My son in the ICU: The Brink of Life

It was almost October, 2013

Cory had made a turn from the brink of Death to the brink of Life.

Just so happened to coincide with his transfer from a typical hospital room to a spacious, light-filled, sunny hospital room (still so grateful.). Which was a perfect place, as far as hospital rooms go, for Cory to be, because he was an outdoorsy guy through and through. Venture to say he spent an entire 1/3 of his life outdoors….camping, climbing, cliffing, biking, caving, on trails, off trails….he had no need for material things, just a need for Nature. So it was no surprise that we saw him open up and blossom a little when he could once again see outside and soak up some Sun.

This is what he looked like from the Outside:

His body and face and bald head were covered with purple lesions and sores (but they were just beginning to dry up and show signs of healing)….and we put his glasses on him during the day, no matter what. . Because if he was alert (he was alert and awake longer and longer every day), even if momentarily…at least he could see. The glasses barely balanced on his nose, that he was sure to lose, due to the fungal blister that draped over the whole of it. And he had a feeding tube fed down one of the nostrils, that was only used for medications that had to be absorbed orally. His stomach couldn’t handle food or drink yet.

He now had a PICC Line in his neck, the vein of his existence…literally.  It had been moved from his arm to his groin to his neck because of infection (Forever fighting bacteria that would take up residence in the plastic of the lines)…yep, just stuck right there in his neck. 3 lines that went into one place (that artery headed directly into the heart)….and branched off what looked like 20 lines that fed into the 3. Watching the nurses “change the lines” looked like the wiring of a computer, with electrical lines long enough for them to get tangled in the web of at any moment. And they all fed into this one hole in Cory’s neck.

His PICC line fed him nutrition (because he couldn’t eat or drink), hydration, blood, platelets, numerous antibiotics or anti-virals or whatever the medication of the day was. And all of these things were in bags hanging on his pole, but couldn’t be all at once….so those blessed nurses had to have a “line up” of what to hang, send in, order, take down, and when. See, they could be football coaches, too! —  “Send in the red-blood cells, take out the anti-viral, send in 2 antibiotics and in the Second Half, we’ll send in nutrition….skip the digestive system, go for the tackle and time the Platelets!”— (…and I’m hearing that college football announcer voice right now….) These nurses were totally winning this game in my eyes.

Seriously, In Awe, all. the. time. Nursing isn’t for sissies.

Anyway, he also had an IV in his wrist where his pain medication was administered as well, or whatever additional medication they determined he needed.

He had stickers all over his chest that attached to wires to monitors for his heart and breathing rate, and a pulse ox (like a band-aide) attached to another line that monitored his oxygen. And we could watch it all on the monitor from where we sat….just like on TV.

And he was adorned with different machinery daily….EKG machines or Dialysis machines or photosynthesis machines or respiratory assistance machinery if needed, or x-ray machines when his line would go awry near his heart, or even a portable cat-scan machine when he was thought to have had a seizure.mri

He wore a hospital gown like a sheet that often ended up around his waist, because it was too difficult to fasten or dress him with all the tubes and lines attached.

cory zebraAnd he wore his sisters zebra striped heating blanket over top that she loaned him. So him.

He hadn’t been out of bed in a month, he couldn’t sit or stand.

We sponge bathed him in bed, we gauzed his teeth and gums (because the sores in his mouth never left and couldn’t handle a brush), we held cups to his mouth for sips of water through a straw that we held in place for him as he gradually was able to handle drinking, we applied a honey treatment to his 100+ sores that covered his body, we pushed the buttons to move his bed and head and feet up or down to his liking, we hand-syringed his stomach through his feeding tube to empty it of whatever might be building up in it if he was nauseous. He was 25 years old and could do nothing for himself at this point, and we were his pinch hitters.

And he was BEAUTIFUL.

He was responding with conversation and slight smiles and better “numbers” and signs of healing instead of signs of death. He was still Alive when he shouldn’t have been.

And this is what he looked like from the Inside:

In one of the first few days in the Light-filled hospital room, Cory said in his raspy voice,

“Don’t give up on Me.”

“No way”, I said.

And we didn’t.

From an outsiders point of view, the brink of death and the brink of life might not look all that different, but we could see the Resolve in Cory’s oh-so-tired eyes…THIS was the real Brink of Life. It was in him.

This time, I didn’t have to sign anything on his behalf— He signed off on his Will to Live all on his own.

My son in the ICU, If I had a boat….

End of September 2013:

We were waiting, counting days and moments and temperatures that Cory couldn’t shake.

Cory’s dad, Charlie, was the expert temperature taker and our moods would rise and fall according to .5 movement up or down the thermometer reading. If there was movement either way, we would take it again and again within the same hour.

We were told he had days or maybe a week. We were looking for signs of a miracle or signs of death. No gray in those days….black and white, hope or despair, up and down the rollercoaster operated by a fungus.

I was either praying and bargaining with God or googling “signs of death”. Like we might miss it.

Desperately wanting control when we had none.

I googled many sites over and over…looking for a site where he didn’t meet every “sign”. For  a tangible ray of hope. Couldn’t find one. Check, check, check, check—-all physical signs were there.

But I didn’t (or couldn’t) believe it. I yelled at myself in my head and said words like “reject!” or “no!” to any sign of acceptance or negativity in my thoughts. I was Believing God for a Miracle to save my son. I wanted to talk with him again, hang out with him… this all happened so fast. I wasn’t ready and didn’t believe he was either. End. Of. Story.

Then one night, he sat up in his bed (yes, Sat Up). I asked him what he was doing as he picked at his sheets at first and then was clearly reaching over one side of his legs and looking like he was grabbing things and moving them to the other side of his body.

“I’m packing”, he said. “I have to go.”

Thinking he was talking in his sleep, we tried to lay him back down, but he was insistent. So we let him pack. I watched with tears rolling down my face with my first real thoughts of, “He’s leaving us.”

The next day, family came to visit. He started telling everyone where he was….”I’m at the ocean.” and he was so content and happy. To which someone asked, “Who is there?”….”Well, there’s that Lion over there, lookin’ all regal!”– “Where?”– “Over there on the beach.”…And when Jimmy walked in, Cory looked straight at him and said excitedly, “Hey! How’d you get here? By boat??”  He apparently had arrived.cory boat

Well, then.

I googled again….a phenomena known as “nearing death awareness” seemed to fit the bill psychologically. Spiritually speaking, a common occurrence of “One foot in, one foot out” where they are somewhere else, but able to communicate it with us here. Often involving relatives that have passed or descriptions of heaven.

Hmm.

“If I had a boat
I’d go out on the ocean
And if I had a pony
I’d ride him on my boat
And we could all together
Go out on the ocean
Me upon my pony on my boat”…Lyle Lovett