Day #2 "Celebration:" Sepsis and the ICU

Sunday, the day after my "amazing day" post, was a terrifying day. 

I woke myself up early (about 4 a.m.)

 with a dream that shocked my eyes open. 

My family and I were riding in my Dad's motor boat on a lake. 

Suddenly, we came to a HUGE wave. 

The boat tipped up, to an angle greater than 90 degrees,

 and flipped upside down on top of us. 

My panicked thought before I woke up, was,

 "ANDREW!" He can't swim!

 I must rescue Andrew."

Later that night I was in the ICU, fearing he might die.

Sunday started out nice enough. 

 We went to church, ate some lunch,

 and John and I went to Cardinals/Broncos game with some friends. 

We had free seats

(why else would anyone go to THAT game?).

 I was looking forward to some relaxing adult time.

We made it through the first half. 

Then, thankfully, I checked my phone. 

 It was SO LOUD in the stadium that I did not hear my phone ring. 

Four times. 

 It was the babysitter, getting more and more panicked. 

 Andrew was at home shaking, with a fever of 102.5.

We immediately left the game, raced home, put Andrew in the car,

and raced to the hospital. 

When we first got there (around 6 p.m.), he actually seemed okay. 

His fever was lower, his blood pressure was normal.   

 However, around 8: 45, things quickly turned. 

 His blood pressure started going down. 

His heart was racing. 

His breathing was labored. 

His fever climbed to 103.7.

We later discovered he had sepsis.

Bacteria from his gut had leaked into his blood stream.

 I have feared this from the beginning of treatment.

The possibility of sepsis is the reason we have rushed to the ER every time his temperature gets over 101.

(The chemo destroys his white blood cells

and makes him both susceptible to infections,

and unable to fight them off.)

Around 9:30 p.m., we were moved to the ICU.  

His blood pressure continued to drop for several hours.

 I lay next to him in his hospital bed,

holding an oxygen mask over his nose,

moving it frequently to keep up with his roving head. 

Whenever I relaxed, or dozed off, even for a short period,

his oxygen absorption reading went down

and an alarm would sound. 

Every 15 minutes a machine would automatically take his blood pressure. 

A sound would signal the cuff's activation,

and with each processing beep, I would hold my breath and pray. 

For a very long time, until 4 am, his blood pressure seemed on a downward trend.
  Lower and lower. 

 "Scary" does not begin to define it.

Around 4 am, after ten hours of fluids and antibiotics,

his blood pressure stabilized,

his fever was gone,

and all of the other "vitals" were back to normal. 

Thankfully, the antibiotics were doing the trick. 

Thankfully, right now he is sitting here next to me at the hospital, 

decorating a  gingerbread house and frosting a cookie. 

He will continue to get antibiotics for 14 days.

Through Christmas.

But thankfully, the doctors have worked it out

so that after one more day (or two) in the hospital,

I will be able to give him the medicine at home.

Just when I tried to relax.

It almost seems like punishment for relaxing and celebrating.

I let my guard down.

Saturday night

for the first time since April 17

(the day we discovered the tumor)

I dared to pray

"Dear God,

I am cautiously giving Andrew to you again.

Your arms are bigger.

You love him more.

Your arms reach places that I cannot.

I put him in your protection."

And then this happened.

I don't know what to think about prayer anymore.

But then again,

Andrew is smiling.

Chemo is done.

Antibiotics can be given at home.

Christmas is coming.

I am thankful.