine guidance of the medical team - "Lord, be here with us, work through the nurses, guide their hands so that no harm comes to Luke!"
Rich and I stood across the hall as they moved him, holding each other, still praying. And then it was done. His numbers were bad, and we all held our breath waiting for him to recover. The prayers were unceasing - "A miracle, Lord ... oh please grant us this miracle!" And slowly, but surely, Luke's numbers crept back up ... but we would still have to face the move, and risks, again when the bed arrived later that morning.
Although I was able to speak to others, I remained in this prayerful state. We finally retired to the family lounge to try to sleep, but I could not relax, and so I prayed.
They started calling other families back for doctors rounds at 7:30. They called us last, around 8:30. The bed was there and they were going to start moving him soon. It was a new shift of nurses by then, and Luke had held on in his face down position quite well. We had a glimmer of hope that the bed would be beneficial.
Again, as they prepared, I prayed with my hands on Luke. The same prayers, with some thanksgiving for the hope we had received ... the same physical and total emotional and mental involvement, with same dreamlike state as before. This time though, when the team was ready to start the move, they stopped ... and then they circled around Luke with us, we joined hands and were lead in a beautiful prayer by Jeanie, the clinical specialist.
It would take about an hour to move Luke, and due to the size of the bed, and close quarters in the room, they had us leave the ICU and return to the family lounge. As we did, a strange and wonderful sense of peace settled over me, and I knew in my heart that Luke was going to be OK.
A little while later, we went back in to see Luke in this huge bed ... hanging upside down, gently cradled in this crazy looking contraption, Luke began healing ... REALLY healing. Within a couple more hours, his oxygen was up at near normal levels, and his CO2 was dropping. His fever, though encased in the bed without the cooling blanket, came down to 101. By every measurement and number, he was doing so much better.
Three days later, as I write this, he has improved magnificently. The medical team is astounded. We again speak of WHEN Luke wakes up, not IF. The family that was called in from out of town, and out of country, is not here for the worst a family can face, but a celebration.
We are seeing a miracle unfold here ... the doctors tell us that Luke could wake up with cognitive deficits and possible long term or permanent damage to his lungs, which could limit his activities. But I firmly believe, and have faith that when God starts a miracle, he finishes it. Luke is going to be OK, really OK.
There have been hundreds of people called to pray for Luke, to ask God for this miracle. Hundreds of people obeyed that call. Their lives have been blessed. We are seeing this miracle. We asked, He answered ...
God said "Yes"