I Don’t Even Know How to Title This

Mike is in the ICU. Today marks Day 3. I’m not well emotionally, so buckle your seatbelts for this update. It’s going to be hard to read. Trust me, it was even harder to write. But we desperately need your prayers, so I’m updating despite my pain and reluctance to make it real by putting it out there for the world to see. Because, on our end, it is obviously very, very real.

How We Got Here

I wish I could tell you exactly what brought him here. There’s still a question as to what caused his current condition to happen, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s here. We think it was a perfect storm of chemo toxicity, severe and life-threatening dehydration, and strong pain medications that were necessary for his extreme back pain.

I’ve lost track of which days things happened, so I can’t give you a timeline, but I can tell you how things took a turn. Mike started having difficulty concentrating and intense brain fog one day, which we thought was due to the pain meds, so we took him off of his pain pump. After several hours with no pain medication, things weren’t improving, but getting worse. He lost the ability to verbally communicate other than to tell us his name, occasionally his birthdate, and answer yes/no questions. He could still follow directions to move body parts, but was starting to lose fine motor skills. In a massive flurry of activity, several tests were ordered to see if he had neurological damage.

The oncologist stopped his chemotherapy right before the last day of treatment, so he only received four of the five days of treatment. He was suspicious that one of the chemotherapy agents could be the culprit and immediately started him on a drug known to reverse the damage if it was the source. I had went home to take a nap because I’ve been staying the night due to his confusion. I got about ten minutes of sleep and my phone rang with a call from Dr. Jogenpally, his oncologist, telling me that he was moving him to the ICU for closer monitoring and further testing. A CT scan was ordered of his brain.

Needless to say, I was a snot-crying mess. I called my mom and she drove me back up to the hospital because I was too emotional. Brady and Jackson came up shortly after. Mike’s parents and other family members and friends also came to sit with us. It was a hard day.

Mike’s Current Status

Things haven’t gotten much better. As far as his speech and communication, it’s improving some, but definitely has a long way to go. He has lots of blank moments where he stares off into space and just isn’t here with us for a bit, then he rouses slightly and interacts. So, neurologically, there’s progress.

Physiologically, things seem to be at a standstill. He has an NG tube suctioning out his gut and is putting out significant volume as well as significant kidney volume. They are trying to keep his fluids and electrolytes balanced with the amount of his output, but output is still outweighing input, so things are still quite unbalanced. His kidneys aren’t happy at all. Kidney function is quite low and keeps dropping. He has a UTI and an intestinal bacterial infection.

With all these things at play, they’re not sure yet if it was sepsis delirium, pain medication intoxication, or chemotherapy toxicity—or all three—that caused his current condition, but we are here nonetheless. Honestly, while I’m trying hard to hang on to hope, I don’t know if he’ll make a recovery from this or not. The neurologist’s initial assessment was positive that he can recover neurologically, but an MRI needs to be done to completely rule out neurological damage. The initial CT of his brain looked like “the brain of a healthy young man,” but MRI’s are best at diagnosing neurological damage.

I Wish I Could Spiritually Encourage You Right Here, But I Can’t Even Find the Strength to Preach to Myself

This is where I usually come in with some sort of spiritual lesson or encouragement to close out my updates. Well, I have nothing to offer you or me this time. Sorry to disappoint, but that’s where I am. I feel forsaken, forgotten, and actively hated by God, to be completely honest. I am desperate for one tiny crumb of good health news. Every time I turn around, there’s only ever bad news and I can’t take it anymore. I hate it here. I hate being in the hospital constantly. While I love all the nurses and doctors we’ve developed relationships with, I would rather see them at the coffeehouse than the hospital room.

I don’t even know how to hope anymore and I’m tired of preaching to myself only to be punched in the gut again the next time I turn around. I don’t believe God has earthly good in store for me and I’m having a very hard time with the idea that the new heavens and earth are the only good I’ll see. I desperately need God to restore what the locusts have eaten in my life (Joel 2:25-26). I want to be able to proclaim this verse: “You will have plenty to eat and be satisfied. You will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has dealt wondrously with you.” I can no longer imagine a world where that will happen for me, but I also can’t imagine not having God and suffering this way. It’s the strangest paradox. I long for the new creation. I long for a world where sin will be no more and suffering will have no place. I long for a tearless existence (except for the happy ones!). I hate it here. Come, Lord Jesus!