Stability For Our Time

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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The doctors are pretty good too.

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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...

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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.

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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.

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.

Like I don't have enough on my plate already, I've been handed a fresh new task by God.

Earlier today The thought crossed my mind that I needed to give the rest of my family to God, just as I had done with Luke. It was a nice thought,and I figured I'd get around to it in a couple of days, but right then, I was too busy enjoying the progress Luke was making. I've never lived in the middle of a miracle before.

Procrastination is not a sound practice when dealing with God, and tonight, my family exploded. The strain of worrying about Luke finally got to us and things went very badly. Some of my kids do not like my wife. They've made their feelings quite clear, never quite crossing the line into outright rudeness, but making her feel unwanted in a hundred small ways. Last night, they crossed a line, and now Lissa doesn't want anything to do with them, they don't want anything to do with her or me, my ex wife is cussing me for not taking the kids' side, and all I want to do is take care of my son and pray he gets out of here intact with a functioning brain. I'm being put into a position where I'm supposed to choose between my wife and my kids.

Not gonna happen.

I spent a couple of hours in the chapel and walking the hospital grounds praying. It's getting to be a habit I guess, and two things happened. First, I lost my anger. I've forgiven all involved.I understand the pressures that build up and while I don't approve of the actions taken, or accept them as valid in anyway, I let all of that go. Second, I've given this all up to God. I can't resolve the issues going on here so I'm not even going to try. I'm also not going to respond to threats, whether implied or overt. I choose who I want in my family and I want all my kids, their kids, assorted pets, and my wife. That's my family. If there are those who can't accept being in a family with others I've chosen, and they choose to walk away, that's their choice, not mine. It's not what I want and they will always be welcome to return if they change their mind. I will never stop loving any of them.

To modify a phrase, "Love 'em all, and let God sort' em out."

It's 4:30 in the morning. I'm going to stretch out on an uncomfortable chair and sleep for a bit.

There's no way to construct any sort of narrative that would make sense of the last 48 hours. All I can do is take you through it step by step. And I'll tell you up front that there is a happy ending.

On Saturday, Luke's stats went into a slow but steady decline, particularly his O2 levels, which slid down to a level that was borderline hypoxic, which means he wasn't getting enough oxygen to support his brain. His lungs were almost completely shut down, and he was slowly suffocating. The doctors put him on a bed that rotated him further, hoping to get a better response out of his lungs, and it seemed to work for a couple of hours, but the numbers began to creep downward again. The doctors were concerned because Luke was going with borderline inadequate oxygen for nearly a day.

My friend Chris left here about 10:30 or so Sunday night after visiting with me and Lissa. We'd talked about Luke, and the lessons I'd been learning, and when he left, he said "Don't worry, Rich. God had His hand on you."

I replied, "Yeah, I know. He's got me by the balls and He's squeezing."

I was only kidding, but it turned out to be an accurate prediction of the next 24 hours.

Around 11:30, we were called to the ICU to speak with the attending doctor. He told us that Luke had been hypoxic for too long, and that he was getting to the point where we were risking severe injury to the brain, as well as other organ failures. He told us that they really only had one thing left to try and that was to rotate him from his back to his belly and see if the back part of his lungs would work properly. He let us know that it was a long shot, and that there were several serious risks with turning him over. Our alternatives boiled down to a simple choice: Do nothing and let Luke die a slow steady decline leading to brain damage and possibly death, or take a major risk that would either kill him, save him, or still lead to a slow lingering death.

Had this choice come a day earlier, I don't know what I would have done. Lissa and I looked at each other and I asked her for her thoughts. She just looked at me with tears in her eyes, and told me to do whatever I thought was best. Since I had already placed Luke in God's hands, I told the doctor that we wanted Luke to have the best possible chance he could,and to turn him. He told us it would take about 30 minutes to get everything ready to turn him, and that we could wait in the room while they prepped. I asked him if it was time to call in the family and he said it wouldn't be inappropriate, but that things were going to either happen very quickly, in a matter of minutes, or very slowly, over the course of days. I wasn't sure what to do, but then my phone rang and my daughter Cassandra was on the other end. I broke down immediately and told her what was going on and to notify everybody.

Lissa and I were both crying as we followed the doctor into the room and as they began to remove equipment and furniture to make room for the flat bed, Lissa placed her hands on Luke's chest and began to pour out her soul in prayer. I held her by the waist and took Luke's hand and began to talk to him. I told him how strong he was what a good man he was, and how very proud of him I was. Then I told him that he wasn't done yet, that he had made promises to a certain young lady, and he was a man who kept his promises. I told him I was so scared, I couldn't see straight, but that I was sure he was going to come out ok because God had more in store for him. I told him that all he had to do was to hold on tight, and not let go, no matter how tired he got,no matter how hopeless things seemed, because that's what men do, and he was a good man. Lissa was shaking beside my with tears running down her face as she quietly begged God to let Luke stay with us.

People began to arrive and we faced a dilemma. We had two badges and four people who wanted to be in there with Luke during the move. I knew I was going to be in there, and that I needed Lissa's support and prayer and that was that, which disappointed my son who really wanted to be in there to support me and his brother. My heart was breaking and I hoped he understood, but his eyes went hard as he walked away after I told him my decision. I was torn, but I had to get back to Luke's side. Lissa was still there, tears rolling as she prayed, her hands stretched out over Luke's chest.

Eventually, the team was ready and we moved just outside the room. We watched as they planned and quickly rehearsed how they were going to get this 6'2" 200 lb man from one bed to the other without disturbing his ventilator tubes and countless other tubes and wires. They began to move him and Lissa and I held our breath, Arms nd legs went everywhere as they moved Luke, rolling him from his back to his belly. I watched the pulse ox on the monitor as it crept down from 77 to 70. I heard the respiratory therapist begin to bag Luke, trying to bring the pulse ox back up while nurses and techs packed pillows under him to get him into the right position. After a few minutes, Luke's numbers began to come up. He hit 81, and we started to breath again. He'd survived the move, the doctor said, bu we were going to have to do it again in the morning, this time to a bed designed to support a prone patient. The jump to 81 wasn't as much as the doctor had hoped for, and he looked grim as he walked down the hallway. We went downstairs, and I searched out my son, wanting to make sure he understood my decision, and didn't hate me. I was crying when I saw him, barely able to control my breathing, and he told me he was hurt,and he was angry, but that he understood why I made the call,and that he would get over it.

More family members began to arrive,and we started making arrangements for my oldest son to come home. We called the Red Cross and gave them the appropriate information,and within a few hours, he was on his way. We gathered in the lower lobby,and began to wait. The atmosphere was very strange. The immediate crisis had passed; Luke was prone and his numbers were ok, but we were holding for another move in the morning. Eventually, people began to wander home. Erinne and Isaac went home, Deedi took Mom home, Lissa and I went upstairs to sleep for a couple of hours, and Sandy spent the night reading her journal to Luke.

As soon as visitation opened.Lissa and I were back in the ICU. The doctor told us that even though Luke's pulse ox numbers looked great at 93,his CO2 had gone up even faster and he was acidodic, which meant that his blood wouldaccept O2, but not release it, meaning his brain was still starved for oxygen. We were running out of time.

The bed arrived a little bit later,and once again, we spent the prep time praying over Luke, and talking to him. Lissa's whole body was shaking as she put every once of her heart and soul into her prayers for Luke and his recovery. I rubbed his back, the way I used to do when I was putting him to bed. I whispered to him that no matter what happened, I was so very proud of the ay he had fought,and that I would tell him that to his face the next time I saw him, no matter what. I thought about watching him grow up, from a goofy little boy to the fine young man he'd become. I mourned the days and weeks I'd missed spending with him because my work took me away, and I cherished all the football games in the rain and snow that I watched. I thought again about all the mistakes I'd made and marveled at how good a man he'd become despite those mistakes. The nurse told us that everything was ready, and Lissa and I stood up to leave. The team leader came in when everything was ready, and she asked us if we minded if she started the transition with a prayer. Of course we readily agreed,and the nurses, technicians, doctors, and anybody in the hall who felt like it joined hands and prayed over Luke. She prayed for swift sure hands and right decisions, alert minds, and attention to detail. Then she sent us out of the room and told us to wait.

I really don't know how long we waited. It was probably 30-45 minutes, but it felt like days. Eventually, we got the word to come back up and we did. Luke was in a bed that looked like something out of the Transformers movies. It fully enclosed him and let him rest in a prone position while also rotating him about 120 degrees. We couldn't really see his face because it was covered with a pad to hold him steady. They told us that the transition went well, and that he was comfortable, but it would be awhile before we knew if the bed would work, or if we were going to lose Luke.

Once again, as time passed, family members began to arrive and we moved downstairs to wait together. A constant stream of people went up to see Luke in his new bed, and it wasn't just family. Doctors, nurses, techs, and other ICU families stopped by to see Luke in this strange new bed. The first blood gas reports came back and they were mildly encouraging. His O2 level was increasing, but his CO2 wasn't decreasing. We were happy with the advance, but it wasn't enough to save his life.

As we moved into the afternoon, family members from further away began to arrive. Just as importantly, Luke's numbers began to improve dramatically. For the first time in a couple of days,Luke was moving towards recovery instead of disaster. By midnight of the 14th, it was clear that Luke really was improving and it wasn't just a momentary fluctuation.

It's hard to describe how I felt during those hours of waiting. I knew in my heart that Luke was going to be okay because that is what I had been given from God, but I doubted what I knew. I doubted myself. I'm not normally a mystical person, but I was experiencing a mystical event. My doubt was enough to drive me to my knees in worry but my faith kept me going. I now have a much better understanding of the agony of Jesus at Gethsemane, and a truly deep appreciation for God's sacrifice of His son.

As the evening wound down,and it was clear that Luke was going to not only make it through the day, but also get better, Isaac brought me a piece of cake from the cafeteria. He'd borrowed a marker from somebody and wrote "Happyish Birthday" on the lid.

It was the best slice of birthday cake I'd ever eaten.

Sorry for no update yesterday; I've been a bit busy. You see, I've started a new career:

Nurse's aid.

Taking Luke off of the TBI protocol has turned out to be a mixed blessing. It has let them go full bore in treating his sick lungs, but it also means that he's not as high a priority so he no longer rates a full time exclusive nurse. I understand completely the hospitals policy and why they do things this way, but I think Luke is still sick enough to need full time care, and I'm not the only one. Several other hospital employees have expressed the same feeling, simply because Luke is very fragile right now. What in many patients would be a routine hiccup could cause him tremendous trouble.

So his family and I are stepping in to fill the breach. We're going to be in his room with him close to 24/7, except for shift change when we aren't allowed. In ten minutes, I'll have to leave his side and wait through 2 and a half long hours until we can come back in and resume our duties.

Last night, after a full day, I sat with Luke from just after midnight through till almost 6am. I supported his head, figured out how to fix his bed, applied cool towels to his forehead, and most importantly, acted as the eyes and ears of the nurse who couldn't be here. It was important to me that he felt my hands, his father's hands, on him, helping him and making him feel better.

It worked out very well for Luke; he had a very peaceful night. I, on the other hand, discovered that my days of pulling all-nighters are far behind me. I was very relieved when visiting hours were over, and went to the lounge and slept for 4 hours. I checked in on Luke, and when Isaac came in, took advantage of the time and grabbed a 90 minute nap. Lindsey has sat with him, and so has Sandy, and Lissa will be in this evening, and we're just going to make sure that one of us is here as much as possible. It's not all that different from what we've been doing during the day; we're just stepping things up a bit.

Luke has had a couple of mild setbacks, but nothing I would call a crisis since the last big episode a couple of days ago. He hasn't rebounded as quickly as I would like, and has instead showed a slow creeping regression. Nothing major, just slight reductions in his saturation numbers.

Right before I came in to Luke's room last night, one of the pastors from my church came in and talked to me. He's been reading these stories, and he told me how much they meant to him, and what a powerful testimony they were. And then he said something that really echoed within me. We were talking about my night of prayer, when I became convinced that Luke was going to be alright, and he said that now that I had given Luke to God, He would take care of him. This was similar to something my friend Chris had said earlier, and what struck me was that I wasn't sure that they were right. Not about the fact that God would take care of Luke, but about whether I had in fact given Luke up to God.

I know that when I prayed I said the words, "Your will, not mine," but did I mean them? Was I really willing to place my son in God's hands for Him to do as He saw fit, up to and including letting him die?

Umm, no. Taking care of my kids has always been job one in my life. Protecting them from harm is a point of honor with me, and I've been very proud of what I've done with them. Let me give you a tip; anytime the word "proud" crosses your lips, you are heading into a dangerous place. I've had my nose rubbed into the fact that no matter how hard I try, no matter what I do, a slick patch of pavement and a tree can place my kids beyond my reach in an instant.

For the past two weeks, I've projected an air of competence, optimism, and ability. The truth, however, is that when if comes to Luke and his injuries, I am none of these things. Last night, I was forced to come to terms with my powerlessness. I can't make Luke's injuries better. I can't fix his lungs. I can't purge his body of the infection.

I can't protect him.

For a father like me, that's a terrible admission to have to make.

Fortunately, Luke has another Father, one who can heal his injuries and who can protect him. To accept His gifts, all you have to do is give Him everything. That's always sounded easy until last night when what I generally considered a figure of speech became reality. I had to put Luke into the hands of God, and accept His will, even if it meant that my son must die. I was being asked to make the choice of Abram, and offer my son to God, not as a sacrifice, but as a gift. He gave me Luke; now I was supposed to give him back, and trust God to do what I couldn't.

When I put it that way, my hesitation sounds silly; of course I can trust God to do what is good. But He saw fit to allow His own Son to die a painful and humiliating death in order to save us; He could certainly do the same with my son. Selfishness and fear kept me from doing what I had to do. I wound up spending the last two weeks tending to Luke, my precious son, and contending with God for dominion over him. I was forced to watch him slip away from me inch by inch until I could no longer resist the truth. My dominion would only bring Luke death; only God's dominion could bring him life. With a broken heart, I lifted up Luke to God, and told Him that Luke was His to do with as He willed. I begged for healing, for a miracle, but I finally said and meant the words, "Thy will be done."

There was no miraculous healing, and no breath of fresh air to tell me Luke would be OK. That's not what this was all about. This was about me learning the true nature of surrender and how our selfishness can doom us and those we love, even as God holds out His hand to bless us. My heart was broken by my failure to protect my son, and my inability to freely give him up to God, even though I knew it was the only way to save him.

This has been a very difficult post to write, and I'm sure it shows. There is no tidy happy ending for one thing. Luke is still very sick. He didn't leap from the bed, miraculously healed in a flourish of trumpets and an angel chorus. I wasn't uplifted with an infusion of heavenly grace. All that happened was that Luke passed a peaceful night last night, a peaceful day today, and right now, at four in the morning, his lungs are showing the tiniest hint that they just might, maybe, possibly, could be, beginning to heal. And that's good enough for me.

God has Luke in His hands now, and what He holds, He never lets go.

Luke had a really bad incident today, and we came close to losing him. The oscillating respirator was losing effectiveness and his oxygenation was fading. Worse, his CO2 numbers were climbing which threatened his brain's recovery. The doctors decided that they might be able to clear some of the junk from Luke's lungs by doing a bronchoscopy, but it didn't go well. They didn't pull much from his lungs, and something went wrong when they tried to put him back on the oscillator. They had to manually bag him, but while doing so, they noticed that he was oxygenating better, and his CO2 went down quickly. They decided to put him back on a standard ventilator and see how he responded. It took about 15 minutes to get everything set up, but once they did, Luke was oxygenating very well on the vent. His CO2 numbers went back up, but were within control.

The transition was very stressful on him (and me) but he is once again stable, with decent oxygenation, and we're hoping that he will turn around soon, before we run out of second chances.

While all of this was going on, I tried to keep people updated via text messages. I didn't do a great job because I was worried about Luke and stayed in his room while they took care of him. Once the crisis was over, I wandered around in something of a daze, and I didn't add any more informative updates. A couple of my kids were very scared when I didn't send them more updates, and they were very angry with me. I didn't blame them for being angry, but they hurt my feelings when they basically ignored me for a few hours. I started to get angry, and to pout a little bit, as my pride began to swell. After all, hadn't I been doing my best to keep them notified for the last 12 days or so? I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to write these messages; I composed densely packed text messages to everybody in the morning. I called people, or answered my phone as often as I could. Sure, I got overwhelmed by this crisis, but who wouldn't?

I was working myself into a fine sulk when I met a lady named Jill up in the SCC lounge. She and her husband were on holiday from the UK,and had been spending time in Pigeon Forge when he had a massive stroke. Now she's stranded in a foreign country, no friends or family, no transportation, no working phone to let her family back in the UK know what happened, and nobody here to even hold her hand while she deals with what may be the biggest emergency of her life.

And I'm feeling sorry for myself because my kids are acting like kids. I felt about an inch tall. I invited her to join us downstairs, and later in the evening, offered to take her anywhere she needed to go, or to pick up anything she might need from the store. She graciously accepted the invitation, and said she might take advantage of it tomorrow. I went back downstairs with a much different attitude. Sure, my kids were still mad at me, but they were still here with me, supporting their brother in the only way they could. By being there. I'm surrounded by friends and family, a;; willing and able to help me as much as needed. I would have to be an ungrateful bastard to be mad at them, or to hold a grudge against them because they were scared.

By the end of the night, it had all blown over. They weren't mad at me anymore,and I no longer had my hurt feelings. We had forgiven each other for the crime of being human and imperfect.

Of course, the best part is that Jill knows she is not utterly on her own now.

This feels a little odd, both because I'm writing this in the middle of the day,and because I'm not fighting off sleep to do so. The subject may strike you as odd as well, because having your youngest son in the ICU for a week and a half after a care accident with more than a few challenges facing him is generally not a time we think of being thankful. But even in the midst of all that's happening with my son, God showed me just how blessed my life really is.

I've spent several days at the hospital now, and we spend most of our time in the East Lobby. There's a special lounge upstairs closer to where Luke is, but space is limited, and we generally carry a larger crowd than they can accommodate, not to mention we tend to get a little bit louder than most would find appropriate in such a somber setting. So we all stay together down in the lobby, and go upstairs to visit Luke. I've seen all kinds of people come to the hospital and spend anywhere from seconds to hours in the lobby, but I knew she was different as soon as she sat down behind me. Her suitcase, her attitude, her rumpled clothing, and her distracted, furtive air all marked her as somebody out of place. Nobody matches us for time in the lobby, but she hung in with us hour after hour. She moved seats frequently, and occasionally moved to the central lobby, but as the morning turned into afternoon, she was still there. It became pretty clear that she was homeless,and she was taking refuge in the hospital from the storms outside.

Lissa came in about dinner time, carrying a box of McAllister's baked potatoes with all the fixings. She'd been in a training class at work, and when she told them that she'd be at the hospital with our family waiting on Luke, they let her bring the leftovers to the hospital. I wanted to offer some of the food to the lady, but I didn't want to embarrass her,so I went around the lobby, asking the three or four other people there if they would like to share in our dinner. They all declined, but when I got to her, she eagerly accepted. Lissa fixed her a big plate with two potatoes and all the fixings she could carry, and the lady went back to her seat and ate slowly, relishing each bite.

Later in the evening, as we were getting ready to go home for the evening, Lissa went through all the food and supplies that friends and family had given us for our hospital vigil, and made up a care package for the lady. Lissa put in several meals worth of food, concentrating on fresh fruit, crackers,and other easy to transport foods. My friend Chris had given us a hospital support package that included some toiletries, and I tossed a toothbrush and toothpaste into the package, along with a package of wipes so she could keep herself reasonable clean. Shortly before we left, when the lobby was quiet, I took the bag over to her and gave it to her, telling her we hoped she could use it and that it would help her in some small way. A big grin crossed her face as she accepted the bag and called down a blessing on us and thanked us for giving her so much.

This story is not about giving. It's about thanksgiving for our blessings. Even in the midst of this trial we're going through, we're unbelievably blessed. Unlike the lady in the hospital, we have our health, our homes, our family, and an abundance of resources. More importantly, we are surrounded by friends who come to help us when we need it,bringing us food and supplies to sustain us. And most importantly,we have our God, through Whom all good things come. These blessings have not been diminished by our trials; in fact, they've been strengthened and expanded. We not only have all of these resources, we have hope. But the lady in the hospital has no resources, no family or friends to rely on, and no hope. She is completely dependent on the good will of others for her food, clothing, and shelter, and right now, there's not much good will around.

It's humbling and challenging to realize that no matter how bad our situation gets, there are people who have much harder lives and heavier burdens to bear. Don't get me wrong; having one of your kids in the ICU is no walk in the park, and believe me, I'm not trying to minimize the difficulties we've gone through over the last ten days, but I know now that no matter what happens, I face it with my family and friends around me, and cradled by a loving God, who will make sure that I have the strength I need to carry the load he gives.

And for that, I give thanks to God, for surrounding me not just with His angels, but with friends and family who can and will help me with any burden. I give thanks that Luke survived the crash, and that his ICU nurse immediately recognized that Luke was in severe distress and took actions that I am sure saved Luke's life. I give thanks that this trial has pulled my family closer together, and given us all a chance to address old problems and grievances and put them away forever. I give thanks that God has led me to write these things down and share them with you, and I pray that they help somebody else struggling through a similar trial. But most of all, I give thanks to God that He placed His Hand on one of His children and said, "Not today, Luke. I'm not finished with you yet."

Thank you Lord for all the blessings in my life.

Amen.

On my way in to UT Hospital yesterday morning (or was it the day before yesterday? Time is growing elastic) I saw one of the "Shame On 'Fill in the Blank' Unfair Labor Practices signs at the entrance, and it really took me back. At first, I thought that God had generously provided me with an outlet for the pent up frustration I was feeling, but my daughter warned me that getting arrested would make it difficult for me to take care of Luke,so I decided to leave them alone.

But I kept thinking about them, and I really had to wonder if they understood how they looked. I mean, let's just think about this for a minute. First of all, picketing a hospital is just plain stupid. People come here because they are sick or hurting and they know the folks here will fix them up. We look up to doctors and nurses, and the idea of picketing them is slightly ludicrous. Second, many of us are coming in for repeat visits and are here day after day. We know just how hard the staff here work, and how dedicated they are to making sure our family members get the best care and treatment possible. And then we see a fat, lazy, union worker, sitting out in the warm sun in their easy chair, making 9 or 10 bucks an hour for handing out a leaflet and refusing to answer questions, and that union worker has the audacity to try and claim that the people working for the hospital should be ashamed of themselves. Just ask yourself a simple question: Who would you rather trust your health and life to, a dedicated professional who sees his or her job as a calling, or a guy dedicated to making the most money for the least effort possible?

I can't think of a better argument or advertisement for open shops and right to work laws.

I'm not going to recap Luke's condition in detail because it's 2:30 AM and I'm tired. He's been diagnosed with ARDS, Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, which is his case a label for what we knew already; his lungs are very sick. To make things more interesting, Luke is battling an infection that's raised his temperature to 103. I've spent the last couple of hours in his room,praying at his side.

I'm not a big prayer. I say what I need to say and get on with it. But tonight I felt like I needed to be in his room praying. I'd been worried all day, but worked to keep my family's spirits up. After they left, and I found out about the fever, I was afraid. Very afraid. I went into his room, and stood by him and prayed. While they spread a cooling blanket over him, I prayed. While the respirator therapist worked on the super special ventilator they have Luke on, I prayed. While his temperature climbed and his numbers go worse, I prayed.

I begged, pleaded, cajoled and bargained. I promised. I offered. It all boiled down to one simple thing. "Lord, please don't take my son, but Your will, not mine."

I was praying in fear and worry,and I felt oppressed. Then, at about 2:20, something changed. I was comforted. My fear fell away and it was like I got a breath of fresh clean air after breathing stale fumes. My fear, worry and confusion were lifted. I don't believe in predicting the future but I do believe with all my heart and soul that Luke will make it through this latest challenge. I believe that my prayers and the prayers of all the people who have been praying for Luke this past week, have been answered with a "Yes."

He's still a very sick boy, but he will recover.

As Luke's brain improves,his lungs continue to weaken. We're in a kind of Catch-22 where they can't treat his lungs effectively because of the Traumatic Brain Injury protocol but they can't get a CT scan to take him off of the TBI protocol until his lung function improves. Situations like this are why doctors make the big bucks. Luke has been treated according to the best practices for brain injuries, but those practices are now hampering the treatment of his lungs. His doctor has a call to make; stick with the protocol and hope his lungs improve, or assess the condition of Luke's brain based on the indications he has at hand without a CT scan to provide verification and remove Luke from the TBI protocol in order to more effectively treat his lungs.

It's not a call I'd want to make when a young man's life is on the line.

Luke is back on 100% O2 after a very eventful day. This morning, his doctors decided he was ready to have his chest tube removed and that he was ready to come off of the paralytic and possibly remove the Cranial Pressure monitor following a CT scan. The removal of the chest tube went well, and Luke looked good for most of the day. They began reducing his paralytic medication, and he started twitching again. Around 5:30, he'd been completely off the drug for about 30 minutes when things went screwy. He started to fight the ventilator, and his gag reflex and cough reflex really kicked into high gear. He was so uncomfortable that despite heavy doses of the pain killer and the anesthetic, he nearly woke up. His BIS score, a scale that measures your level of consciousness (100 is fully conscious, 40-50 is ready for surgery, 30 is where they've been keeping Luke) rose over about a minute from in the low 30s to around 87. That's when his eyes opened.

He wasn't seeing anything, and he wasn't really awake, but he wasn't far from it. Because he was fighting the ventilator, his blood O2 level went down significantly while his CO2 went up. The increase in CO2 level caused his inter-cranial pressure to increase. He very quickly exceeded the parameters allowed for the TBI protocol, so his nurse put him back on the drug, and just as quickly, he stabilized. It was very exciting, somewhat scary, and certainly intense. It also exhausted Luke, and as I noted, he has taken a downward turn with his lung function. The frustrating part is that if he had been off the TBI protocol, they could have left him off the paralytic and used other anesthesia to help him tolerate the vent tube. But as it stands now, we're in kind of a bind.

Of course, there is a lot of good news in all of this. His brain is working properly at it's most fundamental level. Most of his reflexes operated properly, and even though his ICP spiked, once the stimulus was removed, it came right back down without medication. He showed that he will come off of the sedation fairly quickly and easily.

But the lungs are center stage right now, and while there are several things the doctors can do to help them recover, they will be much easier to do if we can get Luke off of the TBI protocol. Tomorrow's rounds will be very interesting.

Luke's lungs continue to keep us on a roller coaster ride. He had a good day for most of the day yesterday, then around 5PM, he started having trouble maintaining a good oxygen level in his blood. Similar to Thursday's episode, his numbers went down sharply and his nurse was worried which means I was very worried. They administered Flolan and jacked the vent oxygen back to 100% and he responded after a short time. He's been very stable since around 1AM, but they are having to maintain his vent O2 at 70% For comparison, healthy lungs get all the O2 we need from regular air, which is only 21% O2. Luke's lungs are very sick, but the nurses are still able to keep his blood oxygenated using standard protocols, which is a very good thing. If Luke follows a standard pattern, he should hang out here for a couple of days, and then begin to recover, but so far, Luke hasn't been one to follow anything typical. The important thing is that his doctors and nurses are still very optimistic for Luke's prospects and so are we.

Over the last week, I've learned a lot of things I never thought I would. I know quite a bit about how to read monitors and assess a neurological patient. I understand a lot more about the care and support of a damaged brain. I've learned words like "profusion" and "decompensate" and abbreviations like ICP, CPP, CVP, and others. But I've learned other things that are far more important.

There's more going on here than just my son's accident and injury. My entire family is changing based on our reactions to what has happened. I've gotten to know Luke's girlfriend and her family so well that they are now part of my family. I've gotten to know all of my kids better, as this incident has caused us all to break down barriers we've built over years to speak honestly and openly, without fear,pain, or distrust. It isn't just that I've been able to see my children standing firm in the face of fear and pain; I knew that they were all strong when we were raising them. But I'm learning how they see me, how they see mistakes I've made, and more importantly, have learned what I tried to teach them and then surpassed it.

It goes beyond my family. Luke has touched many lives in our community, just because of the man he is, and his story is reaching even further. I'm not exaggerating when I say that lives are changing because of what happened to Luke; not just our lives but the lives of people we've never even met. God is doing a great work through my son, and my little chronicle here is the smallest part of it.

Over the past week, I've felt doubt, comfort, fear, relief, love, sadness, sheer terror, and absolute peace. I've watched my kids play, and my grandchildren scamper around the lobby. I've talked with my sons and my daughters, opening my heart to them while they open theirs to me. I've had people tell me things I never knew about my son, things that make me proud enough to burst, things that break my heart because my son was afraid to tell me himself for fear I would think he was silly. What did I say, what mistakes id I make to ever give him the idea that I would consider his loves and feelings to be silly? How could I have been so unfeeling and unseeing? If I could,I'd go back in time and take whatever it was away, so my son would know just how I felt about him, how proud I have been to watch him grow, to see the joy in his eyes when he sees his girl friend, or the mischievous grin he wears whenever he's up to something. He knows I love him, and he knows I'm proud of him, but boys and men need to hear it, and I guess I never said it enough.

You can bet that will change, and not just for Luke, but for all my kids, and the rest of my family.


We just don't have time to put anything important off because we never know what tomorrow holds. When we talk to somebody today, that might actually be the last time we talk to them ever, I really don't want my last words to a child to be, "If I had known, I would have told you 'I love you' more often."