So we all know the classic wives' tales and each culture has their fair share of erroneous advice and information regarding a wide variety of topics. For instance, don't eat anything an hour before swimming or you'll get cramps. We've all heard them and for a short time believed some of them until the wonderful world of medicine proved them wrong. In our cultural adventures in missions, we have run across a unique Salvadoran blend of medical advice and information given honestly and sincerely, albeit sincerely off target. Keep in mind that like our own wives' tales, these are things that people really believe and it's just because they've been told that their whole lives and don't know otherwise. Now for a list of my absolute favorites.
1. A very dear MA friend of ours was thirsty and asked for a glass of water with ice. At this point, an older Salvadoran woman informed her that the reason she was "gordita", chubby, was because she drank cold drinks and used a lot of ice. According to said grey-hair, ice didn't digest in the body, froze inside of you, and caused you to get fat. Yes....that's America's problem, too much ice tea! Ice = Fat. Our beloved friend shared this amazing discovery with some younger Salvadoran friends, seeking agreement at the hilarity of such belief, only to be met with, "That's exactly right and we were thinking the same thing but didn't say it." Dead. Serious.
2. When speaking with an older gentleman about Kai's situation, with the pneumonia and all, he informed me of yet another unknown fact regarding iced drinks and ice cream. Apparently, if the pregnant woman eats too much ice cream and drinks a lot of cold drinks, that can cause the baby to get cold and actually develop colds and pneumonia in the womb. So, apparently Lisa's love of Cookie Monster Gelatto is what caused Kai to be in such pulmonary distress. I think I'm gonna sue....hey, it almost worked for the family blaming McDonald's for their fat kid!
3. Today, Lisa was speaking with a lady about pregnancy and foods that you cannot eat afterwards. If you are breast feeding, you cannot eat pork. Said eating of pork will cause your child to develop a snout like appearance, with scrunched up nose and puckered lips. There is some rare porcine enzyme that is apparently transferred through the milk, causing snout-like features in children. That's what happened to Gilbert Godfrey!
4. Another great food no-no for after birth is concerning C-section wounds. You may NOT under any circumstance drink orange juice, eat oranges or watermelon. My wife has had some pain in her wound, and rightly so for only having past 12 days, but apparently these 2 vicious fruits attack wounds and make them hurt even worse. Vitamin C for CRIPPLING PAIN!
5. While breastfeeding, it is incredibly important to keep your back and shoulders covered, no matter how hot or cold, because not covering yourself properly will cause your milk to dry up.
6. You cannot go around barefoot or wearing sandals without socks. You HAVE to wear socks at all times, because if not you'll get calf pains and leg cramps.
7. Another wonderful bit of advice came out of conversation concerning my wife's c-section, which is a major operation. A sweet lady told Lisa that she has NEVER had surgery because she took care of herself when she was younger. She always wore and wears a sweater, keeps her head covered, wears socks, and puts cotton in her ears when it is cold/windy to keep the "bad wind" out. The bad wind is what gives you ear aches and headaches. You apparently to don't feel these things when you are younger, but when you get older it all gets you. Her children didn't have any problems and all had natural births except for one, who apparently didn't follow this advice. So, incredibly enough, if you want to avoid any kind of surgery, cover the head, shoulders, ears, and feet. Otherwise....snip, snip, cut, cut.
There may be more to follow, but that's just a few for now. Hope you enjoy and remember, before you hop to criticize, think about some of the things you believe "because mama told you so!"
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Day 13 - The fun continues....
It's been raining most of the last 24 hours, starting at about 2 am this morning. It's funny how at times the weather really can reflect the mood that one is in. Let me explain....
We awoke this morning rather optimistic because Lisa was going to be able to breast feed for the first time, a huge step in Kai's development, and we were ecstatic. We had to get up earlier than usual in order to be at the hospital by 9 am for his morning feeding. So, running a little late (we are in El Salvador after all), we headed off to the hospital anxious to see what awaited us.
When we arrived at the hospital they told us that he was going to continue on the feeding tube for another day. Apparently yesterday after we left, he acted tired and labored to breath some. They watched him because his levels dropped and they almost put the respirator tube back in, but he pulled back up. They said that they wanted to watch him today and see how he did before trying to introduce the breast. They said that he would get excited trying to feed and that could affect him, so they wanted to make sure he was good before progressing.
The doctor came out to talk to us about what was going on. He said that yesterday Kai's infection levels had increased. They have been monitoring his white cell levels daily, because that shows the existence of an infection in the body, the higher the level the more infection. His levels had been lowering, but yesterday they went up to 35K cells in the morning, which sparked some concern. Instead of rushing to change things (because he was already on the best antibiotic), they waited to check his levels a little later. Later in the day the levels were around 32K, going down some. They suspected a fungal infection, which is common when you are on strong antibiotic for a length of time. Antibiotics kill off good bacteria too, which causes normally healthy fungi in the body to get out of control, resulting in infection. They started him on an anti-fungal treatment as well, on top of the antibiotic, and this morning his levels had returned to around 26-27K.
So, what does all this mean? Where are we now? Honestly, confused. The doc explained that it would still be a day or two on the CPAP and then from there he would move to the nursery, out of the NICU, which is good news; however, that wasn't all he had to say. It would be a few days in the nursery before he could go home, but they want him to finish his meds and make sure he is healthy before sending him home. They also want to make sure that he can feed on his own without tuckering out or anything. So, now what? Doc said that optimistically speaking (of course it all depends on the baby), we're looking at another week.
7 MORE DAYS? Welcome to parental hell, a place of frustration, anger, sadness, helplessness, exhaustion, etc. I'm growing tired of the same routine. 13 days of getting up, getting ready, going to the hospital for a little visit, and then spending the rest of my day trying to occupy myself until the next morning. I can't focus, can't really relax, rest, etc. because all my hope and sights are set on the as of yet ethereal discharge date. We rise each morning looking for good news and sometimes are rewarded with met expectations and other days met with a gentle slap in the face from "healing hands" of medical professionals. Their news isn't intended to harm, but to inform, and while I appreciate their honesty, I just want to hear "he's going home tomorrow."
We were both understandably hurt and saddened by the news today. Lisa went in to see Kai, broken-hearted at the news of delay. I curled up in the floor of the waiting area, alone, on the verge of either putting my hand through the nearest wall or sinking to the fetal position to weep like a child. Why God? Why the delay? What purpose can there be in keeping our child from us? You blessed us with this child, this miracle, but why do You keep him out of our grasp?
The doctor came out and talked to me, trying to console and encourage, but how can you honestly expect me to be happy about the news of further delay? The same happened with Lisa in the NICU, another doctor attempting to console. Just let me be upset! Let me cry! Let me scream! You don't understand! We live in an empty home, one we expected to be filled with laughter, giggles, and little fart sounds. Yet we sit in an empty home, void of the infantile noises for which we waited so long.
Head down, knees to my chest, I fumed. I don't understand any of this. I've seen open doors through what has happened, had the opportunity to touch lives, heard stories of lives touched because of Kai's story, but 13 days and I still have to go through more? What more could we possibly need to pass through? Isn't this enough? God, I don't see the purpose in such suffering and torment! And yet in that moment of quite hatred and bitterness, my attitude shifted, as if a switch had been flipped. Emotion redirected at the true source of all things evil, the arch nemesis of our souls, Satan. I walloped that filthy snake for about 10 minutes, lashing out in anger at the one who comes to steal, kill, and destroy. "Greater is He who is in me, than he that is the world." "No weapon formed against me shall prosper!" "We are human, but we don't wage war as humans do. We fight with weapons that are different than the weapons the world uses. Our weapons have power from God that can destroy the enemy's strong places. We destroy people's arguments and every proud thing that raises itself up against the knowledge of God." I'm sure he walked away from this morning with 2 black eyes, because "the Word of God is living and active, stronger than any double-edged sword, able to divide soul and spirit, joints and morrow."
I then immediately passed into a time of worship, singing out loud in praise to my God. Who cares who passed by or was sitting near, my voice needed to ring out in praise to my Creator, the One who gives life, who heals, who makes whole, who works miracles. Just as Paul and Silas sat in chains in a prison cell, locked away for the crime of sharing the Gospel, I sat in my own prison of anger and frustration. The stale air flooded their nostrils, the monotonous "drip, drip" of water ringing through the dank, murky depths of that prison, and in the middle of what should have been the depths of despair, two gravely, tone-deaf voices belted out praise to their God and Savior. In my quiet moment of suffering and despair, I allowed my spirit to connect with the Spirit of my Creator and I could do nothing more than worship Him. My voice raised, like those 2 voices 2,000 years ago, in the stale, sterile air of the NICU waiting room, my voice lifted in worship to my God. "I will praise the Lord, I will praise the Lord" "Hosanna, Hosanna" "In the Presence of Jehovah, God Almighty, Prince of Peace. Troubles vanish, hearts are mended, in the presence, of the King."
Immediately, like the bright rays of sun piercing the seemingly impenetrable wall of dark thunderheads, the joy and peace of God flooded my heart. I reaffirmed my confidence in the Savior of my soul, confirming my faith in His unfailing love and perfect plans. Whatever has happened has happened for a purpose. He does nothing by chance or for no reason, but in everything He works for the good of His perfect will. We are playing a vital role in His plan and this dark night will result in victory for my God. Every scar is a testimony, every dark night the promise of a brighter dawn. This time in my life will only serve to reflect and magnify the glory of God to the world.
"Be full of joy in the LORD always, I will say it again: Be full of joy in the LORD! Let every one see that you are gentle and kind. The LORD is coming soon. Do not worry about anything, but pray and ask God for everything you need, always giving thanks. And God's peace, which is so great that we cannot understand it, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
We are not told that we will have an easy life serving God, but we are guaranteed of peace IN the midst of a storm. He doesn't always calm the storms, but at times calms us instead. These words from Paul remind us of the need to rejoice in all situations. We cannot be worried or anxious about life, stressing ourselves out over the situations that arise. We are not ultimately in control and to worry about something I don't control shows contempt for the One who does. Stress is the opposite of faith, attempting to exert power over something we are powerless to manage. A pastor friend of mine, Norm Dubois, mentioned this exact passage in a podcast sermon I listened to today. Vs. 6 speaks of not worrying and praying, with thanksgiving, and vs. 7 promises God's peace to us. Norm said, "You can't have verse 7 without doing verse 6."
We cannot expect the peace of God to flood our lives if we don't open the floodgates through thanksgiving and prayer. If we don't open that part of our heart to Him, giving Him the reins, we can't expect His peace. You don't get B without A. However, when we give Him thanks for who He is, laying our requests at His feet, He takes control, removes stress, and floods us with His peace.
Father, I thank you that YOU are the healer, the redeemer, the maker, the sustainer. You are the one who gave me this child, blessed us with this strong, warrior of a son. He is yours and we have dedicated him to Your service. Thank you that You are in control and everything is according to YOUR plan. We relinquish all stress and pain, giving you all anger, bitterness, sorrow, sadness, etc., asking you to work YOUR will in this situation. Have YOUR way. And we accept and receive that peace that we cannot understand to guard our hearts and minds. Amen!
We awoke this morning rather optimistic because Lisa was going to be able to breast feed for the first time, a huge step in Kai's development, and we were ecstatic. We had to get up earlier than usual in order to be at the hospital by 9 am for his morning feeding. So, running a little late (we are in El Salvador after all), we headed off to the hospital anxious to see what awaited us.
When we arrived at the hospital they told us that he was going to continue on the feeding tube for another day. Apparently yesterday after we left, he acted tired and labored to breath some. They watched him because his levels dropped and they almost put the respirator tube back in, but he pulled back up. They said that they wanted to watch him today and see how he did before trying to introduce the breast. They said that he would get excited trying to feed and that could affect him, so they wanted to make sure he was good before progressing.
The doctor came out to talk to us about what was going on. He said that yesterday Kai's infection levels had increased. They have been monitoring his white cell levels daily, because that shows the existence of an infection in the body, the higher the level the more infection. His levels had been lowering, but yesterday they went up to 35K cells in the morning, which sparked some concern. Instead of rushing to change things (because he was already on the best antibiotic), they waited to check his levels a little later. Later in the day the levels were around 32K, going down some. They suspected a fungal infection, which is common when you are on strong antibiotic for a length of time. Antibiotics kill off good bacteria too, which causes normally healthy fungi in the body to get out of control, resulting in infection. They started him on an anti-fungal treatment as well, on top of the antibiotic, and this morning his levels had returned to around 26-27K.
So, what does all this mean? Where are we now? Honestly, confused. The doc explained that it would still be a day or two on the CPAP and then from there he would move to the nursery, out of the NICU, which is good news; however, that wasn't all he had to say. It would be a few days in the nursery before he could go home, but they want him to finish his meds and make sure he is healthy before sending him home. They also want to make sure that he can feed on his own without tuckering out or anything. So, now what? Doc said that optimistically speaking (of course it all depends on the baby), we're looking at another week.
7 MORE DAYS? Welcome to parental hell, a place of frustration, anger, sadness, helplessness, exhaustion, etc. I'm growing tired of the same routine. 13 days of getting up, getting ready, going to the hospital for a little visit, and then spending the rest of my day trying to occupy myself until the next morning. I can't focus, can't really relax, rest, etc. because all my hope and sights are set on the as of yet ethereal discharge date. We rise each morning looking for good news and sometimes are rewarded with met expectations and other days met with a gentle slap in the face from "healing hands" of medical professionals. Their news isn't intended to harm, but to inform, and while I appreciate their honesty, I just want to hear "he's going home tomorrow."
We were both understandably hurt and saddened by the news today. Lisa went in to see Kai, broken-hearted at the news of delay. I curled up in the floor of the waiting area, alone, on the verge of either putting my hand through the nearest wall or sinking to the fetal position to weep like a child. Why God? Why the delay? What purpose can there be in keeping our child from us? You blessed us with this child, this miracle, but why do You keep him out of our grasp?
The doctor came out and talked to me, trying to console and encourage, but how can you honestly expect me to be happy about the news of further delay? The same happened with Lisa in the NICU, another doctor attempting to console. Just let me be upset! Let me cry! Let me scream! You don't understand! We live in an empty home, one we expected to be filled with laughter, giggles, and little fart sounds. Yet we sit in an empty home, void of the infantile noises for which we waited so long.
Head down, knees to my chest, I fumed. I don't understand any of this. I've seen open doors through what has happened, had the opportunity to touch lives, heard stories of lives touched because of Kai's story, but 13 days and I still have to go through more? What more could we possibly need to pass through? Isn't this enough? God, I don't see the purpose in such suffering and torment! And yet in that moment of quite hatred and bitterness, my attitude shifted, as if a switch had been flipped. Emotion redirected at the true source of all things evil, the arch nemesis of our souls, Satan. I walloped that filthy snake for about 10 minutes, lashing out in anger at the one who comes to steal, kill, and destroy. "Greater is He who is in me, than he that is the world." "No weapon formed against me shall prosper!" "We are human, but we don't wage war as humans do. We fight with weapons that are different than the weapons the world uses. Our weapons have power from God that can destroy the enemy's strong places. We destroy people's arguments and every proud thing that raises itself up against the knowledge of God." I'm sure he walked away from this morning with 2 black eyes, because "the Word of God is living and active, stronger than any double-edged sword, able to divide soul and spirit, joints and morrow."
I then immediately passed into a time of worship, singing out loud in praise to my God. Who cares who passed by or was sitting near, my voice needed to ring out in praise to my Creator, the One who gives life, who heals, who makes whole, who works miracles. Just as Paul and Silas sat in chains in a prison cell, locked away for the crime of sharing the Gospel, I sat in my own prison of anger and frustration. The stale air flooded their nostrils, the monotonous "drip, drip" of water ringing through the dank, murky depths of that prison, and in the middle of what should have been the depths of despair, two gravely, tone-deaf voices belted out praise to their God and Savior. In my quiet moment of suffering and despair, I allowed my spirit to connect with the Spirit of my Creator and I could do nothing more than worship Him. My voice raised, like those 2 voices 2,000 years ago, in the stale, sterile air of the NICU waiting room, my voice lifted in worship to my God. "I will praise the Lord, I will praise the Lord" "Hosanna, Hosanna" "In the Presence of Jehovah, God Almighty, Prince of Peace. Troubles vanish, hearts are mended, in the presence, of the King."
Immediately, like the bright rays of sun piercing the seemingly impenetrable wall of dark thunderheads, the joy and peace of God flooded my heart. I reaffirmed my confidence in the Savior of my soul, confirming my faith in His unfailing love and perfect plans. Whatever has happened has happened for a purpose. He does nothing by chance or for no reason, but in everything He works for the good of His perfect will. We are playing a vital role in His plan and this dark night will result in victory for my God. Every scar is a testimony, every dark night the promise of a brighter dawn. This time in my life will only serve to reflect and magnify the glory of God to the world.
"Be full of joy in the LORD always, I will say it again: Be full of joy in the LORD! Let every one see that you are gentle and kind. The LORD is coming soon. Do not worry about anything, but pray and ask God for everything you need, always giving thanks. And God's peace, which is so great that we cannot understand it, will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
We are not told that we will have an easy life serving God, but we are guaranteed of peace IN the midst of a storm. He doesn't always calm the storms, but at times calms us instead. These words from Paul remind us of the need to rejoice in all situations. We cannot be worried or anxious about life, stressing ourselves out over the situations that arise. We are not ultimately in control and to worry about something I don't control shows contempt for the One who does. Stress is the opposite of faith, attempting to exert power over something we are powerless to manage. A pastor friend of mine, Norm Dubois, mentioned this exact passage in a podcast sermon I listened to today. Vs. 6 speaks of not worrying and praying, with thanksgiving, and vs. 7 promises God's peace to us. Norm said, "You can't have verse 7 without doing verse 6."
We cannot expect the peace of God to flood our lives if we don't open the floodgates through thanksgiving and prayer. If we don't open that part of our heart to Him, giving Him the reins, we can't expect His peace. You don't get B without A. However, when we give Him thanks for who He is, laying our requests at His feet, He takes control, removes stress, and floods us with His peace.
Father, I thank you that YOU are the healer, the redeemer, the maker, the sustainer. You are the one who gave me this child, blessed us with this strong, warrior of a son. He is yours and we have dedicated him to Your service. Thank you that You are in control and everything is according to YOUR plan. We relinquish all stress and pain, giving you all anger, bitterness, sorrow, sadness, etc., asking you to work YOUR will in this situation. Have YOUR way. And we accept and receive that peace that we cannot understand to guard our hearts and minds. Amen!
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Day 5 - A little late
Ok, well I originally intended to stay blogging, but with all the business of taking care of a wife with C-section and visiting a baby in the NICU, things kinda get passed over. I do not, however, want to forget this experience and want to share it all with Kai, therefore I'm going to recount the events of certain important days. No one else may care, but we care.
Day 5 - Monday Oct 3. Time to go home, to an empty house... My wife leaves the hospital with an empty womb, the car with an empty car seat, and us both with a vacancy sign blinking in the window of our hearts. How is that we have passed through the past 5 days with all the excitement and emotion of having a child only to go home without the bundle of joy for which we waited almost 9 months in utero and almost 1 1/2 years of attempting to conceive? No words can truly express the feeling of leaving your child behind, in an unfamiliar location, with unfamiliar people, trusting only in God to take care of him. I realize now what it is that many parents go through each year with preemies, birth complications, etc. We are not alone in this venture, but it sure feels like. Not everyone understand what goes on in your mind and heart, especially in those lonely moment at home, when you think about the joy of birth yet don't have the physical presence of what causes that joy.
After 4 very difficult days, Lisa finally got to leave the hospital, ready or not. With Kai at the other hospital across town, there was no reason to stay admitted, racking up an even larger bill. We both got up early in order to start the process, get out, go home to drop off stuff, and take mama over to see the baby for the first time in more than 48 hours. What should have been a rather simple process turned into a nightmare.
Living overseas has certain benefits and difficulties. Insurance and health care fall under both categories. Health care is very cheap and therefore that makes it easier for taking care of things, but when it comes to working with insurance from overseas and payment, that equals big ole fat headache. But the payment process wasn't the only headache we experienced this wonderful Monday.
I went to the nursery early because here in El Salvador we have to have a document from the hospital with the footprints of the child, signed by the attending physician and nurse, in order to register the child and obtain the birth certificate. They also needed this paperwork at the other hospital to prove identification of parents and child and officially, legally register him as a patient. Well, in all the excitement of the first few days, the prints never got taken and he was transferred without it. The head nurse called over there and they gave her a long list of protocol to follow. Instead of simply allowing her to send over the signed paperwork and let THEM take the prints, they told her SHE had to come over, prove her identity, show hospital credentials, and take the prints there. EESSSSH!!! So, I would have to give her a ride over to the hospital that afternoon to take care of this. Ok, whatever. Enter headache number 2....
After this fiasco in the nursery, I went to talk with payment about releasing my wife. We had (supposedly) worked out with the insurance company to pay the bill directly with the hospital without us paying it and getting reimbursed. They typically don't do this, but with the situation they were going to directly bill and pay without us getting involved. Supposedly! The billing department told me that they were not in fact going to do this, that nothing had been arranged, and that the way it worked with our companies clients was we paid the bill and got reimbursed. After 2 hours or so on the phone, we figured out that I would have to pay because there were complications. Running low on minutes on my pre-paid phone, I sat on hold with the credit card company, seeking to get them to wave the foreign transaction fee of 5% because I was getting ready to max my card with a payment from the hospital. Finally, after passing through I don't remember how many people, they agreed. Now, the bill was $12,000 and I did NOT have that kind of limit on my card. How would I pay the rest? I called our headquarters to see what we could do.
My next 2 options presented themselves: they would advance me the money (overdrafting a health account against my name and wait for the reimbursement to pay it back) or they could wire the money directly to the hospital account. I chose door #2. So, we had to work that out with client services. Meanwhile, as I sit in the office hashing through all the details, Lisa, having already checked out of the room, is sitting downstairs, alone, in a wheelchair, waiting for me in pain. It takes over an HOUR to get this part done. The hospital agrees to the arrangement, but they want a letter of guarantee for payment from our headquarters. No problem, I'm told, but there was one, or a couple. First, the appropriate hands from which a signature was required on a document were occupied in a meeting. Second, after receiving said signatures, we discovered our name had been misspelled on the letter, which the hospital would not accept. AGAIN the meeting was interrupted to acquire the John Hancock of a few VIP's in order for us to leave and see our child. Then, the letter had to be sent over to the board of directors at the hospital for authorization so we could leave. They as well were in a meeting. We started this whole marathon process at 7 am and now it is 11:15 am. Keep in mind that visiting hours at the other hospital are from 10-12 only!
So, after finally getting the discharge and the ok to leave, I gingerly speed over the notoriously horrible roads of San Salvador, careening past pot holes and speed bumps with the greatest of ease, heading to the house to drop off our stuff from the hospital because the children's hospital is in a bad part of town. Then we make our way across town, through lunch traffic, swerving past buses and taxis, arriving at Hospital Nacional de Niños Benjamin Bloom, the new home for Kai, and Lisa's first sight of the facility. Now, being a government-funded hospital it has the best staff and the best machines; however, apparently the funded part of the hospital only goes that far because aesthetically it looks like a nightmare: peeling paint, graffiti, stained walls, missing/stained ceiling tiles, broken sheetrock, etc. Yeah, this place needs Extreme Makeover Hospital Edition!
So, Lisa and I make our way through the maze of people in order to get upstairs so she can see Kai for the first time in 60 hours. Another hurdle we have to go over, which isn't really that big of a deal, is that we have to go through a social worker to get our permission card to enter the hospital. In order to obtain said card, we have to have that foot print document (which we don't have yet), but they had talked with the other hospital and were making an exception for us. One small problem: when I admitted Kai on the previous Friday night, they only took my information and not Lisa's. The social worker explains to us the odd curiosity of having a father's name on file but no mother's name, something unheard of and impossible for a newborn. Typically, she says, we have the mother's name and have to figure out the father (possibly a comment on the social situation in El Salvador?), but here we have the father's name and no mother. Obviously we are the parents of the only WHITE child in the hospital, but officially we don't have Lisa on record as a parent. At this point we're both thinking the unthinkable: they aren't going to let her in because she isn't listed as a parent. Thank God that didn't happen. I just have to bring that paperwork back over first thing in the morning to make the name changes.
So, we finally get in to see Kai and Lisa is ecstatic. After spending quite a bit of time there with Kai, we reluctantly pull ourselves away to go home, to our empty house. That is quite possibly the hardest thing to do. After being in the hospital and having visitors, going home without a child to an empty house is rather difficult.
Well, we arrive home and I had called to some friends in order to borrow a couple twin beds. You see our house is 2 stories, with all the bedrooms upstairs, and Lisa can't climb stairs for a while. Solution? Put twin beds in the living room and have a husband/wife camp out downstairs for a couple weeks. Perfect! So, we settle down into our beds and finally find some sleep after a VERY long day of pure craziness. What in the world can the next day hold?
Day 5 - Monday Oct 3. Time to go home, to an empty house... My wife leaves the hospital with an empty womb, the car with an empty car seat, and us both with a vacancy sign blinking in the window of our hearts. How is that we have passed through the past 5 days with all the excitement and emotion of having a child only to go home without the bundle of joy for which we waited almost 9 months in utero and almost 1 1/2 years of attempting to conceive? No words can truly express the feeling of leaving your child behind, in an unfamiliar location, with unfamiliar people, trusting only in God to take care of him. I realize now what it is that many parents go through each year with preemies, birth complications, etc. We are not alone in this venture, but it sure feels like. Not everyone understand what goes on in your mind and heart, especially in those lonely moment at home, when you think about the joy of birth yet don't have the physical presence of what causes that joy.
After 4 very difficult days, Lisa finally got to leave the hospital, ready or not. With Kai at the other hospital across town, there was no reason to stay admitted, racking up an even larger bill. We both got up early in order to start the process, get out, go home to drop off stuff, and take mama over to see the baby for the first time in more than 48 hours. What should have been a rather simple process turned into a nightmare.
Living overseas has certain benefits and difficulties. Insurance and health care fall under both categories. Health care is very cheap and therefore that makes it easier for taking care of things, but when it comes to working with insurance from overseas and payment, that equals big ole fat headache. But the payment process wasn't the only headache we experienced this wonderful Monday.
I went to the nursery early because here in El Salvador we have to have a document from the hospital with the footprints of the child, signed by the attending physician and nurse, in order to register the child and obtain the birth certificate. They also needed this paperwork at the other hospital to prove identification of parents and child and officially, legally register him as a patient. Well, in all the excitement of the first few days, the prints never got taken and he was transferred without it. The head nurse called over there and they gave her a long list of protocol to follow. Instead of simply allowing her to send over the signed paperwork and let THEM take the prints, they told her SHE had to come over, prove her identity, show hospital credentials, and take the prints there. EESSSSH!!! So, I would have to give her a ride over to the hospital that afternoon to take care of this. Ok, whatever. Enter headache number 2....
After this fiasco in the nursery, I went to talk with payment about releasing my wife. We had (supposedly) worked out with the insurance company to pay the bill directly with the hospital without us paying it and getting reimbursed. They typically don't do this, but with the situation they were going to directly bill and pay without us getting involved. Supposedly! The billing department told me that they were not in fact going to do this, that nothing had been arranged, and that the way it worked with our companies clients was we paid the bill and got reimbursed. After 2 hours or so on the phone, we figured out that I would have to pay because there were complications. Running low on minutes on my pre-paid phone, I sat on hold with the credit card company, seeking to get them to wave the foreign transaction fee of 5% because I was getting ready to max my card with a payment from the hospital. Finally, after passing through I don't remember how many people, they agreed. Now, the bill was $12,000 and I did NOT have that kind of limit on my card. How would I pay the rest? I called our headquarters to see what we could do.
My next 2 options presented themselves: they would advance me the money (overdrafting a health account against my name and wait for the reimbursement to pay it back) or they could wire the money directly to the hospital account. I chose door #2. So, we had to work that out with client services. Meanwhile, as I sit in the office hashing through all the details, Lisa, having already checked out of the room, is sitting downstairs, alone, in a wheelchair, waiting for me in pain. It takes over an HOUR to get this part done. The hospital agrees to the arrangement, but they want a letter of guarantee for payment from our headquarters. No problem, I'm told, but there was one, or a couple. First, the appropriate hands from which a signature was required on a document were occupied in a meeting. Second, after receiving said signatures, we discovered our name had been misspelled on the letter, which the hospital would not accept. AGAIN the meeting was interrupted to acquire the John Hancock of a few VIP's in order for us to leave and see our child. Then, the letter had to be sent over to the board of directors at the hospital for authorization so we could leave. They as well were in a meeting. We started this whole marathon process at 7 am and now it is 11:15 am. Keep in mind that visiting hours at the other hospital are from 10-12 only!
So, after finally getting the discharge and the ok to leave, I gingerly speed over the notoriously horrible roads of San Salvador, careening past pot holes and speed bumps with the greatest of ease, heading to the house to drop off our stuff from the hospital because the children's hospital is in a bad part of town. Then we make our way across town, through lunch traffic, swerving past buses and taxis, arriving at Hospital Nacional de Niños Benjamin Bloom, the new home for Kai, and Lisa's first sight of the facility. Now, being a government-funded hospital it has the best staff and the best machines; however, apparently the funded part of the hospital only goes that far because aesthetically it looks like a nightmare: peeling paint, graffiti, stained walls, missing/stained ceiling tiles, broken sheetrock, etc. Yeah, this place needs Extreme Makeover Hospital Edition!
So, Lisa and I make our way through the maze of people in order to get upstairs so she can see Kai for the first time in 60 hours. Another hurdle we have to go over, which isn't really that big of a deal, is that we have to go through a social worker to get our permission card to enter the hospital. In order to obtain said card, we have to have that foot print document (which we don't have yet), but they had talked with the other hospital and were making an exception for us. One small problem: when I admitted Kai on the previous Friday night, they only took my information and not Lisa's. The social worker explains to us the odd curiosity of having a father's name on file but no mother's name, something unheard of and impossible for a newborn. Typically, she says, we have the mother's name and have to figure out the father (possibly a comment on the social situation in El Salvador?), but here we have the father's name and no mother. Obviously we are the parents of the only WHITE child in the hospital, but officially we don't have Lisa on record as a parent. At this point we're both thinking the unthinkable: they aren't going to let her in because she isn't listed as a parent. Thank God that didn't happen. I just have to bring that paperwork back over first thing in the morning to make the name changes.
So, we finally get in to see Kai and Lisa is ecstatic. After spending quite a bit of time there with Kai, we reluctantly pull ourselves away to go home, to our empty house. That is quite possibly the hardest thing to do. After being in the hospital and having visitors, going home without a child to an empty house is rather difficult.
Well, we arrive home and I had called to some friends in order to borrow a couple twin beds. You see our house is 2 stories, with all the bedrooms upstairs, and Lisa can't climb stairs for a while. Solution? Put twin beds in the living room and have a husband/wife camp out downstairs for a couple weeks. Perfect! So, we settle down into our beds and finally find some sleep after a VERY long day of pure craziness. What in the world can the next day hold?
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Day 3 - The eye of the storm or the calm after it?
Mommy and daddy awoke this morning to the sound of absolute silence. Six hours of uninterrupted sleep (at least for dad) and not a single emergency. After 48 of the most horrific, stressful, trying hours of our lives, we rejoiced in the ability to just be for a whole day. Kai is stable and doing well on the high-frequency ventilator. He remained stable for a solid 24 hours and that is a victory in and of itself.
This test of parenthood, this dark night of the soul as I watched our precious creation struggle for life, revealed to me just how far I can be stretched and whipped without breaking. Imagine the palm trees whipping and thrashing in the 90 mph gusts of a deadly hurricane, snapping back and forth, leaves slapping the pavement with each new rush of angry wind, as the childish storm vehemently berates mother earth. No matter how fierce the wind, how torrential the downpour, the palm tree, as if formed of rubber, bravely endures each new blow without breaking under the pressure. Beaten, bruised, and possibly clinging to life, the palm tree refuses to crack under the weight of torture, proving itself stronger than the cement houses, asphalt roads, and brick buildings that surround it.
With that image in mind, you now understand my heart. The past 48 hours have pushed, prodded, blown, beaten, bruised, whipped, snapped, and violated our hearts and minds, trying to break us, invading the most intimate parts of our being. The torrential downpour of bad news and gloomy diagnosis has beaten against us, throwing us to our knees time and time again; however, like the palm tree, we will not be broken.
2000 years ago Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians:
"Now we have this treasure in clay jars, so that this extraordinary power may be from God and not from us. We are pressed in every way but not crushed; we are perplexed but not in despair; we are persecuted but not abandoned; we are struck down but not destroyed. We always carry the death of Jesus in our body, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who live are always given over to death because of Jesus, so that Jesus' life may also be revealed in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you. And since we have the same spirit of faith in accordance with what is written, I believed, therefore I spoke, we also believe, and therefore speak, knowing that the One who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus, and present us with you. For all this is because of you, so that grace, extended through more and more people, may cause thanksgiving to overflow to God's glory. Therefore we do not give up; even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen; for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
This horrific process to which we have been exposed has only served to test the nature of our faith. What was intended to destroy us, shattering the dreams of our future, God used to strengthen us. The strength of the tree is not in its ability to bend and move, but in the depth of its roots. The deeper it goes the more it can withstand. Tests and trials in our lives serve one of two purposes: breaking our will as we are dashed upon the rocks or forcing us to drive deeper into our foundation. The past 3 days have taught me that I am stronger than I appear, because of the divine power of God coursing through my veins. "The same power that raised Jesus Christ from the dead now lives in you," is what the New Testament says. "My grace is sufficient for you because MY power is perfected in weakness," is what God said to Paul in the midst of suffering. I've learned the heart of a father, one of a protector, encourager, fighter, intercessor, provider.
I've discovered that I can be stretched farther, pushed harder, beaten more fiercely, and thrown more violently, yet my roots are stronger and my foundation more solid than the most vicious, violent torment that life can throw my way. I reiterate what Paul said, "therefore we do not give up; though outwardly we are being destroyed, inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary afflictions are producing in us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen; for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
What lessons my child is already teaching me. No matter how bad the circumstance, how violent the storm, my ability to endure is measured by how hard I cling to my Daddy's hand. In my visit with Kai, I placed my finger in his palm and he gripped it tightly. Struggling to survive, tubes entering and exiting all over his body, in the midst of sedation, Kai gripped the hand of his father. Tenaciously he clung to my finger, even when it was time to go. What power! What assurance! We can face whatever life throws our way, if we will but cling to the finger of the One who made us, the One who protects us, the One who loves us unconditionally. For Kai, we are his foundation, his strength, the support he needs to make it through, or more likely, it is Christ in us that provides this for him. For us, Christ is our foundation.
Thank you God for teaching me the importance of tenacity and perseverance, steadfastly clinging to you, in the darkest of nights. You alone are our source, foundation, strength, peace, power, and protection. Thank you for making my child a warrior, born with a never-give-up attitude. We rejoice in the completion of your promise and the beauty of your rest.
We have seen this one life touch more people than we possibly ever could. Through Facebook, email, phone calls, etc., Kai's story has reached literally thousands around the world. We know where our hope lies and the source of our strength. Kai's story is an echo of Paul's words, "all this is because of you, so that grace, extended through more and more people, may cause thanksgiving to overflow to God's glory." We have no doubt that his life and the testimony of God's power and faithfulness is touching the hearts of thousands. Gladly would I face this storm time and again if it would continue to bring honor, glory, and thanksgiving to my God. If our suffering increases His glory and brings souls to Him, so be it. We will stand, we will survive, we will be victorious!
This test of parenthood, this dark night of the soul as I watched our precious creation struggle for life, revealed to me just how far I can be stretched and whipped without breaking. Imagine the palm trees whipping and thrashing in the 90 mph gusts of a deadly hurricane, snapping back and forth, leaves slapping the pavement with each new rush of angry wind, as the childish storm vehemently berates mother earth. No matter how fierce the wind, how torrential the downpour, the palm tree, as if formed of rubber, bravely endures each new blow without breaking under the pressure. Beaten, bruised, and possibly clinging to life, the palm tree refuses to crack under the weight of torture, proving itself stronger than the cement houses, asphalt roads, and brick buildings that surround it.
With that image in mind, you now understand my heart. The past 48 hours have pushed, prodded, blown, beaten, bruised, whipped, snapped, and violated our hearts and minds, trying to break us, invading the most intimate parts of our being. The torrential downpour of bad news and gloomy diagnosis has beaten against us, throwing us to our knees time and time again; however, like the palm tree, we will not be broken.
2000 years ago Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians:
"Now we have this treasure in clay jars, so that this extraordinary power may be from God and not from us. We are pressed in every way but not crushed; we are perplexed but not in despair; we are persecuted but not abandoned; we are struck down but not destroyed. We always carry the death of Jesus in our body, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who live are always given over to death because of Jesus, so that Jesus' life may also be revealed in our mortal flesh. So death works in us, but life in you. And since we have the same spirit of faith in accordance with what is written, I believed, therefore I spoke, we also believe, and therefore speak, knowing that the One who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus, and present us with you. For all this is because of you, so that grace, extended through more and more people, may cause thanksgiving to overflow to God's glory. Therefore we do not give up; even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen; for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
This horrific process to which we have been exposed has only served to test the nature of our faith. What was intended to destroy us, shattering the dreams of our future, God used to strengthen us. The strength of the tree is not in its ability to bend and move, but in the depth of its roots. The deeper it goes the more it can withstand. Tests and trials in our lives serve one of two purposes: breaking our will as we are dashed upon the rocks or forcing us to drive deeper into our foundation. The past 3 days have taught me that I am stronger than I appear, because of the divine power of God coursing through my veins. "The same power that raised Jesus Christ from the dead now lives in you," is what the New Testament says. "My grace is sufficient for you because MY power is perfected in weakness," is what God said to Paul in the midst of suffering. I've learned the heart of a father, one of a protector, encourager, fighter, intercessor, provider.
I've discovered that I can be stretched farther, pushed harder, beaten more fiercely, and thrown more violently, yet my roots are stronger and my foundation more solid than the most vicious, violent torment that life can throw my way. I reiterate what Paul said, "therefore we do not give up; though outwardly we are being destroyed, inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary afflictions are producing in us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen; for what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."
What lessons my child is already teaching me. No matter how bad the circumstance, how violent the storm, my ability to endure is measured by how hard I cling to my Daddy's hand. In my visit with Kai, I placed my finger in his palm and he gripped it tightly. Struggling to survive, tubes entering and exiting all over his body, in the midst of sedation, Kai gripped the hand of his father. Tenaciously he clung to my finger, even when it was time to go. What power! What assurance! We can face whatever life throws our way, if we will but cling to the finger of the One who made us, the One who protects us, the One who loves us unconditionally. For Kai, we are his foundation, his strength, the support he needs to make it through, or more likely, it is Christ in us that provides this for him. For us, Christ is our foundation.
Thank you God for teaching me the importance of tenacity and perseverance, steadfastly clinging to you, in the darkest of nights. You alone are our source, foundation, strength, peace, power, and protection. Thank you for making my child a warrior, born with a never-give-up attitude. We rejoice in the completion of your promise and the beauty of your rest.
We have seen this one life touch more people than we possibly ever could. Through Facebook, email, phone calls, etc., Kai's story has reached literally thousands around the world. We know where our hope lies and the source of our strength. Kai's story is an echo of Paul's words, "all this is because of you, so that grace, extended through more and more people, may cause thanksgiving to overflow to God's glory." We have no doubt that his life and the testimony of God's power and faithfulness is touching the hearts of thousands. Gladly would I face this storm time and again if it would continue to bring honor, glory, and thanksgiving to my God. If our suffering increases His glory and brings souls to Him, so be it. We will stand, we will survive, we will be victorious!
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Kai
My mom actually looked this up and I wanted to post it hear so I don't forget it. It means a lot to me to have a name that has significance and meaning, so here it is for Kai.
In Hawaiian, Kai means "ocean" or "ocean water"
In Japanese, Kai may mean "big water", "ocean", "the sea", "paddle", "change", "receiver", "taker", "meditation", "forgiveness"
In Latin, Kai means "rejoice"
Noé is Spanish for Noah and means "peace, comfort, rest." We chose Kai Noé for it's meanings, because he is miracle and we rejoice in his birth. We find our peace, comfort, and rest in the God who made him and created him especially for us. Coincidentally, Noah sailed on the "ocean water" or Kai. =)
Here are the meanings that my mom discovered.
In Yoruba, a Nigerian language, Kai means "love"
In North Germanic languages, Kai means "keeper of the keys."
In Scandinavian languages, Kai means "rejoice"
In Finnish, Kai is a common male name meaning "probably"
In Chinese, Kai is a given name which can be one of several characters, meaning "victory" or "triumphant"
In Burmese, Kai means "strong" or "unbreakable"
All of these hold great meaning for us. He is our victorious, triumphant warrior, strong and unbreakable. He is our love, we rejoice in his birth, celebrate it, and give glory to our God and Father for his precious life. I hope you enjoy this little post.
His name is just a reminder to me that words have power, our words carry life and death, blessing and cursing. Names are important and I believe affect the life of a child, because each time we say their name we reaffirm it's meaning. Joshua is Yeshua in Hebrew, the same name of Jesus, and means "The Lord is my salvation". Eric means "boldness". I am bold the Lord my salvation. Names are important, not just for how they sound, but for what they mean.
Lisa means "oath of God."
We rejoice today, Father, in Kai, our victorious warrior. Watch over him, keep him, heal him, and get him home to us!
In Hawaiian, Kai means "ocean" or "ocean water"
In Japanese, Kai may mean "big water", "ocean", "the sea", "paddle", "change", "receiver", "taker", "meditation", "forgiveness"
In Latin, Kai means "rejoice"
Noé is Spanish for Noah and means "peace, comfort, rest." We chose Kai Noé for it's meanings, because he is miracle and we rejoice in his birth. We find our peace, comfort, and rest in the God who made him and created him especially for us. Coincidentally, Noah sailed on the "ocean water" or Kai. =)
Here are the meanings that my mom discovered.
In Yoruba, a Nigerian language, Kai means "love"
In North Germanic languages, Kai means "keeper of the keys."
In Scandinavian languages, Kai means "rejoice"
In Finnish, Kai is a common male name meaning "probably"
In Chinese, Kai is a given name which can be one of several characters, meaning "victory" or "triumphant"
In Burmese, Kai means "strong" or "unbreakable"
All of these hold great meaning for us. He is our victorious, triumphant warrior, strong and unbreakable. He is our love, we rejoice in his birth, celebrate it, and give glory to our God and Father for his precious life. I hope you enjoy this little post.
His name is just a reminder to me that words have power, our words carry life and death, blessing and cursing. Names are important and I believe affect the life of a child, because each time we say their name we reaffirm it's meaning. Joshua is Yeshua in Hebrew, the same name of Jesus, and means "The Lord is my salvation". Eric means "boldness". I am bold the Lord my salvation. Names are important, not just for how they sound, but for what they mean.
Lisa means "oath of God."
We rejoice today, Father, in Kai, our victorious warrior. Watch over him, keep him, heal him, and get him home to us!
Friday, September 30, 2011
Day 2
Man, this kid is going to run me ragged. This has been quite honestly the toughest, hardest day of my entire life and I've only been a dad for 48 hours. At this rate I'll be bald by one week! Here's the low down....
So this morning at about 7 am, after getting my first real sleep in 2 days, I woke up and went in to check on my little warrior. They said that during the night he took some steps back, suffering some cardiac problems and congestion. They changed his medication and put him on a stronger antibiotic to combat the infection. They said that he hemorrhaging had completely stopped and he was doing better, but that he wasn't progressing. His oxygen saturation was at 80-86%, when it should be up to 90-95%. His blood pressure was faltering some and so they put him on dopamine to help his heart. They said that his heart was fatigued due to the load it was bearing and that it needed to have some help. Apparently during infections like this, the heart overcompensates to help out, and his got tired and wasn't providing good oxygen.
Later in the morning Lisa and I both went and Kai didn't look so hot. His color had deteriorated because of the lowered oxygen levels and they mentioned the need to put him on a high frequency ventilator. They were trying to get one relocated to the hospital to help him out, just in case it was needed. We left the NICU a little broken seeing Kai struggling and praying for improvement.
At this point in the day, I needed a break. There is only so much stress and complication that one brain can handle, and mine had reached it's saturation point. At the urging approval of my wife, I escaped for some much needed "me" time (which sounds incredibly selfish considering the situation). I went and changed clothes, got some food, and went to run an errand at the Post Office before heading back. In the process of licking stamps for some envelopes I get a frantic call from my wife telling me to rush back because they needed to transfer Kai.
I flew from the Post Office lickity split (no pun intended) and made it to the hospital in no time. I rushed to the Nursery to speak with the pediatrician. The situation was that Kai was not improving and they were at their limit with the equipment available in this hospital. He needed the high frequency machine and needed it now. Cultural Clarification Moment: our hospital is a private hospital and one of the nicest facilities in El Salvador, however it is not government run. Government funds go to State hospitals and therefore they have the best equipment.
Back to the story now. His oxygen levels weren't great, his blood pressure was ok, but his chances were not good on a regular machine alone. Plus, since the ventilator was running at high capacity it was putting a lot of pressure on his lungs, which could cause a rupture in his lungs. He needed the high frequency machine, which keep all his passageways and air sac completely open, providing maximum oxygen flow without all the pressure on his little lungs. If he stayed in our hospital, his chances of survival were very low. He would deteriorate and possibly die. The option was to transport him across town to a children's hospital (government run) where they had this machine waiting. As it is, there was only 1 machine of this caliber in the country for rent and it was being used elsewhere. So, the only option was to go to the state hospital and use theirs. The risk was this: to move him they had to remove him from the ventilator and run a hand pump until we arrived. He could deteriorate and possibly die in transit because he was very delicate and critical. Cultural Clarification Moment: El Salvador is not known for giving right of way to emergency vehicles and it was rush hour.
I broke down. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, I simply lost control. What parent of less than 48 hours should ever have to make such a difficult decision? Life and death literally in the balance, teetering on my decision. After composing myself, I went back to Lisa to explain and she lost it. Was this some sort of bad joke? As if Day 1 wasn't hard enough, now our very decision could cost the life of our child!
There really was no choice in the matter. Stay here and die. Move him and live, with the great risk of death in transit. With the scales of life teetering precariously, Kai was prepped, the ambulance readied, phone calls made, and poor mama left with friends to console her. I jumped into the back of the ambulance with the pediatrician, neonatologist, 2 nurses, the ambulance staff, and the all the equipment, and headed out on our adventure across town through the worst possibly traffic (Friday night mind you!). Just as we leave the hospital, we come to a halt in the middle of the road and just sit there. We asked the driver the situation and he said we had broken down. They had to call another ambulance to come and take us. WHAT!!! Are you kidding me? What kind of Archie Bunker operation are we running?
A few minutes later, as I sit there on the verge of cussing (I'm a Christian and missionary, but at this moment I almost lost it all!), I hear the wail of sirens as our new chariot approached. We quickly unload and reload Kai, neonatologist pumping his little lungs without fail. Off we go, in our brand new, dented up little ambulance, weaving in and out of traffic, lights flashing, sirens and horn blaring. In what should have taken over an hour to accomplish due to conditions, we miraculously arrived at the children's hospital in about 20 minutes. Kai stayed completely stable the entire ride and his oxygen levels actually increased in transit. I think possibly he just got cabin fever and wanted some fresh air!
We rush him inside the hospital, me holding the heart rate monitor on top of the incubator as we all maneuver through the corridors. Upon arrival in the NICU ward, Kai is rushed to the Promised Land where our wonderful machine awaited him. As I took care of the admission papers, the medical staff worked to remove him from his current incubator and transport him to the new one, attaching all the appropriate hoses and such to the new machine.
Literally within minutes of arriving, Kai was hooked up, the machine firing on all cylinders, and already improving. The neonatologist came out and was more optimistic than she has been in the the last 48 hours. She would have done cartwheels if we weren't in an emergency ward. He was stable and doing much better on the new machine.
I was allowed to see him after washing what seemed like every square inch of exposed flesh and putting on a "long sleeve" smock, which for me was more like a three quarter sleeve baseball shirt. Cautiously and anxiously I moved into his room. Kai looked a hundred times better. It was a completely different kid from just minute earlier. His color was restored, his oxygen levels were 92-95%, blood pressure stable, heart rate perfect, and daddy sighed the greatest sigh of relief ever since the creation of the world. I sheepishly asked the doctor, "This may sound stupid, but can I kiss him?" "You can kiss him all you want," was his confident reply. And kiss I did!
I returned home after our little adventure to be with Lisa. Kai is doing much better and happier on his new machine. Lisa is jealous, but she will get her chance soon. He is my little warrior and is fighting like crazy. We love him so much and would do anything for him. But I'm praying this is the last of our adventures with him until later. I'm ready for some boring, nothing exciting happens but us holding him, kissing him, and changing diapers. Looking forward to good things tomorrow morning!
So this morning at about 7 am, after getting my first real sleep in 2 days, I woke up and went in to check on my little warrior. They said that during the night he took some steps back, suffering some cardiac problems and congestion. They changed his medication and put him on a stronger antibiotic to combat the infection. They said that he hemorrhaging had completely stopped and he was doing better, but that he wasn't progressing. His oxygen saturation was at 80-86%, when it should be up to 90-95%. His blood pressure was faltering some and so they put him on dopamine to help his heart. They said that his heart was fatigued due to the load it was bearing and that it needed to have some help. Apparently during infections like this, the heart overcompensates to help out, and his got tired and wasn't providing good oxygen.
Later in the morning Lisa and I both went and Kai didn't look so hot. His color had deteriorated because of the lowered oxygen levels and they mentioned the need to put him on a high frequency ventilator. They were trying to get one relocated to the hospital to help him out, just in case it was needed. We left the NICU a little broken seeing Kai struggling and praying for improvement.
At this point in the day, I needed a break. There is only so much stress and complication that one brain can handle, and mine had reached it's saturation point. At the urging approval of my wife, I escaped for some much needed "me" time (which sounds incredibly selfish considering the situation). I went and changed clothes, got some food, and went to run an errand at the Post Office before heading back. In the process of licking stamps for some envelopes I get a frantic call from my wife telling me to rush back because they needed to transfer Kai.
I flew from the Post Office lickity split (no pun intended) and made it to the hospital in no time. I rushed to the Nursery to speak with the pediatrician. The situation was that Kai was not improving and they were at their limit with the equipment available in this hospital. He needed the high frequency machine and needed it now. Cultural Clarification Moment: our hospital is a private hospital and one of the nicest facilities in El Salvador, however it is not government run. Government funds go to State hospitals and therefore they have the best equipment.
Back to the story now. His oxygen levels weren't great, his blood pressure was ok, but his chances were not good on a regular machine alone. Plus, since the ventilator was running at high capacity it was putting a lot of pressure on his lungs, which could cause a rupture in his lungs. He needed the high frequency machine, which keep all his passageways and air sac completely open, providing maximum oxygen flow without all the pressure on his little lungs. If he stayed in our hospital, his chances of survival were very low. He would deteriorate and possibly die. The option was to transport him across town to a children's hospital (government run) where they had this machine waiting. As it is, there was only 1 machine of this caliber in the country for rent and it was being used elsewhere. So, the only option was to go to the state hospital and use theirs. The risk was this: to move him they had to remove him from the ventilator and run a hand pump until we arrived. He could deteriorate and possibly die in transit because he was very delicate and critical. Cultural Clarification Moment: El Salvador is not known for giving right of way to emergency vehicles and it was rush hour.
I broke down. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, I simply lost control. What parent of less than 48 hours should ever have to make such a difficult decision? Life and death literally in the balance, teetering on my decision. After composing myself, I went back to Lisa to explain and she lost it. Was this some sort of bad joke? As if Day 1 wasn't hard enough, now our very decision could cost the life of our child!
There really was no choice in the matter. Stay here and die. Move him and live, with the great risk of death in transit. With the scales of life teetering precariously, Kai was prepped, the ambulance readied, phone calls made, and poor mama left with friends to console her. I jumped into the back of the ambulance with the pediatrician, neonatologist, 2 nurses, the ambulance staff, and the all the equipment, and headed out on our adventure across town through the worst possibly traffic (Friday night mind you!). Just as we leave the hospital, we come to a halt in the middle of the road and just sit there. We asked the driver the situation and he said we had broken down. They had to call another ambulance to come and take us. WHAT!!! Are you kidding me? What kind of Archie Bunker operation are we running?
A few minutes later, as I sit there on the verge of cussing (I'm a Christian and missionary, but at this moment I almost lost it all!), I hear the wail of sirens as our new chariot approached. We quickly unload and reload Kai, neonatologist pumping his little lungs without fail. Off we go, in our brand new, dented up little ambulance, weaving in and out of traffic, lights flashing, sirens and horn blaring. In what should have taken over an hour to accomplish due to conditions, we miraculously arrived at the children's hospital in about 20 minutes. Kai stayed completely stable the entire ride and his oxygen levels actually increased in transit. I think possibly he just got cabin fever and wanted some fresh air!
We rush him inside the hospital, me holding the heart rate monitor on top of the incubator as we all maneuver through the corridors. Upon arrival in the NICU ward, Kai is rushed to the Promised Land where our wonderful machine awaited him. As I took care of the admission papers, the medical staff worked to remove him from his current incubator and transport him to the new one, attaching all the appropriate hoses and such to the new machine.
Literally within minutes of arriving, Kai was hooked up, the machine firing on all cylinders, and already improving. The neonatologist came out and was more optimistic than she has been in the the last 48 hours. She would have done cartwheels if we weren't in an emergency ward. He was stable and doing much better on the new machine.
I was allowed to see him after washing what seemed like every square inch of exposed flesh and putting on a "long sleeve" smock, which for me was more like a three quarter sleeve baseball shirt. Cautiously and anxiously I moved into his room. Kai looked a hundred times better. It was a completely different kid from just minute earlier. His color was restored, his oxygen levels were 92-95%, blood pressure stable, heart rate perfect, and daddy sighed the greatest sigh of relief ever since the creation of the world. I sheepishly asked the doctor, "This may sound stupid, but can I kiss him?" "You can kiss him all you want," was his confident reply. And kiss I did!
I returned home after our little adventure to be with Lisa. Kai is doing much better and happier on his new machine. Lisa is jealous, but she will get her chance soon. He is my little warrior and is fighting like crazy. We love him so much and would do anything for him. But I'm praying this is the last of our adventures with him until later. I'm ready for some boring, nothing exciting happens but us holding him, kissing him, and changing diapers. Looking forward to good things tomorrow morning!
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Day 1 - continued
Time for another lengthy report of what is going on in the world of the Sears'. Here goes....
Not too long ago the OBGYN, Pediatrician and Neonatologist came in to talk to us about Lisa and Kai. First, Lisa is doing good. They changed her bandage and cleaned her up and it all looks good. No major bleeding such and they are going to get her up tonight and give the opportunity to go see Kai for the first time.
With regards to Kai there is quite a bit to say. First, they got back another x-ray and the lungs look even better. They said that he has progressed better than they expected and looks good, although there is still a ways to go. Second, he urinated a good amount, an adequate amount according to his age, so his kidneys are working great. Third, a cardiologist came in and checked out his heart to make sure there was nothing wrong. The heart checked out perfect and so they are one by one checking off the various symptoms. They put a catheter in so as to more easily take blood samples and administer medication. Fourth, they did a transfusion of plasma and platelets and both went well. They are going to check later to see if they need to transfer red cells as well. They hadn't stopped the hemorrhaging in the lungs, but after administering the platelets they have controlled it. The amount of blood that was coming back through the respiratory tube has diminished by 60% and so they have the hemorrhage controlled and that means the platelets are doing their job perfectly. Tomorrow morning they will check his levels to make sure he is reproducing his own and the levels are good. Fifth, they are doing an ultrasound of the brain to make sure that the cerebral function is good and there aren't any lesions or hemorrhaging in the brain. They said that clinically speaking he looks great and doesn't show any signs of brain damage or bleeding, but they want to be 100% certain. He is active and fidgety, they called him a fighter. They said he is fighting and working at recovery, so much so that they had to give him a mild sedative to settle him down so he doesn't mess the tubes up. That's my boy, a little wiggle wart!
All said and done they told us he is completely stable, although still in the critical stage. He looks good, moves good, responds good, and is starting to get better with the lungs. Tomorrow they are going to take blood to test the levels and we are expecting the blood to have stopped completely. Once that happens the ventilator will help him remove or absorb the blood that is currently in his lungs.
That's where we stand right now. God is so amazingly faithful and we are excited to see what tomorrow brings. This has been one roller coaster 24 hour period and we are hopefully expectant for the coming hours and days. Thank you for your continued prayers, I'll be in touch later.
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