A DIVINE APPOINTMENT

Adam was admitted to the hospital in early February for a shunt revision. You can read about this in some of my previous posts. However, during the first few days we were in the hospital, it was especially noisy and nights were frequently being disrupted by patients having meltdowns and by head trauma patients becoming increasingly and loudly confused and combative. There were more Code calls those first few nights than I've ever heard in all the times we've spent in Stony Brook added together. I prayed for each situation, and asked the Father why there was so much going on. It was really so unusual. I also had some very specific nightmares, which is unusual.

I am usually friendly to everyone when I'm there; it makes it so much better when I keep a positive attitude. I try to be pleasant and helpful to other families; you meet each other in the hallways and in the little kitchen area that is available for snacks, coffee and tea. There's a small refrigerator where you can store some food or drinks for yourself, and a rack to return meal trays if you don't want them in your room until the food service worker returns for them. You tend to bump into people when you're in there. It seems silly to not at least say hello, or to chat for a moment if you have the time.

One evening, I went to get some tea. Adam was sound asleep, so I wanted to walk a bit and stretch my legs, and get some tea before I settled in for sleep. I met a man named Joe that night. He was tired and lonely and wanted to chat. His mother had been on the hospital for a couple of weeks, and she wasn't doing very well. He didn't know how much longer she'd be in, but it didn't look like she'd be getting home any time soon. we spoke for a time, and he told me he was praying for all the patients every night while he was there. He told me that he was sending "white healing light" to everyone. The alarms went off inside of me, but I was patient and asked God for a way to address this with him if he was open. We continued to talk, and he mentioned  God and Jesus, and I asked if he knew them. He said that he did. So I asked if Jesus was his savior, and then as ked if he was the Lord, and he replied yes to both questions. So I told him that it wasn't good for him to be praying for "white healing light" to be released for the patients, and when he asked why, I told him that it was a wiccan prayer. He knew what I meant and was upset about it.  I told him that believers pray for healing in Jesus' name and not for white light. Jesus is the only true healing light. I encouraged him to keep praying but to ask Jesus to release healing instead of what he'd been doing. He said he would. We talked for a while longer, and then I asked if I could pray for him. I just started to bless him with the presence of God, and to ask for peace to come to him. I asked God to lift his worry and fears, and to give him joy, and to show Joe how much he loves him. He was laughing and his entire countenance brightened. He told me that he wanted to weep so badly because of how wonderful he felt and how changed he was, but that he was so full of joy that he couldn't cry. He couldn't understand everything that was happening to him, and he thanked me over and over again. He told me that I had changed his life in those few minutes. I assured him that it wasn't me, and that it was the Father, who loves him so much that he caused us to meet that night.

Joe gave me his business card, but first told me that I wouldn't like it. I said I'd take it anyway, and it was covered in skulls and symbols from many different religions. I smiled and told him to get some new ones made up. He said he would. I went back to my room and he went to his. I saw him a few more times that night and the next morning, but his mother went home two days after we met! God's timing is perfect, and perhaps the change in his prayers freed her from what he'd been doing before.

The other wonderful thing that happened was that when Joe stopped praying his prayers, the craziness in the hospital stopped too. The head trauma patients calmed down, and when they did have episodes, they were much less intense, and also quieter. There were still Codes called at different times, but they were much less frequent.

God is everywhere. We aren't always aware of his presence, but present he is. He stopped by in the little kitchen on the eighteenth floor and rocked a man's world. Mine too. But then isn't that some of his best work? How he does surprise me.

Peace and blessing to you today.

LATE TO BED, EARLY TO RISE....makes a woman cranky

Good morning. It's 6:30 and I've been awake since 4:11. Secondary insomnia, they call it. Yes, it has a real name. It's when you wake up after sleeping for a few hours, and can't go back to sleep. This time, I have one of the neighborhood raccoons to thank for my dilemma.

I had fallen asleep on the couch after watching a few of the original Star Trek episodes on BlueRay. Spock actually looks green. You can really see how low tech the sets and effects are, but that doesn't matter to a true Trekkie. You watch because you love it. Simpler technology from a simpler time. Television wasn't even fifty years old when the series was made.

Any way, I woke up suddenly and didn't know why, but something wasn't right. Adam had a bad time right before bed, with a violent, screaming headache. It's part of the healing process for him as his body adapts to the new shunt system, but it's really awful. He screams in pain until the valve opens and drains the extra fluid from his brain, and there's nothing I can do to help him. I pray, and hold him if he lets me. I press on his forehead when he wants that, and I keep him from lying down, because that makes the pressure worse. After a while, the valve opens and he stops screaming. He usually goes right to sleep after one of these episodes, no matter what time of day it is. Last night he stayed awake for a while and talked with me. He held my hand for a bit longer than that, and finally went to sleep. When I woke up so suddenly, I thought he was having a problem again, but he was peacefully sleeping.

I checked around for cats getting into mischief, but I knew it wasn't them. It was outside. I looked out front and there was an unusual light shining from down the street somewhere and onto the porch, so I turned the light on to let anyone around know that someone was up and not to bother looking for trouble over here. I went back around to the kitchen and turned on the light by that door too. I was a little bit unnerved by this time, and I knew something was out there.

I needn't have worried, because it was just one of the neighborhood raccoons paying a visit to my garbage can. These guys not only take the cover off and dine alfresco, sitting right in the can sometimes, but they bring their take out onto the deck and relax there while they enjoy their chicken bones and other leftovers. There was only one this morning, a big one. I'd guesstimate him to be about twenty pounds. We have some bigger and some smaller, and there are often three together, but he must have decided not to share this time. I watched him for a few minutes, and the Midnight the cat came over to investigate. Roger the raccoon didn't appreciate the additional audience, and he left. He was finished eating any way. And he didn't leave a tip. 

A Little Levity In the Midst of Drama

Being home is still settling in. I wake up each morning and it's so fantastic to realize I'm in my bed AND got to sleep all night with no interruptions for vital signs, blood draws, or just checking in. I'll give you an example.

When you're in the hospital, they measure your output of pee. If you don't pee, they become very concerned and insistent that you produce on demand. Not a big deal for most, but a very big deal for Adam. He goes three times a day, and not on their schedule. And, following surgery, where he has gone without food or drink for many hours, as well as having been given drugs to dry him up, he does not pee. You can do everything in your power, but until he is completely hydrated again, AND  his kidneys have awoken from drug induced slumber, it ain't happening. This can take thirty-six hours or more for him to regulate. It drives his nurses crazy!

We had a wonderful male nurse for three nights after Adam's last surgical procedure. He was kind and considerate, but he was very worried about Adam's inability to pee at night. It didn't matter that he had gone during the day, he HAD to go overnight. I explained that it probably wouldn't happen, but Henry insisted. So we tried to comply. I made Adam drink water, I ran the water in the sink, and I begged him to try. He gave me the sly eye glazed over look that means, "Leave me alone". Even warnings about  being catheterized made no difference. Henry checked with neurosurgery and checked back with us; he woke Adam three times the first two nights. Neurosurgery told him it was ok for Adam to go twelve hours without peeing, but he couldn't deal with that. The morning nurse told him to let it go, that Adam was like this, but the second night he did the same thing. The next morning she told him again to leave Adam alone; Grammie knows him best and he had gone enough during the day.

The third night, I gave Henry an ultimatum; leave Adam alone  or he was fired! He laughed and said "You're  kidding me! You'll fire me?" I told him he was on probation. We laughed and he said he would leave us alone.

About three o'clock in the morning, Adam woke up with a frantic urgency to go. I gave him the urinal and he filled it. Yes, that's right, filled it.  I went to the door and called "Henry!" and held up the urinal.  He came quickly down the hall and reacted with an "OH MY GOD!!!!" And I simply said, "I told you so."  He asked me if he was off probation now, and I assured him that he was.

What a good nurse, and what an excellent sense of humor. It's things like these that make the time spent cooped up more bearable. Henry was off probation and he got the award for putting up with my sense of humor and also for his excellent care of Adam.

This is just one of the many stories of the kind of care Adam receives while he was in Stony Brook UHMC. All the nurses, all the staff, every person who works on that floor do their work with a spirit of excellence. We couldn't ask for better. I actually resist telling any particular story because every person who worked with Adam deserves to be mentioned in length. Perhaps I'll tell some more stories as the days go by and I have more time.

Blessing and peace to all my readers; we appreciate you!

Home Again Home Again Jiggetty Jog

Whenever it's time to go home from the hospital I always think of the nursery rhyme from which this line is derived. I don't know why, I just do. I've been using it to let people on facebook know that Adam is home from the hospital again as I don't usually make it public knowledge that he's in until we're out.

We came home Tuesday at five thirty. I had hoped to be home earlier, but we had to wait for a ct scan and he had to have his two o'clock dose of antibiotics before we could leave. That night, the nurses came to teach me how to give the meds through the PICC line. All the supplies I would need were delivered at six thirty and the nurses came at seven. One was the teacher, the other was new to the company and was here to learn paperwork and procedures. They were really nice and made the learning easy. We had tea together as we waited for the ten o'clock dose to be given, which I gave to Adam. They wanted to be sure I knew how to do it.

Today is the last day for these meds. Tomorrow the visiting infusion nurse will come and pull out the PICC line. We will do the Happy Dance! Adam wants to go driving, and if he feels well after the nurse leaves, out we will go.

You might think that after all that's happened, the rest of Adam's recovery should be a breeze,  but this is not so. Adam is particularly sensitive to the changing pressures inside his brain. Oftentimes after seasons of surgeries like this one, it takes many, many weeks for his brain and body to acclimate to the new system. He has frequent headaches and vomiting and sometimes this goes on and on until his brain finally accepts the new shunt system. I'm praying the time is short and he recovers quickly. It's hard watching him suffer. All I can do is give pain and anti nausea drugs, hold him, and pray.

Sometimes it's hard finding the balance between trusting God for healing and accepting what is going on.

 I don't know how anyone else does it, but I have learned to accept what is, and lean on God while we go through it. I don't really understand the "name it and claim it" kind of faith. It's never seemed to work for me, and when I tried that approach to our circumstances, all it did was leave me hypercritical of myself for not having enough faith for Adam to be healed. When I've heard  the Father speak into our difficulties, it was never that I didn't have enough faith, it was always that he's with me to bring me through to the other side of the "valley of the shadow of death". Shadow of death. Not the actual valley of death. We've been close a number of times, but Adam is still here and we're so very thankful.

I remember a particular season during the summer of 2004, what I call the year from hell, when Adam was much younger and had a season of surgeries much like this last one. I was hanging laundry and crying to the Lord, and weeping for the suffering of a little boy who could not understand any of it, or even talk about it. He had very little language then, much less than what he has now. All he could communicate was by screaming "MY HEAD, MY HEAD" and holding it with both hands. As I was talking to God and yelling to God and screaming a bit myself about why he gave me this child if it was only to take him away, and did I ask him for this child, he quietly spoke to me and gave me a scripture passage to look up. So I did. Here it is; 2 Kings 4:8-37. I won't put the whole story here, but it's the story of  the Shunemite woman and her son. The child is a gift to her from the Lord because of her many kindnesses to Elisha when he comes to her town. One day while the boy was in the fields with his father, he fell ill and cried out "My head, my head!". And lay down in his mother's lap and died. She put her son in the prophet's room, shut the door and said that no one was to enter there, and went to get Elisha. She would not speak to anyone but him, and when she did, she said " Did I ask you for a son?". She would not leave and go home until Elisha agreed to go with her. He prayed for the child and the boy was raised from death and was given back to his mother.

I was bowled over by the goodness of the Lord to show me in his word how he was with us in all that was happening, and I believed that Adam would survive. It didn't shorten the suffering, and he wasn't miraculously healed. What did happen was that my heart was healed. God stopped by while I was hanging laundry and spoke to me through his word and let me know that he's always here. Not just near, but here. I have learned to lean, as someone has said. When my strength fails, or even when I'm strong, I lean on the One who is stronger still. He will not fail to keep my head above the water and will rescue me from the fire.  And we are home again, home again, jiggetty jog. God is good, all the time.

Thanks for coming along on this journey with me. I enjoy your company so much. Blessings and peace to my readers today.

 

We're Almost There

It's 12:30 Sunday morning, March 16, 2014. We've been in the hospital for 12 days. Yesterday I finally heard from the infectious disease specialists about the length of treatment for Adam. It will be a total of 14 days from the start of the specific antibiotic needed to treat klebsiella pneumonae. 14 days! Amazing! We were originally told it would be 4-6 weeks. The last 3 samples of cerebral spinal fluid were clear of any sign of bacteria, and the white count has continued to drop. We have a move of God in my humble opinion. The neurosurgeon will make the call in the next few days regarding when Adam will be able to go home. It will depend on how Adam feels and whether everything is going smoothly with his new shunt system.

Thursday Adam had issues with his heart rate all day and overnight.(up to 161 beats per minute when up and walking) I asked for a cardiac consult as I was concerned that the extremely high rate would negatively impact him going for the final surgery, and the neurosurgery team agreed. I didn't want him to be at risk of not going to the operating room. I wasn't worried that there was anything wrong with his heart as he was seen by a cardiologist in October when he was admitted for shunt issues. He had been going between bradycardia (extremely slow rate) and tachycardia(extremely fast rate); it was determined that the problem was because his shunt had failed and his intra-cranial pressure was too high and was causing the fluctuations. Anyway, the cardiologist came in and ordered blood work, and later ordered more blood work, an echocardiogram, and a Doppler study of the veins and arteries in his legs to rule out a possible blot clot as the cause of the tachycardia. The lab work was done overnight and the other tests were done in the morning and Adam was cleared for surgery. The determination was that he was probably dehydrated.

Adam's surgery to internalize his shunt took place on Friday. Everything went very smoothly, and all the hardware needed to keep him safe and his brain free of excessive pressure was put back in. He was so tired from his ordeal of the previous three days that he slept in recovery for five hours! Every time the nurse or I woke him up, he refused to stay awake until about seven thirty p.m. That ran into shift change time, so we had to wait.. We got back to his room around nine o'clock that night.

Adam's PICC line is working well, he feels and looks better, and he will probably go home on Monday or Tuesday. I will need to give him antibiotics through the PICC line for just a few days. I am breathing big sighs of relief. There is no swelling around the shunt wounds, except for what is normal after surgery. He is uncomfortable, but that is also normal and his pain is well controlled with the prescribed medications.

Thank you Father for giving me peace and strength. Thank you for taking care of Adam. Thank you for all the prayers and the pray-ers around the country who have so faithfully held Adam before you. And thank you that you always stop by. You are good.

PENTHOUSE LIVING

We're living on the 18th floor. It's not really the penthouse because there is a floor above us, but we're high up and receiving most excellent care, so to us, it's the Stony Brook penthouse suite.
Adam has a private room because of his many needs, the most pressing being his anxiety. To help him function as well as he can, he needs the least amount of stimulus possible. So a private room is perfect, because when Adam is in the hospital, I am too. I don't go home because he can never be left alone. Ever.

We don't want private duty nursing care, and we have learned from so many lengthy stays that you never know when the doctors are going to come in, and you don't want to miss them when they do. They're extremely busy and if you miss one, it can take many hours to connect again.

Adam is a happy and very friendly person. He greets everyone who passes by his room if the door is open, and waves and smiles at the ones he knows. After a few days, he becomes very popular. His nurses, aides, housekeepers, and all the staff grow to love him very quickly. Even when it isn't their turn to work with  him, they often stop by to say hi or to visit for a few minutes. This goes a long way to relieving the boredom of an extended stay. This is such a blessing to him and to us. Everyone is friendly and kind and patient.

The eighteenth floor is dedicated to excellence in patient care, and it shows. The staff all work well together and help each other all the time. It's great to see nurses who aren't working with Adam come and help the one who is when there is something difficult going on. Like starting a new i.v. line. They don't hesitate to ask someone else when they can't get a line started. And the ones who are asked don't hesitate to come and help the best that they can. Sometimes their best is saying that they know they can't get it either. I appreciate this so much. It saves me from always having to challenge them and let them know they get one try. You miss, you're done.

Our church, The Mosaic Vineyard, believes that every life should be celebrated. No one should just be tolerated. Every life has great value and gifting to share, gifting to be discovered. We believe in honoring everyone. To love well means to respect and value each one that comes into our lives. The people who work here on the eighteenth floor seem to understand this very well. We're so very thankful for them.

 

FRUSTRATED? JUST A BIT

The last few days have been somewhat frustrating. We've been waiting for the infectious disease specialists to let us know what's going on with Adam. The waiting is hard, but necessary because there are cultures of bacteria sitting in the lab that have to grow or not grow for a few days before anyone can tell if the antibiotics are working.

There have been three different draws of cerebral spinal fluid (csf) since Adam was admitted to the hospital. There will be another one tomorrow. The first sample showed that there was bacteria present in every sample that was taken; from the catheter in his brain, from the wound, and from the csf. The strain of bacteria is klebsiella pneumonae, a superbug. Hard to kill and requiring longer i.v. antibiotic treatment to kill it. The last two samples of csf were clear of bacteria but still showed an elevated white blood count; the good news is it's decreasing. If the sample tomorrow shows a continuing downward trend, Adam can have surgery to replace his shunt system, but I still don't know how long they'll want to treat him before he goes home.

This has been a difficult time for Adam; in and out of the hospital three times since early February; countless blood draws, ct scans, xrays, and the always popular pokes to get an i.v. line. He's lucky when it's only one stick. Tonight he's not lucky. Three attempts and no access. We're waiting for superman or woman to come over from the surgical intensive care unit to give it a try. They have to succeed because he needs it for his medication. It's getting harder and harder because his veins are small and the drugs are caustic and burn them up.

So we wait, hoping it's easier this time and there's no mining for access; they always say it doesn't hurt when they dig but they're on the other end of the needle.

On a more positive note, Adam is feeling better. He's been up and out of bed the last three days, and he's been taking walks around the unit. He was definitely stronger today. He's eating and drinking well, and his usual happy self for most of the day. He wants to go home; I tell him we can't go home yet, and he wants to know why. All I can tell him is that it's because he isn't well yet, and that we'll go home when he is. He accepts this at that moment, but he doesn't like it and asks again in a little while.

The truth is, I want to go home as much as he does. I want to look at the trees getting ready to pop out in bloom. I want to walk around in our house and soak in the peace and the colors. I want to cook for my family and babysit for my grandchildren and put Adam to sleep in his own bed. I want to scratch my cats behind their ears  and listen to them purr while they sleep in my lap. I want to visit with my family and go to California to see my new grandson. Most of all, I want to sleep in my own bed with my wonderful husband and hold him close all night long. Soon, I will get to do these things. The waiting is hard.

Adam is talking in his sleep. He says, "I want to go home." Me too, Adam. Me Too.

 

SOMETIMES, WE JUST WAIT

The day is coming to a close; the hospital is quieter and the pace has slowed down considerably. Today, as often happens when we're in the hospital, plans changed. Adam did not get his PICC line. The infectious disease specialists haven't decided how long Adam will need to be treated for the infection, which we now know is klebsiella, a bacteria that can be found on the skin. It isn't usually a problem there, but is definitely a problem when it gets introduced into the fluid in the brain. This could have happened when his incision began to leak.  Anyway, since the specialists aren't sure how long they want to treat this infection until they see another sample of Adam's cerebral-spinal fluid,  the neurosurgery team doesn't want a PICC line placed in case he doesn't really need it. So we wait for the next turn of events.

We did, however, go downstairs for a Doppler study. It was a precautionary measure as Adam has been in bed so much this past month. The Doppler was to check his legs to be sure he isn't developing any blood clots. Good news; he isn't. He also got a new i.v. placed, because the other one was four days old, and that's the limit.

It's almost 10:00 p.m. It's dark outside when I look straight out the window, and I can see the lights od the surrounding neighborhoods and streets. When I look down, it's very bright in the parking lots and roadways of the hospital. I can see the helipad for the emergency airlift transports. It's right near the emergency room entrance. Sometimes I can hear and see the helicopters land, but not tonight.

Tonight, as things quiet down, and Adam goes to sleep, I'll be alone with my thoughts and my hopes and my prayers, just like when I'm home and everyone else is sleeping. I'll be waiting to hear about what comes next. It always strikes me, when we're in the hospital for these extended times, how everything in our life centers on the crisis we're attending to, but how everything else in the world just goes on, without even a notice of the dramas taking place in these towers. And I know it will be exactly the same for us when we go home again; we'll go about our lives, almost as if this time never happened. We'll just kind of shed this experience like a butterfly sheds it's cocoon  and flies free. And I'm thankful that we can.

IT'A 5:30 A.M AND I'M UP

I'm awake and the sun isn't. It isn't the first time and it won't be the last. As I look out our window, I wonder how high you have to be to see the curve of the earth; and I know you can from the top of the Himalayas, but I don't know how high that is. We're on the 18th floor of the north tower of Stony Brook Hospital. When I look to the north, I can see Connecticut across the Long Island Sound. The cars below us look like Matchbox cars. The lights below show the remains of salt on the roadways and parking lots; a reminder of the storms of this passing winter. I hope there aren't going to be any more. My life has also been a swirling mass of storms in this passing season. I don't like it vey much. I know God is with me, but I don't know why He allows all of this. I trust Him but I wish He would just make it stop. I don't want anyone to try to defend God for how He does things, and I won't defend Him either. The reason is because not one of us truly knows why He does things the way that He does. This is where I learn about really trusting my heavenly father. "...though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." Psalm 23. The shadow of death, not the real thing. When the enemy comes in like a flood, and wants me to think he is too strong for me, I will turn to God and cry out for what I need and what those around me need.

Today I need strength and peace. Adam will have a pic line placed in his upper arm. This is good and bad. Bad because he has to go through an unpleasant procedure, good because he won't have to be continually stuck for blood draws and new i.v. lines. The pic line goes into vessels that are deeper and larger than the ones used for traditional i.v.lines; blood can be drawn through pic lines, so Adam won't need to be stuck everyday to see how the antibiotics are working. I don't know if they'll allow me to stay with him when they do this procedure. I do know they'll give him medication to calm him and help him not resist what takes place. He needs to be still while they cut into his arm and thread the line into his vein. It will be hard for him, but Adam is resilient, and he always forgives anyone who hurts him. And always smiles at them when they're finished. I learn a lot from Adam.

God will be stopping by in all of this; He always does. In reality, He never leaves.

 

28 DAYS AND COUNTING

We're sitting in the hospital once again. We've been in and out again three times in the last month or so. I've decided to try and blog at least a few days a week as we go through this new journey.

I've tried to write a few times in the last several months as we have been battling one sickness after another in our family. I just haven't been able to manage to finish even one that I started.

Part of the problem is time; I haven't been managing time very well. Another part is that so much has been going on that it seems like too much to communicate without being so long as to become the next Great American Endless Whining Blogpost.

So I decided instead to blog about this most recent part of the wilderness; we'll be navigating it for the next 28 days at least.
Adam is in the hospital with a shunt infection. He's 24 years old now, and this is the first time we're dealing with this issue. He's had lots of surgeries over the years, but this is the first time he's gotten infected following a surgery and hospitalization. It's going to be a long haul. It will take at least 28 days to treat this infection, if it's a superbug like the infectious disease doctors suspect that it is. We don't know how he got it or which variety of bug it is for sure, but tomorrow we should have the name of the culprit. And then the decision of which combination of antibiotics will kill it.

Adam was in the hospital for a shunt revision last month, and the doctor decided to externalize the catheter in his brain so that it would drain outside his body for a time, and to keep him on i.v. antibiotics while he went through this process. It didn't show in the blood work and cultures, but he suspected a shunt infection at the time. After many days, Adam went back to the o.r. and they replaced and reconnected the catheter in his head with the catheter in his body, which drains the cerebral-spinal fluid from his brain, down through his trunk and into his belly. He also had numerous ct scans, xrays, and blood work during his stay in Stony Brook Hospital. We went home after 2 weeks total and were so happy to see our house again! That was short lived.

Adam began to have swelling and pain around the incision, and then began draining fluid out the lower end of the scar. This was very dangerous, and left him open to infection from any of a host of bugs in the environment. After only a day, we were back in the hospital. They glued his incision closed and we waited for his surgeon to return from vacation to decide what to do next. Adam was given another course of antibiotics as we waited. He was scheduled for more surgery when his doctor returned, but because of several emergencies that were more in need of urgent intervention, Adam got bumped from the schedule. That night, the swelling in his head went down, and his neurosurgeon decided to send us home and wait and see what developed. (or didn't develop)

What developed was swelling up and swelling down, caused by fluid leaking from his shunt and collecting under his skin. After another 8 days, the incision couldn't contain the pressure and Adam's scar began leaking again. So here we sit, day 3, and here we will sit for another 28 days at least.

Adam has had surgery again, and all the hardware in his body has been removed. The catheter in his brain has been replaced with an antimicrobial variety, which won't allow any bacteria to adhere to it and survive. His shunt is draining externally once again, and will remain so until all traces of bacteria are gone from his cerebral-spinal fluid. He will be tested every few days to see if the antibiotics are working. I'll keep you posted as to what's happening.

"You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you." Isaiah 26:3. I can't say that all my thoughts are on Him all the time, but I can say that He is faithful, and for most of these times, I am at peace. I don't like what's happening and I truly wish we didn't have to walk this path, but I'm thankful that God is with us and that He sustains us through it all. I am trusting God to bring us through this, and that there will be things we learn, victories to celebrate, and stories of His goodness to share.

I'm also thankful for the many, many family members, friends, and friends of friends who are praying for us and especially for Adam. You are worth your weight in gold. Better still, make that diamonds.