Fear (A Memoir of SCIDS Part 3)
Updated: Sep 22, 2020
Throughout the night, her condition continues to escalate. The oxygen in her blood isn't enough, it is drifting lower and lower, requiring more oxygen, more support. During rounds with the team the next morning, we are told that she will need to be intubated.
Feels like a bomb has exploded on my insides. The resident asks, "How are you doing?"
"It feels like a death sentence" I tell her through my tears.
They assure me, as best they can, that they are doing everything possible to help her, but that this virus is moving quickly, causing more damage to her lungs, preventing oxygen from getting to her body. I'm an ER nurse, I know the risks of intubation, I can see the signs that this virus is intensifying, and I'm not sure what end is in sight. I am afraid.
The staff ask us to leave her room so they can sedate her and put the breathing tube in. Brent and I kiss her forehead; my heart jerks as I wonder if this is the last time I will see her beautiful blue eyes open...only The Healer knows the answer to that, and I feel fear. It is the unknown that I'm afraid of. Will He heal her?
We sit in the waiting room. There are people around us, family & friends, although I forget their faces. Lost in my thoughts, and my guilt. How could I not have seen this sooner? How could I have let her get so sick and not notice? Some of the shock is starting to thaw, and now there is just fear... I am not in control.
We react so many different ways when our control is lost. I wanted so desperately to cling to control, but there was none to be had, I couldn't do anything to change what was happening. What will I cling to?? They are putting my baby on the ventilator and I am filled with dread.
"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever"
I need strength. Strength to persevere. Strength to go back into her room. Strength to choose Him, to trust Him, when everything around me is out my control.
The staff come to tell us that we can go back in to see her. We enter her room. She is sedated, just laying there, as the ventilator gives her breath and oxygen. I think to myself how peaceful she looks, because she isn't fighting the mask anymore; she is still, and silent.
The day goes on, ventilator and oxygen settings get adjusted, and increased. Again, hour by hour it seems that her lungs are just getting worse.