Category: The Initial Trauma

To watch Aaron’s body heal is to see the hand of God. Restoration is a sort of caffeinated creation. Complex and interrelated systems, laid waste by the enemy, play leapfrog toward unity and wholeness. Two weeks ago, progress was decoded by arcane numerology. Today, progress doesn’t need decoding; it demands rejoicing.

Yesterday, Aaron could sit up with much assistance. This morning, he could sit up with moderate assistance. Tonight, sits up by himself. This morning he could not operate the call button; tonight he can operate the button and call for help. The thin and tenuous voice of yesterday deepens and solidifies today. The trembling is diminished noticeably from yesterday; Aaron can hold a cup in his hands.

This morning, a flexible bundle of optical fibers is shoved up Aaron’s nose and through the nostril to where it enters the throat. Lights, camera, action: Aaron’s throat is live on a TV monitor as he samples different viscosities of green goop to check his swallow response. It is determined that he can swallow liquids between the consistency of a peach smoothie and a chocolate shake. Small packets of cornstarch are provided to thicken liquids of choice. Aaron’s first choice, appropriately thickened and downed a few hours later: Kiwi Strawberry Snapple.

Another bone marrow biopsy is scheduled for tomorrow.

I have been trying to sneak away from Aaron for quite some time now in order to write a post but he keeps us very, very busy. We make sure that he is not left alone even for a minute because he isn’t able to get anything for himself yet or even call for help. It has been a wonderful week full of God’s protection, provisions and miracles. It was very shocking to hear at rounds yesterday the first mention of Aaron being well enough to leave the MICU. It was even more shocking when we got the boot just a few hours later. I became quite spoiled in the MICU with having a nurse, respiratory therapist and several doctors right outside the door all day long! 10th floor life is very different.

Just in case there are some of you who are unaware, Pastor Lyn Thomas is writing a summary of what happens with Aaron each day on our church’s website, www.ojaiwesleyan.org.

We are so blessed to be supported in prayer by you all. I have seen so many amazing things in the last week that I give God total credit for. He is answering our prayers! It is also a blessing to hear from so many people. Every card, note, phone call and visit are treasured. We check for comments on this blog regularly and are always thrilled to read what you have to say, especially those of you who we haven’t communicated with in a long time! Feel free to call or visit anytime.

I continue to have nothing but praise for God. He is good all the time. I’ve been learning the importance of praising God in trials as well as when things are “going well.” It is easy to praise God for good things but when things look “bad,” I find that this is when it is most important to praise and worship Him. Also, I am realizing that relying on God and turning to Him when things look “bad” seems to come naturally. But I want to come to Him with the same fervency and dependance when things seem “good.” I am trying to keep my faith in Jesus and not whether things seem “good” or “bad” according to doctor reports or how Aaron looks. There is an awesome peace and joy that God gives when you just simply trust Him and you don’t base how you feel on what the circumstances seem like at any given moment. My eyes are continually on the Lord!

Matt Redman – You Never Let Go
From the album Passion 06: Everything Glorious

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back, I know You are near

And I will fear no evil, For my God is with me
And if my God is with me, Whom then shall I fear?
Whom then shall I fear?

Chorus:
Oh no, You never let go
Through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go
In every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go
Lord, You never let go of me

I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
And there will be an end to these troubles
But until that day comes
Still I will praise You, still I will praise You

John Wyndham, brilliant sci-fi author whose stories became classic B movies, writes of change….Sudden, unexpected, dramatic, rhythm-arresting, life-altering change……and how we react to it. Aaron’s cancer is such a change. For Aaron, the change is profound. Even his most basic biological rhythms of metabolism were arrested, and his rhythms became those imposed upon him by his caregivers and his attendant machines.

For close family and friends, the change is vastly less, yet consuming. For us, the altered rhythms are not so much in the biology of our bodies as in the liturgy of our lives. Jobs, showers, school, sleep, dressing, bills, church, haircuts, laundry, sports, root canals, meals, and anniversaries (Natalie’s parents are married 35 years this week, Aaron’s 33) do not cease. But they are altered, disrupted, and displaced. And as our wider community surrounds us to share the burden of these displacements, we are blessed beyond measure and filled with gratitude.

Aaron keeps improving. He sits up several times.

He gets yet another trip to the B level basement for a CT scan (head only) and yet another painful bone marrow biopsy. He coughs more, but is fine with minimal oxygen assist.

40 days and 40 nights. It seems that for now, the rain has stopped. When the waters will recede, and when our dove will return with an olive branch, we do not know. At least we aren’t cooped up in a prototype ark with pooping elephants.

Yesterday’s CT scan shows no new bleeding in Aaron’s brain. We hear nothing of the findings from the scouting foray into the enemy’s bone marrow camp.

Aaron sits up and motions for the laptop; he goes on-line. (Wi-fi is thankfully available, though spotty.) He wants to edit the blog. He can read 12 point Times New Roman at 150%. (A week ago, he could not read at all.) The keyboard is still challenging. He tires after a few minutes, and must lie back down.

Web-guru/gaming-buddy Nathan first connects a VCR, then rigs the Xbox to further pervert the hospital room TV. Aaron’s not up to playing, but watches and pantomimes along with the first few scenes of “Fellowship of the Ring”.

The L.A. film festival has been going on for several days. Westwood village, with a dozen theaters 10 minutes walk from the room 1041, plays host and premiers “Superman Returns”. In Room 1041, the real superman is returning.

Hospitals have CODES. Codes for nearly everything; fancy word codes, acronym codes, letter codes, number codes, and color codes. The main purpose of the codes is to confuse and prevent the hapless layperson from knowing what the heck is going on. But hapless laypersons, thanks to TV scriptwriters, eventually figure out some codes, like “CODE BLUE”. The PA system blaring “Code Blue…Code Blue…Code Blue” might just as well be saying “Help! Help! Help! Someone is about to die and we have to do something right away but we don’t know what to do, so everybody come running and mill around and do stuff.”

Early this morning, Natalie is quietly sitting alone with Aaron, when through the 1041 door, past Rosemarie’s big “Smile Required for Entry” poster, past Natalie’s “This sickness is not to end in death, but for the Glory of God…” poster, in rush the nurse gendarmes, responding to “CODE GRAY”; “ABUSIVE PERSON OR PERSON WITH A WEAPON”. Now how did they know? There is, in each room, a CCTV camera disabled by a bit of misguided congressional wisdom known as HIPAA. Aaron doesn’t have a vitals monitor, it having been disconnected a couple days ago (as he has out-improved its usefulness!). Beeping IV line monitors are pretty much ignored. So how did they know the goings-on behind the closed door of 1041? Can remote medical diagnostics now detect abusive qualities buried deeply in the psyche? And finally the real question, “Was it Natalie or was it Aaron?”

Sunday doesn’t quite blend into the other days of the week. Non-critical lab results are not available (including the results of Friday’s bone marrow biopsy), the elevator ride from the first to the tenth floor is more likely to be an express, and visitors come bearing munchies and distraction. This is the first Sunday that Aaron can appreciate the distraction, if only for a few minutes at a time.

His coughing has worsened, and it is with effort that he tries not to cough. Robitussin and Codeine are tried without seeming effect. Dilaudid seems to be the most effective cough suppressant; it’s suppression is administered by way of sleep, so Aaron is not too sociable. Though when he is awake, he is unfailingly polite; always “please” and “thank you”. The neatly stapled-shut incision from the gallbladder removal oozes blood and the drain line from the abdomen seems to drip bile unabated into a fist sized bladder that keeps getting in the way. Perhaps the coughing has loosed up the otherwise tidy and healing-nicely incision. Yet another CT scan is scheduled to check for the source of the cough…. Pneumonia is, as always, suspect.

Down the hall, Eric is also doing better…he was kicked upstairs from the ICU a couple days before Aaron. His fiancée April describes how, having achieved remission, he ignored for several years the strong recommendations of the doctors to obtain follow-up treatments. A few months ago, in lieu of the follow-up treatments, began the relapse and its nearly fatal consequences.

The first day of summer has come and gone, nearly unnoticed. It is comforting that the rhythms of the seasons are immune to our displacements.

Ignorance may be bliss, unless it’s ignorance about the results of a test that should be available but are not, like the results of Friday’s bone marrow biopsy, about which we are as ignorant today as we were yesterday.

We are slightly less ignorant about the results of yesterday’s CT scan. The scan neither confirmed nor disproved pneumonia. It did confirm, however, some fibrosis (fancy medical word for “Scarring”) of the lungs. Fibrosis is permanent damage that is a consequence of the carnage that occurred immediately before and during the Onslaught.

Aaron’s cough is about the same. He is helped to standing several times today. He swallows capsules of Tessalon Pearls, another attempt at suppressing the cough. After the initial novelty of drinking a couple days ago, drinking is of only moderate interest.

Like a forest after a fire, Aaron’s hair, which never fully fell out, now shows signs of re-growth.

“…ye shall know that I am the Lord that smiteth!” Ezekiel 7:9

Ever since the bone marrow results came back positive for leukemic cells (after Aaron’s first round of chemo), I have devoted myself to praying about these cells. When the results came back, there was a natural tendency to look at this as a negative situation. But the thing I keep learning about faith is that no matter what things look like, we are to keep trusting God. Since those results came back, I have worked at keeping my faith in God by CONSTANTLY squashing every discouraging, doubtful or negative thought that comes into my mind regarding Aaron’s leukemia and replacing those thoughts with truths from God’s Word about who God is and what He desires from us and for us. I have reminded myself that those results could be completely wrong, changed immediately by God or used for Aaron’s protection in some way that is not obvious right now. As I have put my trust in God concerning the leukemia that remained in his bone marrow, I thought of the word “smite.” I thought this word not only fit in well with Dad’s description of the cancer as a battle but I thought it was a good King James word, too. I began to pray that God would smite the leukemia in Aaron’s bone marrow. Everyday, all day long, for the last couple of weeks this has been my cry to God. My good friends, Lisa and Nathan, have been praying for this smiting, as well. It was one of the best things in the world to get to make the “smite call” this morning to Lisa. In fact, she answered the phone by saying, “Is this the smite call?” We absolutely had faith that God would smite these leukemic cells in the marrow. We just waited on God’s timing. Well, now the leukemic cells are gone from Aaron’s bone marrow and I give absolute praise to God for this. It was not the doctors, it was not the medicine, it was God that removed the leukemic cells. I am very grateful for all of the doctors, nurses, medicine, technology, etc. that God has used thus far but I recognize that it is God that decided to remove the leukemic cells. Please, continue to pray with me. First of all, praise God for what He has done! Secondly, ask and believe that God will continue to bring complete healing for my husband. God has been faithful so far, there is no reason to doubt Him.

Aaron is in remission!

The dove who delivered this olive branch walked into room 1041 a bit before noon wearing a white coat and a badge with the name of Dr. Norma Bucher. Friday’s bone marrow biopsy shows no trace of the enemy. The enemy bastions seen in the biopsy performed 19 days ago (14 days following the Onslaught) were alive, but reeling. Their attempt to regroup failed; as the army of the ICU were marshaling their medicines and machines and restoring Aaron’s life, the last detectable traces of the enemy were being destroyed. Sweet Natalie’s smiting imprecations, together with those of all the saints, put God in a smiting mood, and He smote. Do not be an enemy of Natalie’s lover. Hell may have no fury like that of a woman scorned, but Heaven smites for Natalie.

Remission does not mean that Aaron is finished with treatment. AML is a wily enemy. It hides within the marrow in molecular nooks and crannies as yet undetectable. While no cells express detectable cancer markers, experience has shown that, if no further campaigns are mounted, the cancer will very likely return within a few months; Aaron would then relapse, and the enemy would again hold sway.

Thus, mop-up campaigns, known as “consolidation”, will begin as soon as Aaron has the strength to endure another round of poisons, aimed to root the unseen enemy from its undetectable hideouts.

Aaron’s strength and dexterity continues to improve, though his left arm is partially immobilized by painful tingling and numbness. Just above the left elbow is the insertion point for the IV PICC line. Perhaps it is responsible.

The cough is better today. Dilaudid dosage is reduced with good effect. A small fever comes but never gets traction.

Aaron can operate the bed, use tissues, wipe is face, brush his teeth, drink from a cup, talk on the phone (he talked to Michaela and Christopher today!), and sit up on his own

With Aaron sitting on the edge of his bed, a standing partner faces him. Partner bends knees, wraps arms around Aaron’s back and Aaron wraps arms around partners neck. Aaron stands, steadied and supported by the partner. In close dance position, Aaron and partner (happens to be dad) shuffle 3 small steps away from the bed and 3 steps back. Aaron’s first steps are a waltz. Music need not be played. It’s ringing from the heavens.

Aaron’s left arm is a little worse today…tingling, numb, and painful. Looks like ultrasound scan and MRI are forthcoming.

Another swallow test is performed….Aaron’s tonsils perform on live TV. The performance is excellent, so Aaron is given the green light to eat anything he wants. (Probably the dietician is not aware of his penchant for Tobasco.) He eats a slice of chicken quesadilla (mild, for a change). He sits up for a couple hours, and leaves the talker valve in his trach for longer periods of time. Tomorrow, Christopher will turn 3 years old.

Superman party in room 1041! This gala celebration of Christopher’s 3rd birthday is the first opportunity for Christopher and Michaela to see dad since pre-ICU days. Grandpa Metz dons a red cape, billowing in the sanitary breeze of the HEPA filter. Michaela holds dad’s hand and says he looks really handsome. Christopher doesn’t want to wear the face mask (so Aaron puts one on) and digs in to a superman chocolate cake like nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

The ultrasound scan of the tingly left arm reveals a small clot but nothing to account for the numbness, so an MRI is scheduled. Prior to the MRI, the IV lines are disconnected. By the end of the scan, Aaron realizes that the arm is suddenly functional. The main purpose of the disconnected IV was to supply food. Now that Aaron can eat, the decision is easy: Leave the line out.

Aaron stands up on his own and takes 3 real steps without help.

There is discussion that Aaron may go home for a short break before the next round of poison begins.