Surrendering One Moment at a Time (Part 1)

 I can't think of a better way to finish out 2023 than to reflect on our recent experience in the hospital with Eliyanah. Truly I want to summarize it in a nice, short, concise paragraph and be done with it, but I need to process through it all and I think the details of all that happened and all that God did are worth sharing. He deserves the glory and praise! So I will do my best to recollect every aspect of this recent journey. If it is too long for some, I apologize! I have been picked on over the years for typing long messages and texts. haha. I suppose it's just that I can type almost as fast as I think, so I am telling you this story on the screen like I would be telling you in person. I know many of you were praying and still are. We FELT your prayers. I was floating on them, quite literally. They were like life preservers in a sea of uncertainty! I am overwhelmingly thankful for each time someone went to the throne of our Good and Loving King on our behalf! 

The week of December 11th, we all came down with something. I don't know what, but it was pretty rough. Just when I thought Eliyanah was spared, she started in with just a tiny little cough. It wasn't a big deal and she was acting completely like herself. On Friday, she sounded congested but was crawling more than ever and so happy. On Saturday, she seemed tired, but we just thought it was because she had a slight fever and needed rest. By Saturday evening, she was seeming to struggle a bit with breathing. But she wasn't retracting, just had a bit of a croupy sound. I tried to use the nebulizer with her, and it started to get worse really quickly. I decided to call the Plaza ambulance to see if they could come check her oxygen level and tell me if she needed to go to the ER. I am thankful for rural ambulance services. They are not like other places. They have a lot of capabilities that you won't see in more populated areas! They came right away and looked her over. This was around 9 pm. She was still not retracting, her color was good, and when they did get an oxygen reading, it was 95%. We thought she was ok, and the paramedic told us that if we took her to the ER, they would probably send us home and tell us to do what we had already been doing. So, we decided to see how the night went. After they left, she got gradually worse throughout the night. We were taking her outside, trying steam, and it just seemed to only help a tiny bit, or not at all. Finally at around 3 am, she had been sleeping for a bit on me and I realized her breathing was faster. Derrick took her outside one more time, and this time it did not help. I took her in the bathroom and tried steam again, and she started grunting. This was something the paramedic told me to watch for, and I just knew. We immediately woke up the kids and headed straight for the ER. I prayed the whole time that she would make it there ok. It was a 45 minute drive. The kids did not realize how serious it was, but we did. Praise God, one of my dearest friends lives near the ER and I texted her and she immediately came and got our kids. That was the last I saw of them for nearly 4 days. 

At the ER, she was visibly worse. Her color was not good, and they couldn't get an oxygen reading on her. I felt like screaming, "Just put a mask on her!" because I knew it was low, but they didn't do it until they got an accurate reading. It was 78%. I remember saying, "Is it really that low?" All the while knowing that it really was that bad. They did a chest x-ray and said it was probably pneumonia and that she needed to go to Minot. We sat there in silence, holding a mask on her face. I will never forget that moment. It was surreal. The next thing we knew, the plan changed to Bismarck because Minot was full. And then suddenly, I was sitting on a stretcher holding my very sick baby with an oxygen mask, and we were off on a nearly 2 and a half hour ride. We had thought the ER would maybe to do a breathing treatment and would send us home with instructions. And here we were, being rushed to the hospital. I remember being so terrified and yet so calm. Derrick brought me some things on the ambulance before we left and that was one of the most painful moments of my life, saying goodbye to him. Knowing he could not be with me. I will never forget driving away, hearing the paramedic tell the driver to put the lights on the whole way. As we rode through the darkness, I remember seeing the reflection of the lights and through the back window I could see several vehicles on the side of the road. It took me a bit to realize they were pulled over to let us go by. 

That was one of the longest trips I have ever been on. Her vitals were ok, but her fever was worse and they had not given her anything at the ER, just oxygen. The trip was hard on her body. She was much weaker when we got to Bismarck. As we got into town, I noticed her breathing was a lot more labored and she was retracting. The paramedic gave her albuterol and it did give a little bit of relief. He then said, let's do sirens to the hospital. He was trying to make it sound like it was no big deal, and it was just because he didn't feel like getting stuck in traffic. But I knew it was because she was getting worse. We finally arrived at the ER to a whole team of staff who got right to work.

 It took a while to get her stable, put in an IV, NG tube, figure out the oxygen level she needed, etc. By the time we got settled, she was exhausted. The amazing thing is that she was alert, screaming, kicking, and crying all during this time. She was incredibly sick, but had not lost her fight! This gave me hope. But I saw the faces of the staff. They were concerned. They kept looking at me, very quiet. Speaking in hushed tones. I remember in the ER, I was sitting on the bed with her while a very sweet, kind of older man (not very old, but older than me, and most of them were much younger than me, lol) named Bob was trying to get an IV in her foot. It was difficult, because at this point she was very dehydrated and finding a vein was almost impossible. He felt so bad, and I was just sitting there with my eyes closed, praying he'd get it. He finally did. I looked straight at him and said, "Is she going to be ok?" He didn't hesitate: "YES". 

"Are you sure? Have you seen a lot of kids like this?" He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "I tell the truth, and I don't give false hope. I have seen many kids come back from this." I don't know if he really knew she was going to be ok or not, but his confidence calmed me. He wheeled us up to the PICU and I never saw him after that, but he was a Godsend. Another man in the ER patted my shoulder and was admiring Ely's red hair. He had a little baby at home, too. He was so kind. I just felt like they were saving her life and also taking the time to care about me. It was so beautiful and painful all at the same time.

In the PICU room, we were met with even more staff and even more chaos. The doctor was trying to explain to me what was going on while they were poking and prodding her and she was screaming. I felt like I couldn't even hear what he was saying. Our main nurse, Brooke, looked me in the eyes and said, "We need to get all this stuff done, and then I promise we will sit down and talk this all through." By the time they got her fully settled, with tubes and wires, she asked if I wanted to hold her and I practically shouted, "Yes!" They put her on me and she almost instantly fell asleep. Brooke was trying to ask me general questions and I could barely hear her. I was so distracted by my brain, all the things they were trying to tell me, everything they were doing to Ely. She finally said, "Let's do this later." I just couldn't answer questions and she was so patient. I just kept thinking, how is she going to heal if they won't let me feed her, and they won't even let her have milk in the feeding tube? What if I lose my supply? They need to let me pump. How do I pump while I'm holding her? I need to keep eating and drinking. I also need to stay calm. How far away is Derrick? Are the kids ok? All these thoughts were just racing until Derrick walked through the door. It was the most beautiful sight. He almost immediately took her so I could stand up and try to drink and eat something. If it weren't for the fact that I am a nursing mom, I would have had no desire to do these things, but I needed to do them for her. And after Derrick watched the ambulance drive away and then had to pack up the kids to go stay with another dear friend and take that long drive to the hospital, he was more than happy to sit and hold his little girl.

At first, I was extremely upset that they wouldn't let me feed her. I did not argue with them, but I questioned them every time they came into the room. I just could not process what was happening. I didn't get a full explanation about the oxygen until after they had already begun weaning her days later when she was doing better. But for the sake of telling the story, I'll just say that she was on Bi-Pap oxygen, at 60% Fi02 (We typically get about 21% from regular air) and 15L of pressure. This is a LOT. There is no way she could have eaten at this level of pressure. It would have been a huge risk of aspiration, which could be extremely dangerous with already infected lungs. I could hear the air going in and out, like a whooshing sound. I can't imagine trying to swallow with that, even as an adult. It was awful, and also amazing. It very likely saved her life, because this amount of pressure pushed her lungs open and helped them to stay open so she could finally move the fluid out. I told Derrick after a couple days that I hated that machine and also loved that machine because it helped my baby heal. 

The doctor also decided to give her only a minimal amount of fluids, basically only to keep her just above severe dehydration. He felt that it would help her lungs dry out and clear out faster. I'm not one to argue with an ICU doctor, but I will say it was horrible to see her so dehydrated and miserable. And yet, after just an hour or so on the high pressure oxygen, she was sitting up on Derrick's lap, trying to play with a toy and wiggling all over the place! This gave us so much reassurance that while it might be a long stay, she was going to get better.

Sunday night I ended up sleeping in the recliner with her. They came in every half hour or so to check on her, do breathing treatments, and CPT, which is tapping on her back with a soft cup to break up the mucus. She seemed to be doing ok. In the morning I switched with Derrick and went to try and take a quick shower. When I came back, there were 3 staff members over her looking very concerned. The shift change had happened and Brooke was back. She listened to her breathing and felt like it was very diminished and not enough air was moving in her lungs. I just really appreciated her throughout the week, as she was the most proactive nurse we had who seemed to always be a step ahead of what she needed! As Monday went on, they started to sound more nervous. They had warned us that it could get worse before it gets better and that Monday could possibly be the worst day. And they were right. The doctor started saying things like, "We don't want to have to intubate her." This is when I really got scared. I thought she was doing better and now they were talking about taking more measures. They started doing continuous albuterol and gave her iv steroids. It was such a helpless feeling. I could do nothing for her. If she sat with me, she just cried because she couldn't nurse. She was so hungry and thirsty! I couldn't comfort her and if anything, being with me was just making her more upset. Derrick was able to keep her calm for the most part, so at some point after the doctor came in, he told me to take a little break. I stepped into the other room and called a very dear friend. All she did was answer and I just let out all the tears at once, like a waterfall. I hadn't cried like that yet, even with all the exhaustion and almost no sleep for two nights. I just remember her crying with me and saying, "Oh Melyssa, I know, I know. I'm so sorry, I know." She spoke what was in my heart, which is that our children are often the one thing we can't give to the Lord. We tell Him, take everything, do whatever you want, just please, please, don't let anything happen to my children. This is what had been in my heart for 11 years. She just read my mind without even hearing me say it and knew exactly what I was feeling. She prayed over me, and we hung up. I immediately felt calmer. I took a walk to the main floor and tried to go outside, but I had forgotten a coat and it was too cold. So I wandered into the prayer room. It was so peaceful and just...quiet. That is where I heard God speak as clear as ever. He said, "This is your Abraham and Isaac moment. You need to put her on the altar and trust Me with the outcome." Actually, it isn't the first time I heard Him say it, but it was the first time I listened. He had said it in the ambulance, and countless times throughout the first day. But in that moment, I knew my answer. He was right. I had not fully surrendered her or any of my other children to Him. I was trying to remain in control of every aspect of their lives, as if I really ever had control. I was too afraid to release them and accept that they actually belong to Him, and not to me. Peace washed over me and I prayed for the first time since becoming a mom, "OK. If you take her, then so be it. Not my will, but Yours be done. If You take her, I will still worship You. I will still praise Your name, and You will still be good. Oh God, please don't take her, but if You do, I know that the answer is the right one and I will trust in You." 

It was truly a defining moment in my life. I went back to her room, still not knowing what would happen, but finally believing that I could face whatever happened, even if it was the one thing I feared the most.

I will try to finish part 2 soon! Happy New Year!