“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer” Romans 12:12

From my November 3rd Facebook update…

“Joey will start dialysis tomorrow as his kidneys are failing…

I’m not one to get on roller coasters, yet I feel I was forced on this one and I don’t get to decide when I get off. I can scream at the top of my lungs for the ride to stop, but it’s not up to me. I’m not in control.

But the pain! The pain that comes with it is excruciating. At times it seems unbearable and yet I seem to live through it. I hate it. I hate this with every fiber of my being. I hate not hearing you speak to me. I hate that you can’t give me a reassuring look, or squeeze my hand three times like you normally do signaling the words I-love-you.

I hate that every single nurse tells me that this will be a very long, bumpy process. That some days we’ll take two steps forward, and then three steps back. And they’ve been right. I hate Covid and the destruction it is capable of. Not only has it wreaked havoc on your body, but on me and the kids mentally, physically, and emotionally.

But I am not without hope! I know the One who is in control. I know He can silence the storm. I know that no matter how deep the waters get, He will not let me drown. I know that if he so chooses, he can speak the word and heal you in an instant.

Yes, it hurts. And my faith is tested beyond what I am comfortable with. But I will not let go of my Savior’s hand. Nor will I let go of yours, Joey. I will endure this ride as long as you need me to. I am holding on tight, constantly praying, pleading, and even begging. I love you beyond what mere words can explain. You are in the fight of your life and I will fight alongside you every step of the way!”

Even after intubation, Joey’s oxygen numbers continued to fluctuate throughout the day. The respiratory techs had explained that it was a matter of fine tinkering with all the settings on the machines. They had told me that at that point, they would be happy with anything over 82. There were times when he would just hover at 82 and I would gaze on his monitor, almost holding my breath waiting for it to rise. Other times it would stay in the higher 80’s bringing a bit of relief, but I never felt comfortable with anything less than the 90’s range.

The day Joey was intubated, he was placed on a paralytic medication. It’s purpose is to completely paralyze the muscles so as not to interfere or “fight” with the ventilator. This was day 4 of being on the paralytic. They continued to prone Joey in the evenings and turn him to his back in the mornings but even with the paralytic, movement still affected him. He was being super sensitive to changes; part of the “bumpy ride.”

Besides his oxygen and all the basics, Joey’s CO2 was being monitored, which at the time was elevated. His numbers should’ve been around 35, but were at 58. They were also monitoring his brain activity with a device that was placed on his head. Those numbers were supposed to be in the 40 – 60’s, but Joey’s were in the 30’s… more numbers to keep track of.

On November 3rd I arrived at the hospital a little later that morning. Earlier, I had ran to urgent care. I had been having some pain in my chest and back that was very noticeable, especially at night. My chest X-ray showed some patchiness as I was still recovering from Covid-pneumonia.

Another test was done, checking for a pulmonary embolism (PE), which is basically a blood clot in your lung that if not treated, can lead to death. The doctor said the results of the PE test wouldn’t be ready till the end of the day. She told me she would be calling and if the test came back positive, I would need to immediately go to the emergency department where she would let them know to expect me, to have a CT scan and be treated.

I left and sat in my car and prayed. I asked God again for healing, but this time for myself. I drove off and headed to the hospital and as I drove I thought about my kids. I didn’t want anything else put on them. I couldn’t stand the thought of more hurt and worry being placed on their hearts. I was afraid. I needed to be here for my kids, especially now. I again, sent out my plea to my prayer warriors.

When I arrived at the hospital, I was told that nephrology, (kidney doctor) was looking at Joey’s lab results and would be coming in for a consult as Joey had slowly stopped producing urine. When the Dr. Gabry’s came in, I immediately recognized him. He had been treating my dad since his kidney transplant back in 1994.

A familiar face, one that I trusted, meant so much to me in that moment. I thanked God for this little piece of comfort. He explained Joey’s results, which weren’t good…his kidneys were failing.

I always seemed to remain calm as doctors and nurses spoke to me about the not-so-good news. It wasn’t until I would leave Joey’s room or when I would see a friend or family member that I would fall apart. After I sent out the update, my friend from work immediately met me outside the hospital. I remember throwing myself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably, telling her, ” I cant lose him!” I was afraid this was the beginning of the avalanche towards the end. Would this trigger everything to start shutting down quickly? As always, my friend helped me focus and pull myself back together. We talked and prayed together as we always did and I went back in.

Later, the doctor from the urgent care called, letting me know that the results were negative. Thank you, Jesus! She figured it was the lingering effects from Covid plus the stress and encouraged me to make sure to take care of myself. That seemed to be the reoccurring advise from everyone. Easier said than done!

November 4th, I sat at Joey’s bedside, as I did every single day. Dialysis would be coming at some point so I again prayed over Joey, holding and rubbing any part of his arm that wasn’t covered with tubes or bandages.

I noticed that Joey’s monitor screen was split, with his numbers on one side and the numbers of the patient next door, on the other. Joey’s room was right in front of the nurses station and they always kept his monitor tilted a bit so they could see his numbers from where they sat. The room next door was in an area where the monitor could not be seen. Her numbers didn’t look good.

All at once I noticed the staff gathering near her door. In all the commotion, I heard someone mention the word DNR (Do Not Resuscitate). Soon, I noticed family members started to arrive. One of the rules I was given early on, was the hospital only allowed one visitor at a time, unless the patient is actively dying.

I tried to ignore what was happening, but it was hard. I messaged a few people and told them, ”I think the patient next door is actively dying, please pray for her and her family.” It was 9:35am and her numbers began to drop. Her O2 was at 43 and her heart rate was very low as well.

It seemed as much as I didn’t want to see what was going on, I couldn’t take my eyes off the monitor. I tried to close my eyes and just pray when all of a sudden the monitor started beeping. I looked up and her numbers were flashing red on the screen. The nurse ran into Joey’s room and shut it off. Right after, I heard the family cry out. Their screams were nothing short of chilling and I knew she had passed. 

I broke down crying, telling myself, ”That’s their story, it’s not ours, that’s their story, it’s not ours.” I cried out to God, “ I can’t go through that, PLEASE don’t make me go through that!”

It was devastating, to say the least. Only to face it again the very next day. The cries from the family were so loud that staff rushed into our room, apologized to me, and shut the door. I felt like I was surrounded by death and there was no getting away from it.

Later that day, the attempt at dialysis was unsuccessful. Joey’s blood had thickened so much that it would not work. They started a heparin drip in order to thin it out and would try again the next day.

November 5th, they were finally able to run dialysis. The tech on this day, let me stay in the room. I sat there and watched as he constantly monitored Joey’s vitals, his catheter, and the dialysis machine.

I had never seen dialysis done before, and it was quite something to see Joey’s blood being taken from his body and being run through the machine. I prayed the whole time that this would be a turning point for Joey.

As I sat in the unbelievably cold room, I stared at Joey’s blood, asking God to filter out everything that was unclean and to bring healing to Joey’s body. As I prayed, a thought came to mind. I thought of God pouring out his own blood for us in order to bring us healing.

The fact that I was staring at my husband’s own physical blood, in such a mass quantity, being “poured out” in the hopes of bringing new life and healing to his body was a humbling moment. It brought about a new and more profound meaning to the fact that Jesus Christ willingly took up his cross, knowing the pain and suffering that would be set upon him. Lovingly, he endured it all in order to bring healing and new life for me, for you, for all of us. I couldn’t help but cry and give thanks…to be continued.