Walking thru the Valley 8

God is Good ALL the Time!

Chapter 8

Sunday, November 14. At 11am, Joey was on 45% support from the ventilator and his oxygen saturation was at 90! The plan was to do the trach at 2pm.

When the time came for the procedure, I went to sit in the waiting room. Alone and exhausted, I began to pray, but I felt like I was repeating myself. I stared off at the wall and asked God, “What do I pray?”

Five words popped into my mind: “Yes Jesus, I trust You.”

They were words from a skit my kids used to perform called The Trust Fall. (I’ve linked the original video below.)

If you’re not familiar with the trust fall, it’s a game where someone stands behind you as you let yourself fall backward, trusting they’ll catch you. This skit takes it to a whole other level.

In the skit, Jesus is with a girl who has had a few failed attempts at falling back and has admitted she just doesn’t trust Him. Eventually, though reluctant, she says she trusts Him and finally falls. Once He catches her, she’s so excited she wants to try again.

Only this time, He turns her around. Her back is to Him, and there is no one behind her. He asks, “Do you trust Me?” She replies so confidently, “Yes Jesus, I trust You so much!” He says, “Then fall back.” She laughs and points out that there’s no one behind her to catch her. He asks her again, “Do you trust Me?”

The skit goes on to show the girl’s struggle to trust God when she can’t see how He could possibly catch her in this particular kind of situation. She has a decision to make, much like the rest of us: will she trust Him to work it out, or will she walk away?

That day, in the waiting room while they did Joey’s trach, a horrible thought ran through my mind: What if we’ve come all this way and something goes wrong and they can’t do the procedure again, and this is where it all falls apart?

I immediately dismissed the thought and heard the words, “Do you trust Me?”

Yes, Jesus. I trust You.

“Then fall back.”

How many times do we miss seeing God do the impossible simply because we don’t understand how it could possibly be done?

But that’s the point! A miracle isn’t a miracle if it’s something you or I can do ourselves. It isn’t something that we can explain. And so often it involves a sticky situation in order to see one.

When the Red Sea was split for the Israelites, I can only imagine the fear just minutes beforehand, thinking they were done for. But I can also imagine what that view must’ve been like as they walked through, and the overwhelming emotions as they saw God do the impossible.

While I sat in the waiting room, the doctor called, and said, “It went perfect!”

November 15, the day after the tracheotomy. Joey’s O2 was 94 with only 40% vent support. They planned to remove the feeding tube going through his nose and place a PEG tube, which would go through his stomach instead.

Our next steps to focus on were weaning him completely from sedation, making sure he could tolerate being fully awake, and continuing with dialysis. They would also try what they called “spontaneous breathing,” where he would try to breathe on his own for short periods of time without the ventilator. If he could do that well, they would try to disconnect him completely from the vent and use other means of oxygen to aid him if needed.

November 16. Guess who’s awake?!

My heart exploded with joy when he looked straight at me as I walked into his room! One of the sedation meds was turned off, but a different one was kept on to keep him comfortable. It was wonderful to see the huge tower of medications attached to him become smaller and smaller.

Just a quick side note here… Remember back in chapter two, at our prayer meet-up, where friends and family gathered outside the hospital to pray for us and Joey? Do you remember the weird guy in the semi truck who stopped in the middle of the road to tell my family and me something? He yelled, “The great awakening is coming!” Then he yelled something about how “it won’t last forever.”

Well, I really don’t know if that driver was smoking something he shouldn’t have been or what, but… the great “awake”ening had come! Get it? “Awake”? Anyway, I digress.

Joey faintly squeezed hands and wiggled fingers and toes when asked. He would shake and nod his head when asked a question. He even smiled a bit when the respiratory tech made a joke. All things that made my heart so happy.

Joey would try to raise his arms but was only able to go so far before they dropped back down. He was so weak. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he was reaching for his face. I was praying he wasn’t trying to pull anything out!

Being weaned from the last sedation meds brought its own troubles. At one point they were unable to complete dialysis as Joey’s heart rate had sped up, his blood pressure rose, and he became unstable.

It was a very fine line the doctors were toeing as they carefully weaned him from everything.

Something I noticed early on in this journey was how important it was not to overlook the small steps. Even though there was a steady rhythm of one step forward, two steps back, any step in the right direction was huge. Especially the one from days before, when a night nurse reported that Joey had urine output. His catheter had been removed because his kidneys had stopped producing any urine at all, so this was huge!

When I told the kids that Dad had peed a little, our son Cameron said, “I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that!”

Our prayers that his kidneys would begin to function again were being answered.

November 17. Journal Entry…

2nd day you’ve been awake. It’s been kinda rough for you today. You’re agitated and seem to be hallucinating. At times you seem to understand and yet, other times it’s very clear that you don’t.

You tried pulling on your tubes today and I had to tell you to stop. You got a little upset with me, but it was rather sweet when you mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” to me. I don’t blame you for anything. I feel for you. I wish I could take this from you but for some reason, God has allowed this.

Your nurse called me on my way home tonight. She told me you tried pulling out your trach. It’s a good thing I was turning into our neighborhood when she told me what happened next. She said you were trying to tell them something and after a while of you mouthing things and them asking questions, you mouthed to them that you didn’t want the trach and that you didn’t want to live.

She said she reminded you of everything you have to live for and how far you have come. She’s right! If only you knew what you have walked out of.

I told her that she knew as well as I did, that you weren’t thinking clearly and had been hallucinating. She said she understood, but unfortunately they were going to have to put on the arm restraints to keep you from pulling it out. I hated that they had to do that, but I know it’s necessary.

I didn’t tell the kids about this. I know they just can’t handle anymore right now. I spent time with them when I got home and when we all left the table, I went into our closet, grabbed your sweater and cried my heart out. All I could do was rock back and forth on the floor, my hands squeezing your sweater with every bit of strength I had left. Staring at your clothes, my eyes flooded with tears. My heart hurt, longing to have you home.

It’s exhausting when we take a step forward and something horrible comes with it. I hate the fact that we have to keep you in the arm restraints, I know that ticks you off. I’m so tired and so worn out. It feels like this season will never end... to be continued.