Do you remember the cacophony of vuvuzelas from the 2010 World Cup in South Africa? And the pen-tapping coworker or classmate who doesn’t realize that they lack the rhythmic talent of Van Halen? How about dial-up modems? Well imagine taking those sounds, crossing all of them together, placing them in a small room, and being told to sleep there. Welcome to the ICU.
Here one can enjoy a lavish banquet of flavored ice cups, clear tepid broth with the slightest essence of chicken, and your choice of kaleidoscopic jello cubes.
I don’t mean to be a grumbler, but the unending crinkle of the plastic blue suits, the hard cold seating options, and the lack of light in this place leaves me feeling like I’m caught in a black hole. Here, the metrics of time are not always in minutes, hours, or days, but in “soon,” “hopefully when the doctor calls us back,” “when Robert finishes his 3rd bottle of contrast,” and “I can’t answer that.” The best light sources have come from the 20 minutes we had yesterday evening with the babies as Trav was allowed to be wheeled out into the ICU waiting room to see them, and from this computer/iPad screen as you encourage and love on us. You guys are a gift. Whether you’re here with us in person or sending your love and prayers from afar, your supplications and prayerful requests have been our lifeblood. Look at what God does with dreadful things. He took a trip to the ER and turned it into 154+ different conversations with Him—many of them continuing today. That’s good stuff.
Yesterday morning, they strapped Trav up with the equipment needed to monitor the PillCam. If you thought your multi-vitamins were huge, you should see this thing! Once they activated the pill, a bright light began flashing rapidly. As it went down the hatch we were able to see images of Trav’s esophagus, the valve leading to the stomach, and finally, kerplunk! into the stomach juices. He remained on a clear liquid diet and lived vicariously through friends and family as he asked each one where they were going to eat dinner.
This morning, Trav was taken in for a CT scan that focused on the small bowel. Thankfully, the scans did not show any tumors. His hemoglobin is dropping, which means he’s still bleeding and may require future blood transfusions. While doctors speculate many things, they still are not entirely sure of the cause of bleeding. They noticed bowel wall thickening which can be caused by a number of things, also something of which they are unsure.
My initial reaction to their unknowing is, “Idiots!” But if you stop and consider the past 3 years, what have they known? They know Travis has cancer. They know, based on research and statistics, he isn’t supposed to be here. They know that his case is inexplicable. They know that they don’t know. It’s not because they’re not highly qualified or highly intelligent physicians. We have been privileged to have some of the best doctors. But like us, they aren’t driving.
Trav is now on a full liquids diet (Cream of Potato Soup, here we come!) He is resting and visiting. The dropping hemoglobin I mentioned earlier needs to rise. When kneeling tonight, could you remember us again? Specifically, for Trav’s bleeding to stop, a transfer to MD Anderson, and treatment options to open.
Unfortunately, we are in the ICU and have to be quiet. Otherwise we would’ve seen which of you brave souls are willing to take us on in a board game. Once we get back home, we’ll open the invitation. We love you.
Here one can enjoy a lavish banquet of flavored ice cups, clear tepid broth with the slightest essence of chicken, and your choice of kaleidoscopic jello cubes.
I don’t mean to be a grumbler, but the unending crinkle of the plastic blue suits, the hard cold seating options, and the lack of light in this place leaves me feeling like I’m caught in a black hole. Here, the metrics of time are not always in minutes, hours, or days, but in “soon,” “hopefully when the doctor calls us back,” “when Robert finishes his 3rd bottle of contrast,” and “I can’t answer that.” The best light sources have come from the 20 minutes we had yesterday evening with the babies as Trav was allowed to be wheeled out into the ICU waiting room to see them, and from this computer/iPad screen as you encourage and love on us. You guys are a gift. Whether you’re here with us in person or sending your love and prayers from afar, your supplications and prayerful requests have been our lifeblood. Look at what God does with dreadful things. He took a trip to the ER and turned it into 154+ different conversations with Him—many of them continuing today. That’s good stuff.
Yesterday morning, they strapped Trav up with the equipment needed to monitor the PillCam. If you thought your multi-vitamins were huge, you should see this thing! Once they activated the pill, a bright light began flashing rapidly. As it went down the hatch we were able to see images of Trav’s esophagus, the valve leading to the stomach, and finally, kerplunk! into the stomach juices. He remained on a clear liquid diet and lived vicariously through friends and family as he asked each one where they were going to eat dinner.
This morning, Trav was taken in for a CT scan that focused on the small bowel. Thankfully, the scans did not show any tumors. His hemoglobin is dropping, which means he’s still bleeding and may require future blood transfusions. While doctors speculate many things, they still are not entirely sure of the cause of bleeding. They noticed bowel wall thickening which can be caused by a number of things, also something of which they are unsure.
My initial reaction to their unknowing is, “Idiots!” But if you stop and consider the past 3 years, what have they known? They know Travis has cancer. They know, based on research and statistics, he isn’t supposed to be here. They know that his case is inexplicable. They know that they don’t know. It’s not because they’re not highly qualified or highly intelligent physicians. We have been privileged to have some of the best doctors. But like us, they aren’t driving.
Trav is now on a full liquids diet (Cream of Potato Soup, here we come!) He is resting and visiting. The dropping hemoglobin I mentioned earlier needs to rise. When kneeling tonight, could you remember us again? Specifically, for Trav’s bleeding to stop, a transfer to MD Anderson, and treatment options to open.
Unfortunately, we are in the ICU and have to be quiet. Otherwise we would’ve seen which of you brave souls are willing to take us on in a board game. Once we get back home, we’ll open the invitation. We love you.
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