Sometimes all you can do is hold on
There really is no way for me to properly thank all of you who have been praying for Micah over the past 24 hours. I've literally lost track of the text messages and prayers. So, while it is hardly adequate: THANK YOU!!
Micah began to improve a little last night right before we left, and only lost a little of that ground overnight. Her blood gas (CO2 and Ph) is now slightly better, which indicates that we may be dealing with an infection (as we had hoped) rather than a broader, more critical failure in her lungs. She has also been able to go down a few points on her O2. They even backed off on her ventilator pressure, which should help her be more comfortable. These improvements are slight, but they are improvements, and we are very thankful for them.
The next couple of days are still going to be trying, and all three of us need your continued prayer support. There is no way we can do this without Jesus. I really do not understand how non-Christians survive!
We have not been able to hold Micah, of course, and our arms are beginning to ache from her absence. Once a day wasn't much, but we waited a long time for that, and now the best we can do is snuggle her in her bed.
There is nothing easy about this, and yesterday was particularly difficult for me. The reality that these symptoms might indicate a systemic lung failure from which Micah could not recover was ever-present. Addressing the normal personality conflicts that arise between parents and staff in a stressful situation like this (though not yesterday in particular) were an unwelcome invasion into our day. The brave face I've put on for others was nowhere to be found. The best I could manage was not being angry or overtly rude.
I had to make yesterday about Micah. I had to set aside my needs and even some of Olivia's (which we talked about) and focus on my daughter. I prayed for her. I fought for her. I stayed by her side. (So did Olivia.) I poured out my daddy heart toward her and left exhausted.
I slept hard last night, but not well, and now we get to do it all again today. Well, hopefully not all. :-)
We need God to touch our Ahava. We don't just want it; we need it. And so, while I am so thankful for your prayers on our behalf, especially those for Micah, we need more today. We need more prayer. We need more hope. We need more joy. We need improvement. We need Micah's infection to go away. We need her lungs to function and grow. We need Jesus to be with us and we need Him to move.
When I was 15 years old, I rode my bike a couple of miles to visit some friends who lived on the other side of the Mall from our house near Red Bud Park. Some older friends of theirs came by in their "new" car (a beat up something or other worth about $2000). We were talking and I leaned against the trunk of the car, over the driver's side wheel well. I lifted myself up and held my body weight on my arms in sort of a piked position. I wasn't that interested in talking to them because they looked rowdy and I used to do that sort of thing all the time. (I guess it was the gymnast in me.) It was a distraction, a way to wait out the interruption to our handing out.
Suddenly, the car was moving, and moving fast. Startled, I looked toward the driver to see his laughing face in the side view mirror. For some reason he thought it was hilarious to see how fast he could accelerate with me perched on the side of his car. I reacted as quickly as I could and lept off, but the car was already going faster than 30 mph and though I hit the ground running, I hit the ground. The rear tire of the car missed crushing my head by about 6 inches as I spun out of control across the asphalt. Bloodied and bruised, I never decided if I should have jumped off or held on.
In that case, letting go was probably the right thing to do. Today I have no doubt. My only choice (as Micah's daddy, as Olivia's husband, and as a believer in Jesus) is to hold on.
Micah began to improve a little last night right before we left, and only lost a little of that ground overnight. Her blood gas (CO2 and Ph) is now slightly better, which indicates that we may be dealing with an infection (as we had hoped) rather than a broader, more critical failure in her lungs. She has also been able to go down a few points on her O2. They even backed off on her ventilator pressure, which should help her be more comfortable. These improvements are slight, but they are improvements, and we are very thankful for them.
The next couple of days are still going to be trying, and all three of us need your continued prayer support. There is no way we can do this without Jesus. I really do not understand how non-Christians survive!
We have not been able to hold Micah, of course, and our arms are beginning to ache from her absence. Once a day wasn't much, but we waited a long time for that, and now the best we can do is snuggle her in her bed.
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| Holding On |
There is nothing easy about this, and yesterday was particularly difficult for me. The reality that these symptoms might indicate a systemic lung failure from which Micah could not recover was ever-present. Addressing the normal personality conflicts that arise between parents and staff in a stressful situation like this (though not yesterday in particular) were an unwelcome invasion into our day. The brave face I've put on for others was nowhere to be found. The best I could manage was not being angry or overtly rude.
I had to make yesterday about Micah. I had to set aside my needs and even some of Olivia's (which we talked about) and focus on my daughter. I prayed for her. I fought for her. I stayed by her side. (So did Olivia.) I poured out my daddy heart toward her and left exhausted.
I slept hard last night, but not well, and now we get to do it all again today. Well, hopefully not all. :-)
We need God to touch our Ahava. We don't just want it; we need it. And so, while I am so thankful for your prayers on our behalf, especially those for Micah, we need more today. We need more prayer. We need more hope. We need more joy. We need improvement. We need Micah's infection to go away. We need her lungs to function and grow. We need Jesus to be with us and we need Him to move.
When I was 15 years old, I rode my bike a couple of miles to visit some friends who lived on the other side of the Mall from our house near Red Bud Park. Some older friends of theirs came by in their "new" car (a beat up something or other worth about $2000). We were talking and I leaned against the trunk of the car, over the driver's side wheel well. I lifted myself up and held my body weight on my arms in sort of a piked position. I wasn't that interested in talking to them because they looked rowdy and I used to do that sort of thing all the time. (I guess it was the gymnast in me.) It was a distraction, a way to wait out the interruption to our handing out.
Suddenly, the car was moving, and moving fast. Startled, I looked toward the driver to see his laughing face in the side view mirror. For some reason he thought it was hilarious to see how fast he could accelerate with me perched on the side of his car. I reacted as quickly as I could and lept off, but the car was already going faster than 30 mph and though I hit the ground running, I hit the ground. The rear tire of the car missed crushing my head by about 6 inches as I spun out of control across the asphalt. Bloodied and bruised, I never decided if I should have jumped off or held on.
In that case, letting go was probably the right thing to do. Today I have no doubt. My only choice (as Micah's daddy, as Olivia's husband, and as a believer in Jesus) is to hold on.
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