Stop the ride, we want to get off!
First of all, I want to thank all of you for your kind words of encouragement, your thoughts and concerns, and most of all, your prayers. All the medicine and medical interventions can not match the healing touch of our Father. So it is divine healing for which we're all praying.
Eric had a relatively stable night last night. I felt somewhat encouraged and hopeful first thing in the morning. Then just after 7:00 AM, after shift change, the nurse and respiratory therapist come in the clean Eric up, which involves a lot of turning in the bed. Immediately after they did this, Eric's oxygen saturations (the amount of O2 in his blood) began dropping. Why? We couldn't imagine what had happened. The doctor was called. The doctor came in. He shook his head. "There's not much more I can do," he said, apologetically. Bob and I were beside ourselves. This couldn't be happening. Imagine the scene . . . Bob and I, my mom and our pastor surrounding Eric's bed and praying furiously for a miracle but preparing ourselves to say goodbye at the same time. For 2 1/2 hours we watched his condition decline, life fading from his face. I imagined him talking to Jesus already. I called several of my most ardent prayer warriors and asked they spread the word. We need a miracle . . . now! Then in comes the X-ray machine. His doctor had ordered a chest X-ray. When the film returned, we saw his right lung had completely collapsed. The doctor knew he had to get a new chest tube in, and fast. When he pulled up Eric's gown to prep a site, we couldn't believe what we saw. "Well, this could be the problem," he said. Eric's existing chest tube (which holds the lungs open) was folded upon itself, kinked, and he was laying on it. In other words, it wasn't working. The doctor attempted to get it to work to no avail, so he immediately put in a new chest tube. And it was as if my son was resurrected. His O2 sat returned to something survivable. And he has been stable ever since. For now, anyway. But we received our miracle, that being the doctor ordering the x-ray and discovering the kinked tube. I've come to realize that I never know what's around the corner. I live moment to moment. I have a knot in my stomach 24/7, unsure of what will come next. And I can barely tear my eyes off Eric's monitor, constantly watching his O2 sat. Anything above 90% is acceptable, and right now it's 93%. Yay! Here's hoping for an eventful night.