ALL are invited to Dad's memorial service on MONDAY, September 6, at 6:00 p.m., at First Baptist Church (click HERE for directions). Yes, that's Labor Day. As Dad was known to say, "Death is inconvenient." We hope you can make it, though.
Kids are very welcome, but there will not be childcare. Dad's four grandkids (all under four years of age) will be in attendance, including Colson Dale Armstrong, so we obviously don't mind having kids there! Dad always had a soft spot for "the kiddos." There is a nursing room available at the church, where babies can nurse or parents can hold "screamers" while watching the festivities. It may technically be called the "cry room," but it isn't meant to hold all the criers that may be in attendance. :)
It is a come-as-you-are affair, just as Dad would have it. (Dad always wore a suit to work, but he referred to it as his "costume.") I will likely be wearing flip-flops and, if it's hot, shorts. Remember, Jesus wore sandals; if they were good enough for Him, they're good enough for Dad's memorial celebration. But you can dress up if you'd like. What I'm trying to say is "come comfortable."
We haven't figured out a format yet, but we know there will be a slideshow presentation with pictures from Dad's 60 years of life, music (maybe something by us "kids," if we can pull it together), some talking, and post-celebration dessert. I have been asked if there will be an "open mic" set-up or other opportunities for people to share (briefly) about what Dad meant to them as a friend/colleague/second-dad/etc. We obviously have time limitations, but we haven't gotten far enough into the planning process to know if that will be an option.
In other news... we had a family trip to In-N-Out today for lunch. It was a great meal, as always - only Zeke cried. And Richie splurged with an XL soda a 3x3 animal-style burger. He deserved it, because his dissertation was approved this morning, meaning that he officially has a Ph.D.. Dad missed out on the typical Sorbello/Armstrong invasion of In-N-Out, but I'm sure he was enjoying his view.
If you care enough to have read this blog post to its conclusion, we hope you can attend Dad's memorial celebration. Huge thanks (again) for all the support. We feel so well-loved.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
So Long, Pops...
"If you knew what God knows about death, you would clap your listless hands." - George MacDonald
Tonight, at 7:20 p.m., Dad passed from this life into the next. He will be deeply missed by many of us, but rest assured that Dad is in good hands... the best, really. We abundantly confident that God welcomed Dad with a resounding, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
Dad was surrounded by Mom, Bethany, Richie, Colson, Grace, Sam, and me. Sarah was at home, per her wishes. We were all praying, listening to the CD of Bethany playing Dad's favorite songs on the piano, and talking to him as he breathed his last. God mercifully took him without any apparent pain or discomfort.
We haven't fully discussed plans for the next week, but Dad definitely wanted a memorial service, and, in classic form, he even picked out the songs. In fact, not too long after Dad's own mom died, we took a family trip to the Davis Cemetery for Dad and Mom to purchase their burial plots ("so that we would have less to worry about when [they] died"). Who does that!? I'm telling you, the man was ready to go whenever he got the call. We're tentatively thinking that the memorial service will occur at First Baptist Church on Saturday morning, September 4, 2010. More details will be forthcoming, but everyone would be invited to join in the celebration of Dad's wonderful life.
Please accept my hearty thanks for the prayers, support, and encouragement over the past two weeks. Our every need has been met abundantly, and we are very grateful for friends and family that love us and care for us in our time of need. It is a worthy testament to the life Dad lived.
To paraphrase some of the last words of Paul in 2 Timothy 4: 7-8... "Dad has fought the good fight, he has finished the race, he has kept the faith. Now there is in store for him the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to him on that day -- and not only to him, but also to all those who have longed for Christ's appearing."
Though Dad's race is over, we remain on the course. May we each keep the faith and finish strong...
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Legacy: Under Construction
Dad's vitals are still relatively stable. His liver values are around 150 something-or-others, which is apparently pretty high. The doctors attribute that partially to the heart medication that is helping to regulate his post-surgery, erratic heart rate and blood pressure. Dad is also running a fever of 101+ degrees, but there is no sign of infection or other reason for the high temperature. They are using Tylenol or Advil to drop his temp and will go with a cold blanket if that doesn't work.
Today was another busy one in Dad's room. Visitors were there most of the morning and early afternoon. Siena stayed from 10:00 until after 5:00, including a nap on Sam's lap for about 90 minutes. She also sang songs for Poppy, cuddled with Grammy, and enjoyed watching the nurses at work.
Grace is scheduled to arrive in Sacramento at 10:00 tomorrow morning. She will be able to spend some time with Dad, and then our family will meet with one of Dad's neurologists to talk about possible next steps. That will undoubtedly be a difficult discussion, so prayers for clear minds and peaceful hearts are appreciated! Consensus on issues like this is crucial; the last thing Dad (or God) would want is a divided family as we face the days ahead. We are requesting no visitors at this point, so we can circle the wagons as a family.
Emotionally, God has given me so much comfort after an initially tumultuous ride. The shock of Dad's AVM rupture and the MRI results has faded somewhat, and my tear ducts have dried up from overuse. Ultimately, my confidence in God's ability to bring about good from Dad's plight (as sad as it is) has been reinvigorated by the numerous e-mails and messages I have received about how this tragedy has challenged people to reexamine their world-views or think about the kind of legacy they are leaving.
Thirteen days ago, when Bethany, Richie, and I walked into the ER to speak with the doctors and nurses about Dad's medical emergency, a nurse approached Bethany and wanted to verify that Dad had been working as a construction worker when he had his stroke. Dad would have been so proud to hear this, because he has always appreciated the skills of a good carpenter (like Uncle Richard) and often took on serious projects around the house. We're not sure where the medical staff got that information, but I've definitely been thinking lately about how Dad has constructed his legacy according to the Biblical blueprint.
Dad's powerful legacy did not come about haphazardly; he lived a very disciplined, selfless, and intentional life. He put his relationship with God before anything else. My mom was his second priority. Then came us kids, followed by his job and other "duties." (We have a saying around our house: "Do your duty. Even when it hurts.") Last on Dad's list of priorities was his own entertainment or recreational pursuits. That would sound strange to some, but, if you know Dad at all, you know that he took so much joy out of his top priorities that everything else just seemed unnecessary.
Particularly during times when I have felt lazy or compromising, Dad's example has reminded me that my legacy is being built every day, whether I intend it or not. I could focus on gaining wealth, power, social influence, professional recognition, a chiseled physique, or popularity; these can all be good things. However, if any of these were my first priority, they would leave me totally unsatisfied. Dad always challenged me to "keep the first things first" and, more importantly, he didn't just talk the talk - he walked the walk. If my kids can say the same about me when it's my turn to go, then I will, as Dad has, honor God and leave a impact that makes a difference.
Today was another busy one in Dad's room. Visitors were there most of the morning and early afternoon. Siena stayed from 10:00 until after 5:00, including a nap on Sam's lap for about 90 minutes. She also sang songs for Poppy, cuddled with Grammy, and enjoyed watching the nurses at work.
Grace is scheduled to arrive in Sacramento at 10:00 tomorrow morning. She will be able to spend some time with Dad, and then our family will meet with one of Dad's neurologists to talk about possible next steps. That will undoubtedly be a difficult discussion, so prayers for clear minds and peaceful hearts are appreciated! Consensus on issues like this is crucial; the last thing Dad (or God) would want is a divided family as we face the days ahead. We are requesting no visitors at this point, so we can circle the wagons as a family.
Emotionally, God has given me so much comfort after an initially tumultuous ride. The shock of Dad's AVM rupture and the MRI results has faded somewhat, and my tear ducts have dried up from overuse. Ultimately, my confidence in God's ability to bring about good from Dad's plight (as sad as it is) has been reinvigorated by the numerous e-mails and messages I have received about how this tragedy has challenged people to reexamine their world-views or think about the kind of legacy they are leaving.
Thirteen days ago, when Bethany, Richie, and I walked into the ER to speak with the doctors and nurses about Dad's medical emergency, a nurse approached Bethany and wanted to verify that Dad had been working as a construction worker when he had his stroke. Dad would have been so proud to hear this, because he has always appreciated the skills of a good carpenter (like Uncle Richard) and often took on serious projects around the house. We're not sure where the medical staff got that information, but I've definitely been thinking lately about how Dad has constructed his legacy according to the Biblical blueprint.
Dad's powerful legacy did not come about haphazardly; he lived a very disciplined, selfless, and intentional life. He put his relationship with God before anything else. My mom was his second priority. Then came us kids, followed by his job and other "duties." (We have a saying around our house: "Do your duty. Even when it hurts.") Last on Dad's list of priorities was his own entertainment or recreational pursuits. That would sound strange to some, but, if you know Dad at all, you know that he took so much joy out of his top priorities that everything else just seemed unnecessary.
Particularly during times when I have felt lazy or compromising, Dad's example has reminded me that my legacy is being built every day, whether I intend it or not. I could focus on gaining wealth, power, social influence, professional recognition, a chiseled physique, or popularity; these can all be good things. However, if any of these were my first priority, they would leave me totally unsatisfied. Dad always challenged me to "keep the first things first" and, more importantly, he didn't just talk the talk - he walked the walk. If my kids can say the same about me when it's my turn to go, then I will, as Dad has, honor God and leave a impact that makes a difference.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Soulish Songs
Quick update and then some entertainment... Grace is off the ice! She arrived in New Zealand from Antarctica, received her formerly lost passport, and is scheduled to return home Sunday morning. We are thrilled to have her back around for a little while, at least.
Today was filled with more visitors for Dad. There are several scheduled for tomorrow, which is probably the last day we'll be allowing visitors. If you still want to see him tomorrow, let us know and we'll make it happen. It is amazing to see the outpouring of love for Dad from so many circles of influence that he had. Like I've said before, Dad would be very embarrassed to be receiving so much love, but we're appreciative on his behalf! If you don't know, Dad shunned the spotlight... so much so that one day when he came home to discover (prior to walking in the front door) that his mom had thrown a surprise party for him, he high-tailed it away from home until the guests left. :)
I have been enjoying the quotes and verses and songs that people have been sending. A couple of good songs came today by way of sister Grace and Ron Piña (thanks!). Enjoy:
If I Could by Jack Johnson (click on title to hear the song)
A brand new baby was born yesterday
Just in time
Papa cried, baby cried
Said "Your tears are like mine"
I heard some words
From a friend on the phone
That didn't sound so good
The doctor gave him two weeks to live
I'd give him more if I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
Down the middle drops one more
Grain of sand
They say that
New life makes losing life easier to understand
Words are kind
They helped ease the mind
I'll miss my old friend
And though you gotta go
We'll keep a piece of your soul
One goes out
Train Song by Josh Garrels (click on title to hear the song)
Shame on you, shame on me
Lord he took all our shame and pain, and set men free
And I’ve got that fire on the mountain
Fire in my soul
It’s been a long time coming, long time
And ready to go
I’m stepping out the door
Doing what feels right
Following my Lord, through the darkest night
And when the path gets narrow
I’ll follow him
And when the world comes down, around
I’ll follow him
He said, sing it on the mountain
Or in the valley low
He’s my God, and he never let me go
He said, sing it on the mountain
Or fight in valley low
Every mans going to see, and everyone will know
That peace runs deep in him
I said peace runs deep in him
Peace runs deep in him.
One comes in
You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
Now, I'll close with a conversation I had with Siena yesterday, as we drove to visit the cousins. Sam had been talking to Siena about Poppy earlier in the day, and she must have still been thinking about their conversation. As we drove, Siena was jabbering away in the back seat and then came up with this hilariously sweet dialogue:
Siena: Daddy-O [her name for me], Poppy go see Jesus!
Me: Yes, Sweetie... Poppy will probably go to see Jesus very soon.
Siena: Poppy no hit Jesus... Jesus nice!
Me: That's right, Poppy wouldn't want to hit Jesus, because Jesus is nice.
Siena: Poppy say "hi Jesus!"
Me: Yeah, Poppy will say hi to Jesus.
Siena: More say hi Jesus! [translation: I want to say hi to Jesus.]
Out of the mouth of babes....
Today was filled with more visitors for Dad. There are several scheduled for tomorrow, which is probably the last day we'll be allowing visitors. If you still want to see him tomorrow, let us know and we'll make it happen. It is amazing to see the outpouring of love for Dad from so many circles of influence that he had. Like I've said before, Dad would be very embarrassed to be receiving so much love, but we're appreciative on his behalf! If you don't know, Dad shunned the spotlight... so much so that one day when he came home to discover (prior to walking in the front door) that his mom had thrown a surprise party for him, he high-tailed it away from home until the guests left. :)
Mom is holding up incredibly well. This is also a real answer to prayer. She graciously welcoming Dad's visitors, keeping a close eye on the care Dad is receiving, and listening to or sharing stories with those who want to process all of the recent events.
Sarah went to see Dad a couple of days ago. You may recall that she didn't want to see him until he woke up. She said it reminded her too much of when Grandma died. Mom told her that Dad may not wake up, which was enough to convince her head to the hospital. She is doing well with everything, thanks to all of the prayers and the tangible acts of love by many of our friends, who have taken her out for mid-day adventures, driven her to work, etc.
Thanks for all the support - and I really mean it. My colleagues have been amazing - cutting me slack when I need it, blessing me with encouraging notes/cards/gifts, and lending me listening ears. Friends (new and old) and family are real gifts from God in times like these.
I have been enjoying the quotes and verses and songs that people have been sending. A couple of good songs came today by way of sister Grace and Ron Piña (thanks!). Enjoy:
If I Could by Jack Johnson (click on title to hear the song)
A brand new baby was born yesterday
Just in time
Papa cried, baby cried
Said "Your tears are like mine"
I heard some words
From a friend on the phone
That didn't sound so good
The doctor gave him two weeks to live
I'd give him more if I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
Down the middle drops one more
Grain of sand
They say that
New life makes losing life easier to understand
Words are kind
They helped ease the mind
I'll miss my old friend
And though you gotta go
We'll keep a piece of your soul
One goes out
Train Song by Josh Garrels (click on title to hear the song)
Shame on you, shame on me
Lord he took all our shame and pain, and set men free
And I’ve got that fire on the mountain
Fire in my soul
It’s been a long time coming, long time
And ready to go
I’m stepping out the door
Doing what feels right
Following my Lord, through the darkest night
And when the path gets narrow
I’ll follow him
And when the world comes down, around
I’ll follow him
He said, sing it on the mountain
Or in the valley low
He’s my God, and he never let me go
He said, sing it on the mountain
Or fight in valley low
Every mans going to see, and everyone will know
That peace runs deep in him
I said peace runs deep in him
Peace runs deep in him.
One comes in
You know that I would now
If only I could
You know that I would now
If only I could
Now, I'll close with a conversation I had with Siena yesterday, as we drove to visit the cousins. Sam had been talking to Siena about Poppy earlier in the day, and she must have still been thinking about their conversation. As we drove, Siena was jabbering away in the back seat and then came up with this hilariously sweet dialogue:
Siena: Daddy-O [her name for me], Poppy go see Jesus!
Me: Yes, Sweetie... Poppy will probably go to see Jesus very soon.
Siena: Poppy no hit Jesus... Jesus nice!
Me: That's right, Poppy wouldn't want to hit Jesus, because Jesus is nice.
Siena: Poppy say "hi Jesus!"
Me: Yeah, Poppy will say hi to Jesus.
Siena: More say hi Jesus! [translation: I want to say hi to Jesus.]
Out of the mouth of babes....
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Day 11
On his last day of consciousness, Dad got to play with all of his "grandbabies" before leaving for work, kiss Mom goodbye, laugh at Bethany's ready-to-burst-pregnant belly, and spend time with many of his dear co-workers. He talked with Sam and me at church the day before. Grace got a long embrace and lots of love as she left for Antarctica a few days prior. If this is it, Dad would have no regrets.
As comforting as these things might be, seeing Dad "sleeping" on his hospital bed is always unsettling, even when you've spent a lot of time in the room with him. For that reason, we genuinely appreciate all of the visitors who have come to see Dad. We know it isn't anyone's idea of a "good time," but Dad was blessed with almost 40 visitors today - not including immediate family! Mom, who was bedside from early this morning until past 11:30 tonight, has been a real trooper, and we all appreciate the outpouring of support.
Dad's medical situation has not changed. The doctors and nurses are committed to treating him as if he could recover, even though they have told us that, medically-speaking, he doesn't have a chance of recovering due to the brain stem damage. We know that God could heal Dad - and our faith in this regard remains unwavering. That said, if fervent prayer and heartfelt faith always healed people, Dad would outlive the Guinness Book of World Records. We believe that God uses doctors to heal, and sometimes God heals in spite of them. But he also calls His people home when their work on earth is done.
As dear Uncle Chuck pointed out to me yesterday, we must fight a tendency to "play God," by pretending that we know better than God and by praying only for our will to be done, rather than God's. Jesus, in teaching his followers how to pray, told them to pray that God's will would be done on earth, as it is in heaven. And, shortly before he was crucified, he prayed to God "not my will, but yours be done." If I were God, Dad would have been out of the hospital long ago. At this point, however, that does not appear to be God's will.
As dear Uncle Chuck pointed out to me yesterday, we must fight a tendency to "play God," by pretending that we know better than God and by praying only for our will to be done, rather than God's. Jesus, in teaching his followers how to pray, told them to pray that God's will would be done on earth, as it is in heaven. And, shortly before he was crucified, he prayed to God "not my will, but yours be done." If I were God, Dad would have been out of the hospital long ago. At this point, however, that does not appear to be God's will.
Mom sent me a quote today by one of my favorite authors, Phillip Yancey: "Faith means trusting in advance what will only make sense in reverse." That rings so true. I was talking to a co-working yesterday about why it can be so difficult to have faith that God has things under control. The difficulty with "keeping the faith" is that, well, it requires faith! The Bible defines faith as "being sure of what you hope for and certain of what you do not see." It doesn't take faith to be sure of what you know or certain of what you cannot miss!
To truly exercise that kind of faith, I need to...
1) trust God's sovereignty, even when it feels like He made a mistake;
2) keep an eternal perspective when I become weighed down by temporary concerns; and
3) remember God's past faithfulness, because He has guided my "ship" through dark storms before.
This is all, of course, much easier said than done... but it's worth the effort!
In other news, Grace hopefully got on an airplane in Antarctica tonight, but we should know more about her arrival time tomorrow. Again, we will be asking for some familial privacy after she gets here, but just give us a heads up if you'd like to visit. We are trying to space people throughout the day, to respect the needs of other ICU patients and families. It also maximizes your ability to talk to Dad privately and gives Mom a chance to talk to everyone, as well.
To truly exercise that kind of faith, I need to...
1) trust God's sovereignty, even when it feels like He made a mistake;
2) keep an eternal perspective when I become weighed down by temporary concerns; and
3) remember God's past faithfulness, because He has guided my "ship" through dark storms before.
This is all, of course, much easier said than done... but it's worth the effort!
In other news, Grace hopefully got on an airplane in Antarctica tonight, but we should know more about her arrival time tomorrow. Again, we will be asking for some familial privacy after she gets here, but just give us a heads up if you'd like to visit. We are trying to space people throughout the day, to respect the needs of other ICU patients and families. It also maximizes your ability to talk to Dad privately and gives Mom a chance to talk to everyone, as well.
Death: Awkward, but Inevitable
Life has a 100% mortality rate. Yet, I was struck today by how awkward dying is. It is both natural and unnatural all at the same time. If we die of "natural causes," we don't get to choose how it happens. We don't get to choose when or where it happens. And we don't get to choose what we're doing or whom we are with when it happens. Regular exercise and a high-fiber diet may help us to feel healthier longer, but it doesn't guarantee that we won't keel over or suffer a life-ending tragedy without a moment's notice.
However, as stark and universally accepted as that reality may be, we spend countless dollars and endless hours trying to fight it. We do our best to look younger than we are, as if hiding our age from others reduces our chance of dying or inherently makes us more vibrant. Women have a tendency to repeat their 29th birthdays... over and over again... until it becomes a running joke. What are we hiding from? Why does it scare us so much to get old?
It's probably because most people are terrified by the thought of going from this life into the next. Some say that we are each spiritless collections of random molecules, the products of time and chance. If that were so, then there would be nothing to fear in death. Emotions would be irrelevant and sympathy misplaced. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust... is that it? Do we just cease to exist when we die? I don't think so, and neither did Dad.
Dad took John 3:16 to heart... "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son [Jesus], that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." He was banking on the truth of this verse and eagerly awaited the "eternal life" promised for those who believe in Jesus. If Dad could communicate, I'm sure he would tell us how much he loved us, but also how excited he is at the prospect of "moving on." Dad never bothered with pretense about how old he was or looked. He did not obsess with preventing death; instead, he lived life preparing for it.
Dad's AVM was no cosmic accident; nor was its recent popping. It was a congenital condition, meaning that he was born with it; only God knew it existed until this past week. Dad could very easily have died 25 years ago, but God kept him from leaving a widowed homemaker with four children under the age of eight. God had other plans, and for that I am very thankful.
The verse most on my heart today has been Psalm 139:13-16... it is a beautiful song about how delicately we are created by God, who is sovereign and does all things well:
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
Dad is not the product of time and chance, nor are any of us. His days were ordained by God before they began... as are mine and yours. What counts is what we do with the days we are given. Jesus said the two greatest commands are 1) to love God with everything we've got and 2) to love others as ourselves. That's what Dad was about.
In that spirit, because Dad loved so many of you, we are welcoming visitors who want to see him. We will do this until Grace gets here*, because Dad touched so many lives. Call or e-mail if you want to swing by for a short visit (Mercy General, Surgical ICU, Room 369), and we'll figure out a good time. Many have already come and said goodbye. In many ways, it feels like an open casket funeral, with family, friends, and Dad's dear colleagues streaming in to "show their respects." Dad is still here, but he is poised for the everlasting. May we all be so well prepared.
* Grace's flight off the ice has been delayed again due to the icy and snowy conditions. The plane is now scheduled to leave tomorrow from Antarctica, but conditions there are difficult to predict.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
"Jesus Wept"
The title of this post is the shortest verse in the Bible. It is found in John's Gospel (11:35) and describes Jesus' reaction to seeing Mary and Martha grieving the death of their brother, Lazarus. Jesus fully intended to raise Lazarus from the dead (which he later did), but he was troubled because of the pain he saw in his friends.
I love this picture. The creator of the entire universe, having come to earth as a man to provide a way of salvation, was crying because his friends were sad. The people around watching this scene were taken aback by Jesus' loving display of emotion.
This verse has always stuck out to me, because I can be a total cry-baby, and I used to hate it. That little verse lets me know that I'm in good company when I cry about something serious. I cry when I talk about my own painful life experiences or when I really care deeply about something. That said, I have cried more in the last week than I have in the previous 10 years combined.
Seeing Mom in pain because of the prospect of missing her best friend of almost 36 years makes me cry. Talking about Siena not remembering the wonderful time she enjoyed with her Poppy makes me cry. Thinking of how much Sarah loves our Dad and how she will have difficulty processing this trial makes me cry. Talking to Richie about how much we'll miss having Dad to call for advice makes me cry. Hearing about Luke's pure and child-like faith when he heard that Poppy will be going to be with Jesus soon makes me cry. Getting messages from friends who have looked up to Dad as one of their father-figures makes me cry. I'm a wreck. :)
But these are not tears of despair.
They are obviously tears of sadness, but they are also tears of hope. For Dad, because of his faith, the end of this life is not The End. It is the beginning of something far better. Dad would be the first to tell you that this world was not his home. Dad often quoted Paul, who said that "our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body." (Phil. 3:20-21)
Dad's body is extra-lowly right now, but he is hanging in there. His vital signs are stable, but there has been no improvement. He looks okay, but a week in a coma does not do a body good. However, Dad, more than anyone I know, looked forward to the time he would meet his Maker and receive a body that was imperishable. He sometimes had vivid dreams about this, and savored every one.
We are still praying for a miracle, but we are also praying for wisdom and peace during this time. Thanks again for all of your prayers and support. I feel like a broken record saying that so many times, but please know that I really mean it.
Please pray for Grace, as she is still in Antarctica. She is coming homeward on the next flight out, but the weather there has pushed back her estimated departure time. She is currently scheduled to leave tomorrow (Thursday) if weather predictions hold. We all look forward to having her back in town for a bit, but wish it wasn't under these circumstances.
If people want to visit Dad and Mom at the hospital, they can. Just let us know if you're coming. We like short, quiet visits, preferably in ones or twos.
Goodnight.
I love this picture. The creator of the entire universe, having come to earth as a man to provide a way of salvation, was crying because his friends were sad. The people around watching this scene were taken aback by Jesus' loving display of emotion.
This verse has always stuck out to me, because I can be a total cry-baby, and I used to hate it. That little verse lets me know that I'm in good company when I cry about something serious. I cry when I talk about my own painful life experiences or when I really care deeply about something. That said, I have cried more in the last week than I have in the previous 10 years combined.
Seeing Mom in pain because of the prospect of missing her best friend of almost 36 years makes me cry. Talking about Siena not remembering the wonderful time she enjoyed with her Poppy makes me cry. Thinking of how much Sarah loves our Dad and how she will have difficulty processing this trial makes me cry. Talking to Richie about how much we'll miss having Dad to call for advice makes me cry. Hearing about Luke's pure and child-like faith when he heard that Poppy will be going to be with Jesus soon makes me cry. Getting messages from friends who have looked up to Dad as one of their father-figures makes me cry. I'm a wreck. :)
But these are not tears of despair.
They are obviously tears of sadness, but they are also tears of hope. For Dad, because of his faith, the end of this life is not The End. It is the beginning of something far better. Dad would be the first to tell you that this world was not his home. Dad often quoted Paul, who said that "our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body." (Phil. 3:20-21)
Dad's body is extra-lowly right now, but he is hanging in there. His vital signs are stable, but there has been no improvement. He looks okay, but a week in a coma does not do a body good. However, Dad, more than anyone I know, looked forward to the time he would meet his Maker and receive a body that was imperishable. He sometimes had vivid dreams about this, and savored every one.
We are still praying for a miracle, but we are also praying for wisdom and peace during this time. Thanks again for all of your prayers and support. I feel like a broken record saying that so many times, but please know that I really mean it.
Please pray for Grace, as she is still in Antarctica. She is coming homeward on the next flight out, but the weather there has pushed back her estimated departure time. She is currently scheduled to leave tomorrow (Thursday) if weather predictions hold. We all look forward to having her back in town for a bit, but wish it wasn't under these circumstances.
If people want to visit Dad and Mom at the hospital, they can. Just let us know if you're coming. We like short, quiet visits, preferably in ones or twos.
Goodnight.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Tough Stuff...
Whelp...
Dad had an MRI today and the neurologist just finished giving us sad news about the results. Doctors found two small infarcts on Dad's brain stem. A "cerebral infarct" is a medical term for dead tissue caused by a shortage of blood to an area of tissue. It is essentially a stroke, which the neurosurgeon suspected after Dad wasn't showing improvement for so long. In this case, it may have occurred during brain surgery to remove the AVM or after surgery when his brain was in recovery mode. The cause is unclear at this point, but the fact that they are there is not unclear, sadly. The location of Dad's infarcts on his brain stem is significant; they are in the location that controls "primitive actions" like swallowing, coughing, and waking up.
The neurologist said Dad now has a "very poor prognosis," because the brain stem does not regenerate (heal itself). For Dad to heal, dead tissue on his brain stem will literally have to come come alive. That would take a flat-out miracle.
This means that our family will probably have some significant decisions to make when Grace arrives from Antarctica. We continue to deeply appreciate your prayers through this process. They have sustained us and will undoubtedly continue to do so.
The only real bright side of today is that Dad looks a lot better; the doctor removed his head bandage last night and pulled out the drain tube from Dad's cranium, because it wasn't leaking anymore and the swelling is gone. We can again appreciate the haircut I gave him a couple of weeks ago. Mom has made sure his skin stays beautifully smooth, and she even combed out his hair with her fingers to ensure that it remains how he likes it.
We take some consolation in knowing that Dad is not in pain. In fact, the most uncomfortable Dad has been in this process probably was when he threw up in the trashcan at work (before telling his boss to call an ambulance). We take far greater consolation in knowing that an eternity with God awaits Dad whenever his time here is done. He has surely made the most of his 60 years thus far. He has invested masterfully in the things that really matter.
That's all for now. Thank you again for all of the loving support over this past week. What a crazy week it has been...
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Day 7: Going Fishing
Our normal Sunday routine starts with a better-than-normal breakfast, church, In 'N Out or Dos Coyotes with the family for lunch (on Dad's dime), followed by a relaxing afternoon.
Today was a little different, with two Sorbellos (well, one Sorbello and one former Sorbello) in the hospital. After a late night with Dad at the hospital, I slept in until shortly before the 10:30 service at First Baptist and rushed out of the house to church with Sam and Siena, who had returned from a trip to Starbucks. It was a joy to see so many people at church who have sent us "I am praying!" e-mails, text messages, phone calls, etc., in the past week. I can't say enough how blessed we feel to have so many friends who love us and care about how Dad and the rest of the family are doing.
There was no progress with Dad for most of today. It feels a little bit like going to a lake that you know is stocked with fish and just sitting around with your bait in the water, waiting for a big lunker to snatch up your bait. After awhile, you wouldn't mind catching just a small fish, maybe even one you couldn't keep. And then you would be happy with just a distinct nibble, even if the fish gets away with your bait. At the end of the day, instead of lamenting the poor fishing, you (hopefully) start coming up with things about the day that made your fishing expedition worthwhile. For example, you might say, "Well, it's nice just to be fishing with some good friends." Or, "At least we didn't snag any lures on the surrounding vegetation." If you've ever been fishing with me or Dad, you know exactly what I'm talking about. :)
Today was a little like a day of fishless fishing, because it seems like there haven't even been any "nibbles" since Dad's last surgery. However, we felt a tug on the line tonight. Right before mom was headed to the hospital to see the Armstrongs and me (I was visiting with JJ) she was talking with Dad's newest nurse about the sad lack of improvement in Dad's prognosis. Perhaps because this nurse hadn't worked with Dad before, she started doing some pain stimulation checks to see if he would show signs of neurological activity. He hasn't reacted to these tests in the past couple of days, but, when she pushed on his right thumb, he pulled his hand away slightly! She called my mom over and did it again, with the same result. Then she did it a third time, and again Dad recoiled slightly. The nurse and Mom were excited, but it obviously is VERY small step in the direction of healing.
Today was a little different, with two Sorbellos (well, one Sorbello and one former Sorbello) in the hospital. After a late night with Dad at the hospital, I slept in until shortly before the 10:30 service at First Baptist and rushed out of the house to church with Sam and Siena, who had returned from a trip to Starbucks. It was a joy to see so many people at church who have sent us "I am praying!" e-mails, text messages, phone calls, etc., in the past week. I can't say enough how blessed we feel to have so many friends who love us and care about how Dad and the rest of the family are doing.
There was no progress with Dad for most of today. It feels a little bit like going to a lake that you know is stocked with fish and just sitting around with your bait in the water, waiting for a big lunker to snatch up your bait. After awhile, you wouldn't mind catching just a small fish, maybe even one you couldn't keep. And then you would be happy with just a distinct nibble, even if the fish gets away with your bait. At the end of the day, instead of lamenting the poor fishing, you (hopefully) start coming up with things about the day that made your fishing expedition worthwhile. For example, you might say, "Well, it's nice just to be fishing with some good friends." Or, "At least we didn't snag any lures on the surrounding vegetation." If you've ever been fishing with me or Dad, you know exactly what I'm talking about. :)
Today was a little like a day of fishless fishing, because it seems like there haven't even been any "nibbles" since Dad's last surgery. However, we felt a tug on the line tonight. Right before mom was headed to the hospital to see the Armstrongs and me (I was visiting with JJ) she was talking with Dad's newest nurse about the sad lack of improvement in Dad's prognosis. Perhaps because this nurse hadn't worked with Dad before, she started doing some pain stimulation checks to see if he would show signs of neurological activity. He hasn't reacted to these tests in the past couple of days, but, when she pushed on his right thumb, he pulled his hand away slightly! She called my mom over and did it again, with the same result. Then she did it a third time, and again Dad recoiled slightly. The nurse and Mom were excited, but it obviously is VERY small step in the direction of healing.
In other news, to see if Dad's slow progress can be explained by a post-surgery stroke, this afternoon the neurologist said that they were going to do an MRI of Dad's brain tomorrow. We hope and pray that he did not have another stroke. However, even without a stroke, absent a doctor-defying miracle, this is going to be a long, slow road to recovery if God has more work for Dad to do.
While we are encouraged by the "nibble," we realize that Dad's future is still in God's hands and totally out of our control. (As healthy people, sometimes we fail to realize that this is true for each one of us, as well!)
Until next time... pray for more nibbles and maybe a lunker or two! :)
Until next time... pray for more nibbles and maybe a lunker or two! :)
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Day 6: The Latest Arrival
The most exciting part of today happened in a hospital, but not Dad's. Bethany and Richie had another baby boy! If they keep having boys and Sam and I keep having girls, we'll have to baby-swap! They named him Colson Dale Armstrong, and his stats were 8 pounds, 8 ounces, and 21 inches. For the story behind the name, you'll have to check out their blog (click here), because Bethany promises to post something about that soon. Apparently, big brother Luke was absolutely thrilled with his new wrestling partner. We are very grateful that Bethany and Colson are both quite healthy after the C-section.
Because the sex of the baby was a surprise until Colson popped out, Dad does not know that he has another grandson. We hope he will find out soon! In college, as part of Athletes in Action (AIA), several of my friends had t-shirts emblazoned with the acronym "P.U.S.H." It stood for the saying "Pray Until Something Happens," and it accurately states our game-plan with Dad.
The highlights from today were as follows:
- The balloon that holds the respirator tube in place in Dad's lung deflated, and they needed to sedate him to replace the tube. It was done without a hitch, and Dad is breathing fine (though still with the aid of a ventilator). The respirator therapist came in while I was typing this and assured me that Dad's breathing was looking pretty good, thanks to his relatively healthy lungs.
- Speaking of Dad's lungs, a technician x-rayed Dad's chest this morning to check out Dad's lungs. There were no clots or fluid to report.
- Blood work was done to see if Dad has had any heart attacks while in the hospital, and his heart appears to be healthy. His sporadic heart rate accelerations are not fun to watch, because they trigger an alarm and make him squirm, but they don't appear to be caused by any heart damage.
- They did an EEG on Dad's head to see if he has had any seizures, and, thankfully, he has NOT! That was a relief, as we know that additional strokes and seizures are common with "neuro patients" (the cool medical name for folks with neurological issues).
While all of the above highlights should be seen as "positives," Dad is still in a coma and showing little increased signs of movement or consciousness. That is the nature of an AVM injury, though. It is a long, arduous fight for physical life, and I hope he is able to realize (if not now, then someday) that he is "surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses."
An old friend sent me these lyrics from the song "Praise You in This Storm," by Casting Crowns, and I was encouraged by how they describe our feelings about Dad's slow recovery:
"I was sure by now
God you would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will life my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm"
The day started with a beautiful baby entering this world. And here I sit, staring at the machines that monitor and quantify every detail of his endangered physical life. However, I have a profound sense of peace, knowing that Dad's spiritual destiny is secure; he was absolutely ready for any raging storm, like the one he is experiencing. When it's my turn to lay on that hospital bed, I pray that my kids will be able to say the same of me. I can't think of a better legacy.
Remembering that God is good... ALL the time...
Because the sex of the baby was a surprise until Colson popped out, Dad does not know that he has another grandson. We hope he will find out soon! In college, as part of Athletes in Action (AIA), several of my friends had t-shirts emblazoned with the acronym "P.U.S.H." It stood for the saying "Pray Until Something Happens," and it accurately states our game-plan with Dad.
The highlights from today were as follows:
- The balloon that holds the respirator tube in place in Dad's lung deflated, and they needed to sedate him to replace the tube. It was done without a hitch, and Dad is breathing fine (though still with the aid of a ventilator). The respirator therapist came in while I was typing this and assured me that Dad's breathing was looking pretty good, thanks to his relatively healthy lungs.
- Speaking of Dad's lungs, a technician x-rayed Dad's chest this morning to check out Dad's lungs. There were no clots or fluid to report.
- Blood work was done to see if Dad has had any heart attacks while in the hospital, and his heart appears to be healthy. His sporadic heart rate accelerations are not fun to watch, because they trigger an alarm and make him squirm, but they don't appear to be caused by any heart damage.
- They did an EEG on Dad's head to see if he has had any seizures, and, thankfully, he has NOT! That was a relief, as we know that additional strokes and seizures are common with "neuro patients" (the cool medical name for folks with neurological issues).
While all of the above highlights should be seen as "positives," Dad is still in a coma and showing little increased signs of movement or consciousness. That is the nature of an AVM injury, though. It is a long, arduous fight for physical life, and I hope he is able to realize (if not now, then someday) that he is "surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses."
An old friend sent me these lyrics from the song "Praise You in This Storm," by Casting Crowns, and I was encouraged by how they describe our feelings about Dad's slow recovery:
"I was sure by now
God you would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as You mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will life my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
Every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm"
The day started with a beautiful baby entering this world. And here I sit, staring at the machines that monitor and quantify every detail of his endangered physical life. However, I have a profound sense of peace, knowing that Dad's spiritual destiny is secure; he was absolutely ready for any raging storm, like the one he is experiencing. When it's my turn to lay on that hospital bed, I pray that my kids will be able to say the same of me. I can't think of a better legacy.
Remembering that God is good... ALL the time...
Friday, August 20, 2010
Day 5: Highs, Lows, and Curling Toes
Today was another interesting one. I went back to work for the first time since I left hurriedly on Monday afternoon, but I was not productive. It was good to see my co-workers and talk to people about non-stroke-related issues, though. My tear ducts activated twice, but only in my office while talking about how cool my Dad is. I can talk about AVMs, strokes, heart rates, etc., but when I get started talking (or even typing) about the kind of Dad and husband and "poppy" my Dad is, the "sprinklers" turn on. He is THAT cool.
Before I ruin my keyboard, I will start talking specifics of what happened today...
This morning was rough. After another night of very little, if any, increased movement, Mom watched as Dad's heart rate shot up to the mid-170s. That is way too high for someone who has been laying on his back for several days, and it has been hovering in the 80-110 b.p.m. range. Dad's chest was heaving in and out, and it looked like he was having heart or lung issues. Fearing that he may have had a blood clot or something, Mom (with the help of a visiting Doctor-friend) checked the clot-preventing wraps on Dad's legs to see if they were turned on to squeeze and stimulate the muscles. They weren't. Someone had turned them off during the night and forgot to turn them back on. They quickly fixed that, but Dad has been having about a minute of increased heart rate (170ish) every hour or so. They are going to do some blood work and an electrocardiogram tonight to see if Dad has any unusual heart issues.
One of the neurosurgeons did some reflex tests on Dad today, including one that involves drawing with a pen on the soles of Dad's feet. I may have described it before, but they have been waiting for Dad's toes to curl, and they finally reacted to the stimulation! This raised everyone's spirits for a couple of hours, until we were informed that it wasn't just toe movement they were looking for. They look for the big toe to curl downward, and, if the toe curls upward (toward the top of the foot), that indicates probably brain malfunction. Dad's toes curled upward, so our excitement quickly subsided when we learned the meaning of his reaction. It doesn't mean that any brain malfunction is irreversible, it just means that there is some trauma to the brain, but we already knew that!
He was examined late tonight by another neurosurgeon. This guy seems to be the youngest of the bunch; he seems very bright and eager to help Dad recover. He manipulated Dad's arms, checked for pupil dilation (still very slow and slight), and pushed on Dad's toe nails. The tests seemed to cause Dad discomfort and he moved slightly in response to the tests, which is a good thing. The doctor actually apologized to Dad when he saw that his tests caused Dad discomfort or pain. I enjoy seeing the nurses and doctors talk to Dad by name. It makes me think they see him as a healing person and not just a mostly unresponsive, human experiment. The doctor also raised his voice at Dad, trying to see if Dad could open his eyes or move his fingers, but Dad did not respond.
The doctor kindly reminded us that we would hopefully see more responsiveness from Dad in the next couple of days. After that, if they don't see progress, they will do another CAT scan to check for strokes that may have occurred since surgery. He pointed out that we should be encouraged that Dad, to this point, has not had any real complications (additional bleeding on the brain, secondary infections, fevers, etc.) from the AVM blow-out and subsequent surgeries. Dad isn't healing as quickly as we would like, of course, but he isn't getting worse either.
Tomorrow will involve a lot more sitting around, watching Dad breathe, scanning the computers in hopes that his numbers remain stable, and reminding ourselves that this process is (hopefully) still in its infancy.
A few lessons I took from today include the following:
1) God isn't on our timeline. And His timeline is better than ours, because He knows the end from the beginning.
2) As Dad's creator and sustainer, God loves Dad more than any of us ever could. We can rest in this knowledge.
3) Prayer is very difficult to comprehend sometimes. Obviously, we are praying fervently that God heals Dad completely. God can do that. But we are also praying for strength and peace as we go through this trial, regardless of the outcome. God will definitely do that as we lean on Him, and many of you have been used (knowingly or unknowingly) by God to encourage us and we truly thank you for that.
4) Excitement when Dad progresses slightly is good and natural, but we must remember Proverb 27:1, which says, "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth." Conversely, we have to be patient and full of faith when bad news inevitably comes. An emotional roller-coaster is only fun at the top of the hill.
Please remember to pray for Bethany's Cesarean tomorrow at 9:00. We want Dad to have another healthy grandbaby. Please pray for Mom as she deals wisely with all of the highs and lows of this process. Also, we are thanking God that 1) Grace will be able to come home for a few weeks (starting next Friday) before redeploying back to Antarctica, 2) Richie's mom will be able to come to help with Luke and Zeke as the new arrival comes, and 3) Dad is still with us!
I'll close today with a picture of Dad's "grandbabies"... before the addition of one more in the morning.
Before I ruin my keyboard, I will start talking specifics of what happened today...
This morning was rough. After another night of very little, if any, increased movement, Mom watched as Dad's heart rate shot up to the mid-170s. That is way too high for someone who has been laying on his back for several days, and it has been hovering in the 80-110 b.p.m. range. Dad's chest was heaving in and out, and it looked like he was having heart or lung issues. Fearing that he may have had a blood clot or something, Mom (with the help of a visiting Doctor-friend) checked the clot-preventing wraps on Dad's legs to see if they were turned on to squeeze and stimulate the muscles. They weren't. Someone had turned them off during the night and forgot to turn them back on. They quickly fixed that, but Dad has been having about a minute of increased heart rate (170ish) every hour or so. They are going to do some blood work and an electrocardiogram tonight to see if Dad has any unusual heart issues.
One of the neurosurgeons did some reflex tests on Dad today, including one that involves drawing with a pen on the soles of Dad's feet. I may have described it before, but they have been waiting for Dad's toes to curl, and they finally reacted to the stimulation! This raised everyone's spirits for a couple of hours, until we were informed that it wasn't just toe movement they were looking for. They look for the big toe to curl downward, and, if the toe curls upward (toward the top of the foot), that indicates probably brain malfunction. Dad's toes curled upward, so our excitement quickly subsided when we learned the meaning of his reaction. It doesn't mean that any brain malfunction is irreversible, it just means that there is some trauma to the brain, but we already knew that!
He was examined late tonight by another neurosurgeon. This guy seems to be the youngest of the bunch; he seems very bright and eager to help Dad recover. He manipulated Dad's arms, checked for pupil dilation (still very slow and slight), and pushed on Dad's toe nails. The tests seemed to cause Dad discomfort and he moved slightly in response to the tests, which is a good thing. The doctor actually apologized to Dad when he saw that his tests caused Dad discomfort or pain. I enjoy seeing the nurses and doctors talk to Dad by name. It makes me think they see him as a healing person and not just a mostly unresponsive, human experiment. The doctor also raised his voice at Dad, trying to see if Dad could open his eyes or move his fingers, but Dad did not respond.
The doctor kindly reminded us that we would hopefully see more responsiveness from Dad in the next couple of days. After that, if they don't see progress, they will do another CAT scan to check for strokes that may have occurred since surgery. He pointed out that we should be encouraged that Dad, to this point, has not had any real complications (additional bleeding on the brain, secondary infections, fevers, etc.) from the AVM blow-out and subsequent surgeries. Dad isn't healing as quickly as we would like, of course, but he isn't getting worse either.
Tomorrow will involve a lot more sitting around, watching Dad breathe, scanning the computers in hopes that his numbers remain stable, and reminding ourselves that this process is (hopefully) still in its infancy.
A few lessons I took from today include the following:
1) God isn't on our timeline. And His timeline is better than ours, because He knows the end from the beginning.
2) As Dad's creator and sustainer, God loves Dad more than any of us ever could. We can rest in this knowledge.
3) Prayer is very difficult to comprehend sometimes. Obviously, we are praying fervently that God heals Dad completely. God can do that. But we are also praying for strength and peace as we go through this trial, regardless of the outcome. God will definitely do that as we lean on Him, and many of you have been used (knowingly or unknowingly) by God to encourage us and we truly thank you for that.
4) Excitement when Dad progresses slightly is good and natural, but we must remember Proverb 27:1, which says, "Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring forth." Conversely, we have to be patient and full of faith when bad news inevitably comes. An emotional roller-coaster is only fun at the top of the hill.
Please remember to pray for Bethany's Cesarean tomorrow at 9:00. We want Dad to have another healthy grandbaby. Please pray for Mom as she deals wisely with all of the highs and lows of this process. Also, we are thanking God that 1) Grace will be able to come home for a few weeks (starting next Friday) before redeploying back to Antarctica, 2) Richie's mom will be able to come to help with Luke and Zeke as the new arrival comes, and 3) Dad is still with us!
I'll close today with a picture of Dad's "grandbabies"... before the addition of one more in the morning.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
A Few Tidbits
I will try to post whenever something significant happens or the end of the day, whichever comes first. I am hoping that "something significant" wins tomorrow, but we'll see...
No real volitional movement from Dad yet. The sedatives that essentially paralyzed him for the surgery should have worn off by tonight, but his brain is still recovering from the massive shock of it all. Or maybe Dad is just being stubborn. Either way, we hadn't seen a lot of progress when we left the hospital sometime after 9:00 p.m. His pupils are still dilating slowly when he has his eyelids lifted, which is good.
The angiogram happened this afternoon instead of tomorrow. The good news from that is that the radiologist was VERY pleased with the work of the neurosurgeon. He still gives Dad a 70% chance at a "good recovery." I'm not sure he has factored in how many people are praying for him, though. :) The CAT scan tomorrow should tell us whether there were any other bleeds in his brain from today's surgery. But the AVM is dealt with, so the brain should be kicking back into gear (sloooooowly) as he heals.
The anesthesiologist made a nice comment to Mom about "looking forwarding to meeting [Dad]." And the radiologist referred to Dad needing another angiogram in about two months. Talking about Dad being around for that was very refreshing. He didn't throw in the "if he's still alive" or any other qualifiers. These two doctors are earning major points with the Sorbello family. :)
On the flip-side, the doctor supervising the ER made a comment to Mom this morning about how aggressive they have been in trying to remedy Dad's brain issues. He suggested that some doctors would have just resigned themselves to the situation and let Dad die. My mom cleverly retorted: "The doctors must have known how good of a man they were dealing with." Well played, Mom.
That's all for now. We're feeling pretty good. Facing the unknown future resolutely. We are trusting God for strength to carry on and thanking God for all of the friends and family supporting us and praying for us in this difficult season of life.
As I sign off... let me share a passage that is among my Dad's very favorites. Ron Pina, a close family friend, actually e-mailed it to our whole family today:
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that FAR outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
As painful as Dad's situation may appear, during these grueling days and nights of waiting for signs of life, we are overjoyed with the knowledge that an "eternal glory" awaits whenever his work here is done and God calls him home...
No real volitional movement from Dad yet. The sedatives that essentially paralyzed him for the surgery should have worn off by tonight, but his brain is still recovering from the massive shock of it all. Or maybe Dad is just being stubborn. Either way, we hadn't seen a lot of progress when we left the hospital sometime after 9:00 p.m. His pupils are still dilating slowly when he has his eyelids lifted, which is good.
The angiogram happened this afternoon instead of tomorrow. The good news from that is that the radiologist was VERY pleased with the work of the neurosurgeon. He still gives Dad a 70% chance at a "good recovery." I'm not sure he has factored in how many people are praying for him, though. :) The CAT scan tomorrow should tell us whether there were any other bleeds in his brain from today's surgery. But the AVM is dealt with, so the brain should be kicking back into gear (sloooooowly) as he heals.
The anesthesiologist made a nice comment to Mom about "looking forwarding to meeting [Dad]." And the radiologist referred to Dad needing another angiogram in about two months. Talking about Dad being around for that was very refreshing. He didn't throw in the "if he's still alive" or any other qualifiers. These two doctors are earning major points with the Sorbello family. :)
On the flip-side, the doctor supervising the ER made a comment to Mom this morning about how aggressive they have been in trying to remedy Dad's brain issues. He suggested that some doctors would have just resigned themselves to the situation and let Dad die. My mom cleverly retorted: "The doctors must have known how good of a man they were dealing with." Well played, Mom.
That's all for now. We're feeling pretty good. Facing the unknown future resolutely. We are trusting God for strength to carry on and thanking God for all of the friends and family supporting us and praying for us in this difficult season of life.
As I sign off... let me share a passage that is among my Dad's very favorites. Ron Pina, a close family friend, actually e-mailed it to our whole family today:
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that FAR outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." - 2 Corinthians 4:16-18
As painful as Dad's situation may appear, during these grueling days and nights of waiting for signs of life, we are overjoyed with the knowledge that an "eternal glory" awaits whenever his work here is done and God calls him home...
Post-Surgical Report
The neurosurgeon just came out and briefed us on how the surgery went. It was obviously pretty long, and that was due to the size of Dad's AVM. It was about the size of a walnut, but it was not contained like a walnut... there were tentacles that extended to the mid-line of Dad's brain - the area that regulates speech. The neurosurgeon had a pretty realistic approach. When he first got into the brain area, the affected area almost protruded like a hernia, indicating that there was still significant swelling in Dad's brain and that there was lots of pressure on the brain stem still. That could explain Dad's inability to "wake up" to this point.
Dr. Shahi said that the brain's swelling had subsided considerably by the time he finished the surgery, and that Dad could be showing more signs of life by tonight, at the earliest. Dr. Shahi hopes that Dad will continue waking up for the next week, so it is still a long process. Dad will need another angiogram to see if they got enough of the AVM and also to make sure there are no new bleeds. A CAT scan will also show whether Dad had a stroke during this surgery, which is always a possibility when doctors play with a person's brain.
Dr. Shahi said that "best case scenario" would be after one week having Dad out of the ICU and into a longer-term rehab/care setting. The factors that could prevent that would be a stroke, a secondary health problem (e.g., pneumonia or infection), or any additional surgeries. The "best case scenario," when pushed out to one year, would have Dad able to walk with some assistance.
The "worst case scenario" would be one of the previously discussed risks, which could lead to death; Dad not fully "waking up," which would raise some sobering questions about how Dad would want to be treated; or not regaining his physical abilities and/or speech.
The mood around here could be described by words like melancholy, numb, and resolute. We obviously hoped that Dr. Shahi would bound out of the surgical area with a big smile on his face and news that Dad will be his old self in no time. That obviously didn't happen. But the news was not as sad as it could have been, for sure.
We are left with the reminder that life as we know it has changed. We have hope for the best, and then some. But lots of questions swirl. Nonetheless, we know that God is continuing to do his "thang" and the story of Dad's life has not reached a conclusion.
Thank you again for your prayers and support. It has really been amazing.
Dr. Shahi said that the brain's swelling had subsided considerably by the time he finished the surgery, and that Dad could be showing more signs of life by tonight, at the earliest. Dr. Shahi hopes that Dad will continue waking up for the next week, so it is still a long process. Dad will need another angiogram to see if they got enough of the AVM and also to make sure there are no new bleeds. A CAT scan will also show whether Dad had a stroke during this surgery, which is always a possibility when doctors play with a person's brain.
Dr. Shahi said that "best case scenario" would be after one week having Dad out of the ICU and into a longer-term rehab/care setting. The factors that could prevent that would be a stroke, a secondary health problem (e.g., pneumonia or infection), or any additional surgeries. The "best case scenario," when pushed out to one year, would have Dad able to walk with some assistance.
The "worst case scenario" would be one of the previously discussed risks, which could lead to death; Dad not fully "waking up," which would raise some sobering questions about how Dad would want to be treated; or not regaining his physical abilities and/or speech.
The mood around here could be described by words like melancholy, numb, and resolute. We obviously hoped that Dr. Shahi would bound out of the surgical area with a big smile on his face and news that Dad will be his old self in no time. That obviously didn't happen. But the news was not as sad as it could have been, for sure.
We are left with the reminder that life as we know it has changed. We have hope for the best, and then some. But lots of questions swirl. Nonetheless, we know that God is continuing to do his "thang" and the story of Dad's life has not reached a conclusion.
Thank you again for your prayers and support. It has really been amazing.
Mid-Surgery Update
The nurse came out of the operating room a few minutes ago and told us that the surgery would be lasting longer than the estimated four hours. He said Dad's vital signs are fine, and that there were no problems with the surgery; it is just going slower than expected. He said it would be "several more hours" until they were done. It makes me more thankful for the hospital's wireless internet connection! :)
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Time Flies When You're Having Fun...
... and it sure DRAGS when you're not! Dad passed out after lunch on Monday, so this is still only about 50 hours in, but it feels like he's been in the hospital at least a week!
THE HAPS: We are all doing well. This morning was a little rough for Mom, because she found out that Dad was taken off the sedative (Versed) that has been on since the emergency procedure. The nurse told Mom that Dad had stopped getting Versed yesterday at 2:00 p.m., but that was proven wrong by the anesthesiologist, who told us that Dad was actually on Versed all the way through the embolization procedure yesterday (through 7:00 p.m.). The nurse tried to check Dad's charts to see who made the decision to take Dad off the sedative, but she could not tell.
This was particularly concerning, because Dad's neurosurgeon told us after the initial surgery that he wanted Dad's to be doped up (on Versed) for four days, at which time they would "wake him up." Patients who have AVMs often wake up after the embolization and before the surgery to remove the embolized AVM, but the neurosurgeon didn't want Dad to do that because of the extent of the trauma and risks that could arise if he was awoken. The doctor who likely made the order (though there is no record of such order) has his name written on the white-board in Dad's room, but none of us have met the guy and we don't know if he's even seen Dad in person.
This ordeal upset Mom a little - and understandably so. She was concerned that Dad hadn't woken up on his own if he was off Versed. The anesthesiologist, who looks like he could be Dad's younger brother, and the radiologist talked to Mom and have continued to be very helpful. They explained (separately) that Dad likely has lots of residual Versed in his system that his body will continue to metabolize out. Also, the brain is still swollen and traumatized by everything that has happened, so it will be a veeeeeerrrrrryy slow waking up process (not like actually waking up in the morning - we're talking days, not minutes). Further, the brain stem is still under pressure from the embolized AVM. That is what caused him to lose consciousness initially, and it will continue to hamper his ability to wake up. The plan is to alleviate that pressure by removing the mass of delinquent arteries and veins during the next surgery, and we will likely have a better picture of Dad's prognosis after that happens.
THE NEXT SURGERY: Dad is scheduled for his big surgery tomorrow morning at 7:30. I don't know how long it will last, but it will surely take several hours. Again, it is a high-risk surgery and prayers are appreciated. They took a CAT scan this afternoon to specifically locate the embolized area. We assume that they will be going in the base of his skull and cutting out the mass from there. But we don't know many details just yet.
Some GOOD NEWS: Dad is now breathing on his own, with the respirator serving as an oxygen supplement and back-up if he stops breathing. He is cranking out 13-15 deep breaths/minute. He also tried to chew on the implement used by the nurse to suck out the saliva from his mouth. These are good signs. While it was exciting to see that little movement, it was a little strange afterward to see the nurse yelling at Dad to wake up, without any response. He shrugged his shoulder a little bit when someone grabbed his trapezius muscle. And he also had a spike in his blood pressure when the anesthesiologist pushed on his toe nail with some metal. It's amazing to step back and think about how small these baby steps are... really makes us appreciate the gift of life and (mostly) healthy bodies. With each encouraging sign, no matter how small, we thank God and know that Dad is safe in His hands.
A good friend, Mark Restrepo, sent me a couple of verses that really hit home for me today:
"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." - Romans 12:12
"[God] has made everything new in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." - Ecclesiastes 3:11
And, finally, I close for today with a quote from a friend's facebook profile, of all places: "You are immortal until God is done with you." I pray that God is NOT done with Dad.
THE HAPS: We are all doing well. This morning was a little rough for Mom, because she found out that Dad was taken off the sedative (Versed) that has been on since the emergency procedure. The nurse told Mom that Dad had stopped getting Versed yesterday at 2:00 p.m., but that was proven wrong by the anesthesiologist, who told us that Dad was actually on Versed all the way through the embolization procedure yesterday (through 7:00 p.m.). The nurse tried to check Dad's charts to see who made the decision to take Dad off the sedative, but she could not tell.
This was particularly concerning, because Dad's neurosurgeon told us after the initial surgery that he wanted Dad's to be doped up (on Versed) for four days, at which time they would "wake him up." Patients who have AVMs often wake up after the embolization and before the surgery to remove the embolized AVM, but the neurosurgeon didn't want Dad to do that because of the extent of the trauma and risks that could arise if he was awoken. The doctor who likely made the order (though there is no record of such order) has his name written on the white-board in Dad's room, but none of us have met the guy and we don't know if he's even seen Dad in person.
This ordeal upset Mom a little - and understandably so. She was concerned that Dad hadn't woken up on his own if he was off Versed. The anesthesiologist, who looks like he could be Dad's younger brother, and the radiologist talked to Mom and have continued to be very helpful. They explained (separately) that Dad likely has lots of residual Versed in his system that his body will continue to metabolize out. Also, the brain is still swollen and traumatized by everything that has happened, so it will be a veeeeeerrrrrryy slow waking up process (not like actually waking up in the morning - we're talking days, not minutes). Further, the brain stem is still under pressure from the embolized AVM. That is what caused him to lose consciousness initially, and it will continue to hamper his ability to wake up. The plan is to alleviate that pressure by removing the mass of delinquent arteries and veins during the next surgery, and we will likely have a better picture of Dad's prognosis after that happens.
THE NEXT SURGERY: Dad is scheduled for his big surgery tomorrow morning at 7:30. I don't know how long it will last, but it will surely take several hours. Again, it is a high-risk surgery and prayers are appreciated. They took a CAT scan this afternoon to specifically locate the embolized area. We assume that they will be going in the base of his skull and cutting out the mass from there. But we don't know many details just yet.
Some GOOD NEWS: Dad is now breathing on his own, with the respirator serving as an oxygen supplement and back-up if he stops breathing. He is cranking out 13-15 deep breaths/minute. He also tried to chew on the implement used by the nurse to suck out the saliva from his mouth. These are good signs. While it was exciting to see that little movement, it was a little strange afterward to see the nurse yelling at Dad to wake up, without any response. He shrugged his shoulder a little bit when someone grabbed his trapezius muscle. And he also had a spike in his blood pressure when the anesthesiologist pushed on his toe nail with some metal. It's amazing to step back and think about how small these baby steps are... really makes us appreciate the gift of life and (mostly) healthy bodies. With each encouraging sign, no matter how small, we thank God and know that Dad is safe in His hands.
A good friend, Mark Restrepo, sent me a couple of verses that really hit home for me today:
"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer." - Romans 12:12
"[God] has made everything new in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." - Ecclesiastes 3:11
And, finally, I close for today with a quote from a friend's facebook profile, of all places: "You are immortal until God is done with you." I pray that God is NOT done with Dad.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Embolization
Embolization is the process by which a portion of the vascular system (in this case, an artery in Dad's head) is sealed and made leak-proof. You may remember that BP did something like that off the Gulf Coast not too long ago, after their underwater oil well exploded. This is kind of the same kind of thing... except we're talking about very small, delicate pieces of Dad's head.
At about 3:15 today, Dad went into the same room where they did the angiogram early this morning. The goal of the interventional radiologist is to put the right amount of "glue" and "coils" in the right places to make Dad's AVM leak-proof. The procedure normally takes two hours, according to the nurse. But we were told that Dad's embolization – because of the size (big) and location (out-of-the-way) – will take about four to six hours.
The neurologist (Dr. Shahi) will then (after a day or two) do a brain surgery to remove the then-hardened portion of Dad's cerebral AVM without doing further damage to the brain itself. It is unclear to us whether they will wake Dad up before that procedure is done. The nurse seemed to think that would be the normal practice, but the neurosurgeon, after yesterday's initial surgery to alleviate the pressure on Dad's brain stem, told us that Dad would be kept comatose until after the AVM is removed. Hopefully this will be answered after the procedure this evening.
In other news, despite the obvious limitations due to the heavy meds, Dad's showing some signs of improvement. His color has returned (yesterday he looked very white), he has coughed twice (sign of muscle control), and he has a furrowed brow (yesterday he had a "flat affect"). His pulse rate and blood pressure increase ever-so-slightly when we talk to him and stroke his face/shoulders, so the nurse says that he can probably hear and has some understanding of what's going on around him despite his comatose state. The less-exciting news is that he doesn't respond to any reflex exercises in his feet, which indicates that he cannot feel a thing down there. Given all of the pain he would otherwise be feeling right now, that's not totally a bad thing, I guess.
Finally, we have been flat-out overwhelmed (in a good way) with all of the love and support we've been getting. If we took everyone up on their offers to help, Siena could permanently move out and we'd never have to cook for ourselves again. :) We are still in maintenance mode, though.
Please don't come visit the hospital, just because Dad's in the ICU, and everything is pretty intense still. I'm sure my mom would welcome calls, texts, etc., but her cell phone battery is weak so don't be offended if she doesn't get back to you. Please know that we very much appreciate the love we have been shown – it is a very tangible expression of how God loves and cares for Dad and each of us. It also helps us to realize that, whatever may come, we know that God will provide us with the strength to carry on!
Also, please pray for the technicians who, as I type, are performing this embolization procedure. It is a very risky endeavor, so wise decisions and calm nerves are key.
Stay tuned...
At about 3:15 today, Dad went into the same room where they did the angiogram early this morning. The goal of the interventional radiologist is to put the right amount of "glue" and "coils" in the right places to make Dad's AVM leak-proof. The procedure normally takes two hours, according to the nurse. But we were told that Dad's embolization – because of the size (big) and location (out-of-the-way) – will take about four to six hours.
The neurologist (Dr. Shahi) will then (after a day or two) do a brain surgery to remove the then-hardened portion of Dad's cerebral AVM without doing further damage to the brain itself. It is unclear to us whether they will wake Dad up before that procedure is done. The nurse seemed to think that would be the normal practice, but the neurosurgeon, after yesterday's initial surgery to alleviate the pressure on Dad's brain stem, told us that Dad would be kept comatose until after the AVM is removed. Hopefully this will be answered after the procedure this evening.
In other news, despite the obvious limitations due to the heavy meds, Dad's showing some signs of improvement. His color has returned (yesterday he looked very white), he has coughed twice (sign of muscle control), and he has a furrowed brow (yesterday he had a "flat affect"). His pulse rate and blood pressure increase ever-so-slightly when we talk to him and stroke his face/shoulders, so the nurse says that he can probably hear and has some understanding of what's going on around him despite his comatose state. The less-exciting news is that he doesn't respond to any reflex exercises in his feet, which indicates that he cannot feel a thing down there. Given all of the pain he would otherwise be feeling right now, that's not totally a bad thing, I guess.
Finally, we have been flat-out overwhelmed (in a good way) with all of the love and support we've been getting. If we took everyone up on their offers to help, Siena could permanently move out and we'd never have to cook for ourselves again. :) We are still in maintenance mode, though.
Please don't come visit the hospital, just because Dad's in the ICU, and everything is pretty intense still. I'm sure my mom would welcome calls, texts, etc., but her cell phone battery is weak so don't be offended if she doesn't get back to you. Please know that we very much appreciate the love we have been shown – it is a very tangible expression of how God loves and cares for Dad and each of us. It also helps us to realize that, whatever may come, we know that God will provide us with the strength to carry on!
Also, please pray for the technicians who, as I type, are performing this embolization procedure. It is a very risky endeavor, so wise decisions and calm nerves are key.
Stay tuned...
Post-Embolization Update
UPDATE (as of 11:00 p.m. on Tuesday, August 17): Dad's embolization procedure went very smoothly. The radiologist went up through his femoral artery (near the hip) and all the way up to his head. He placed a gluey material (chemically, it is very much like Krazy Glue) in the areas that will need to be removed during Dad's next brain surgery. The radiologist who did the procedure was very encouraging and seemed quite pleased with his work. He essentially set the table for Dr. Shahi, who will be going in to remove the newly embolized portion of Dad's cerebral vascular system (the malformed arteries and veins in the back of his brain). That will occur tomorrow afternoon or the next day - after the surgical team is well-rested and ready to rumble.
Mom's spirits are up, in large part because of the information she gleaned from the radiologist post-embolization. His upbeat report, combined with the fact that he finished the embolization in "only" 3.5 hours (when the estimate was 4-6 hours), was somewhat relieving after all the graphic information we had been given about how big/ugly/scary/nasty/risky Dad's AVM was. Dr. Shahi is a highly-regarded neurosurgeon, but his bedside manner is somewhat unusual. He told us yesterday night after the first surgery that Dad is "the sickest person in the whole hospital." He sounded very kind and almost a little cheerful when he said it, so I don't think he meant to alarm us. But he did! Maybe he was trying to keep Mom from asking any more questions... if so, it only worked for that night. If you know Mom, you know that she is a zealous advocate for her friends, and especially her family. Suffice it to say that if you are sick and in the hospital, you want Mom to be there to interrogate your attending medical professionals. She gets answers.
When quizzed by Mom today, the radiologist said that he didn't think Dad would be "locked in." That's the phrase Mom uses to describe a person who has their mental faculties but no physical abilities. He thinks there is a 70% chance that Dad is going to walk again, perhaps with some serious gait issues. The other 30% would include serious mental and/or physical impairment or death, because of the complicated nature of the next surgery.
Mom also was happy to report that Dad kicked both legs pretty hard tonight, and his blood pressure (arterial) went up to the high 160s as the new nursing team tried to insert a new nasogastro tube to keep his stomach empty. The old one was kinked. One nurse worked him over for quite a while and finally gave up. Mom didn't like how high Dad's blood pressure was getting, because it could trigger a new bleed, but they finally decided to give Dad a break to calm down and to get a new, larger one to try later. The failed attempt revealed Dad's leg kick, which is a positive sign.
When the odds are "in your favor," they are fun to talk and think about. However, at the end of the day, relying on odds for comfort gets you straight to "Nowhereville." We are often reminded that this season of life is a marathon with an as-yet-undefined ending; it is not a sprint. Thus, we are plugging away, staring down the "worst case scenario," hoping for the "best case scenario," and praying that God's will would be done in a way that makes us look back someday and go, "Wow, that was pretty cool how things worked out." As Bethany put so aptly in her recent blog post: Odds are odds, but God is God.
In other news, big sister Sarah is doing well. She made a couple of comments when hearing about Dad being in the hospital: "Boy, this reminds me of when Grandma died." And, when I told her that he wouldn't be home for a while because of his hospital stay, she replied: "Pretty weird, isn't it!?" She is very aware of what's going on, but is still processing through it all.
Bethany's pregnancy is proceeding well. She is scheduled to have her third perfect child via C-section on Saturday, so it will be a busy day. By the way, Bethany's writing skills are far better than mine, and her take on this situation is definitely more interesting and tear-jerking than mine could ever be. A good cry does everyone some good once in a while. So check out her blog: thearmstrongbrood.blogspot.com.
Grace is in Antarctica, where she arrived on Sunday. The sun has not come up for the summer yet, but it is partly cloudy and a seasonable -22 degrees Fahrenheit, with a 15 m.p.h. wind, right now. Unfortunately, her passport stayed behind somewhere in New Zealand during her trip to Antarctica. Therefore, getting back home would be a huge challenge. Grace is going to wait and see how things progress before deciding whether to swim/unicycle/hitchhike home from the South Pole. The next plane arriving to drop people off will be there on Friday, which would be as soon as she could leave the ice. Then she'd have to get a passport from a US embassy in Australia or New Zealand. It would be great to see her, but we would totally understand if she chooses to wait it out. After all, Dad would probably tell her to stay there and keep working! :)
It's time for bed... I'll close with a short passage from the Bible that really encouraged me today. As Dad lays comatose on a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in tubes and needles from every direction, I know that he would agree wholeheartedly if he could: "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)
May we not lose heart. God is faithful, and He is not finished with any of us yet....
Mom's spirits are up, in large part because of the information she gleaned from the radiologist post-embolization. His upbeat report, combined with the fact that he finished the embolization in "only" 3.5 hours (when the estimate was 4-6 hours), was somewhat relieving after all the graphic information we had been given about how big/ugly/scary/nasty/risky Dad's AVM was. Dr. Shahi is a highly-regarded neurosurgeon, but his bedside manner is somewhat unusual. He told us yesterday night after the first surgery that Dad is "the sickest person in the whole hospital." He sounded very kind and almost a little cheerful when he said it, so I don't think he meant to alarm us. But he did! Maybe he was trying to keep Mom from asking any more questions... if so, it only worked for that night. If you know Mom, you know that she is a zealous advocate for her friends, and especially her family. Suffice it to say that if you are sick and in the hospital, you want Mom to be there to interrogate your attending medical professionals. She gets answers.
When quizzed by Mom today, the radiologist said that he didn't think Dad would be "locked in." That's the phrase Mom uses to describe a person who has their mental faculties but no physical abilities. He thinks there is a 70% chance that Dad is going to walk again, perhaps with some serious gait issues. The other 30% would include serious mental and/or physical impairment or death, because of the complicated nature of the next surgery.
Mom also was happy to report that Dad kicked both legs pretty hard tonight, and his blood pressure (arterial) went up to the high 160s as the new nursing team tried to insert a new nasogastro tube to keep his stomach empty. The old one was kinked. One nurse worked him over for quite a while and finally gave up. Mom didn't like how high Dad's blood pressure was getting, because it could trigger a new bleed, but they finally decided to give Dad a break to calm down and to get a new, larger one to try later. The failed attempt revealed Dad's leg kick, which is a positive sign.
When the odds are "in your favor," they are fun to talk and think about. However, at the end of the day, relying on odds for comfort gets you straight to "Nowhereville." We are often reminded that this season of life is a marathon with an as-yet-undefined ending; it is not a sprint. Thus, we are plugging away, staring down the "worst case scenario," hoping for the "best case scenario," and praying that God's will would be done in a way that makes us look back someday and go, "Wow, that was pretty cool how things worked out." As Bethany put so aptly in her recent blog post: Odds are odds, but God is God.
In other news, big sister Sarah is doing well. She made a couple of comments when hearing about Dad being in the hospital: "Boy, this reminds me of when Grandma died." And, when I told her that he wouldn't be home for a while because of his hospital stay, she replied: "Pretty weird, isn't it!?" She is very aware of what's going on, but is still processing through it all.
Bethany's pregnancy is proceeding well. She is scheduled to have her third perfect child via C-section on Saturday, so it will be a busy day. By the way, Bethany's writing skills are far better than mine, and her take on this situation is definitely more interesting and tear-jerking than mine could ever be. A good cry does everyone some good once in a while. So check out her blog: thearmstrongbrood.blogspot.com.
Grace is in Antarctica, where she arrived on Sunday. The sun has not come up for the summer yet, but it is partly cloudy and a seasonable -22 degrees Fahrenheit, with a 15 m.p.h. wind, right now. Unfortunately, her passport stayed behind somewhere in New Zealand during her trip to Antarctica. Therefore, getting back home would be a huge challenge. Grace is going to wait and see how things progress before deciding whether to swim/unicycle/hitchhike home from the South Pole. The next plane arriving to drop people off will be there on Friday, which would be as soon as she could leave the ice. Then she'd have to get a passport from a US embassy in Australia or New Zealand. It would be great to see her, but we would totally understand if she chooses to wait it out. After all, Dad would probably tell her to stay there and keep working! :)
It's time for bed... I'll close with a short passage from the Bible that really encouraged me today. As Dad lays comatose on a hospital bed, wrapped tightly in tubes and needles from every direction, I know that he would agree wholeheartedly if he could: "Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)
May we not lose heart. God is faithful, and He is not finished with any of us yet....
From the Other Side of the Tapestry
Romans 8:28 says: "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...."
Sometimes what happens is so clearly in line with what I think God should be doing; however, sometimes God allows things to happen that I have trouble reconciling with the loving, sovereign God that I know and trust. When I think about it, though, it's pretty arrogant to see sit back and say, "Nice move, God. I would have done the same thing myself." Or, alternatively, "Wow, God... you really messed this one up. You're going to have to get really creative to work this one out for the good of those who love you (i.e., me and mine!)."
So this is one of those times when I could think of a million and one "better" ways that God could have re-taught me valuable lessons like "appreciating my dad" or "recognizing that I should take nothing for granted." BUT, I choose to believe that GOD is working out something GOOD that is beyond my ability to comprehend. It is painful, no doubt... but we are in God's loving hands.
Here is a recap of yesterday's activities...
To summarize with one of Dad's favorite sayings: "You never know what a day will bring."
MEDICAL STUFF: Dad's in a coma right now, awaiting an angiogram (map of arteries and veins in brain) and then a brain surgery. He had a stroke at work yesterday - apparently due to a cerebral arteriovenous malformation... if you don't want to look that up, it is basically a wacky artery-to-vein connection. The doctor says he has had it all his life and, looking back, some of Dad's migraines, hearing issues, and other assorted physical symptoms are classic signs of a CAM. But, hindsight is 20/20. Anyway, this CAM popped, causing blood to create pressure on his brain, which then put pressure on his spinal cord and caused him to lose consciousness.
YESTERDAY'S ACTIVITY: Dad was in the lunchroom at work, having just finished lunch with everyone. He mentioned that he didn't feel well and went to his office, where he apparently threw up in his trash can. True to form, he came out calmly and told his boss, Bob Baldo, that he really didn't feel well. He asked Bob to call an ambulance and returned to his office to sit at his desk. Bob came in, and Dad was sweating and white and told Bob what to tell the EMTs before he put his head down on his desk and passed out. Bob helped him out of his chair and onto the floor and held his hand and talked to him until the EMTs arrived. When he got to the hospital he had slipped into a coma and he hasn't been "awake" since then. We don't know if Dad can hear us or not; some people can hear and remember things from when they were in a coma, but others can't (like dreams, according to his nurse).
After summoning the EMTs, his work tried calling us (family). Mom was in a movie with Sarah, and their phones were off. Sam and Bethany had sleeping kiddos and silent phones. Anh, one of Dad's wonderful co-workers, was going through all the Sorbellos in Dad's phone and finally contacted Cousin Shanon, who was with Dad's bro, Uncle Chuck. They gave her my cell phone number and I sounded the alarm to the rest of the immediate family. I zoomed off to the hospital after handing off a case that was supposed to be a jury trial today, and met Bethany and Richie there. Another long-time co-worker of Dad's (Eileen) was there to meet us in the ER (thanks!). Mom got out of the movie and arrived at the hospital about an hour later, after Dad had been taken back for the emergency surgery to release the pressure in his brain.
THE LATEST: They plan on "waking him up" in about four days, after they try to stop the flow in the wayward cerebral artery/vein. The angiogram was this morning, and they were able to identify the problematic area of Dad's brain. Another brain surgery is scheduled for 2:00, at which time they will try to embolize the artery and take out the affected portion of brain tissue. It sounds like the affected area is bigger than the doctor had hoped, so please pray that the doctor's act wisely and skillfully.
THE FUTURE: When Dad is "awakened" from his coma in a few days, the neurosurgeon said that in the "best case" scenario, Dad would be able to move his limbs a little. Even then, he would remain in the hospital for a couple weeks relearning some of the things most of us take for granted. Worst case scenario would be that he doesn't make it (Dad would not agree that this is worst case... he's always been ready to meet Jesus). The in-between is a vast unknown (to us). As you may know, there are many different outcomes for stroke patients, most of them not good.
THANKS: It's great to be surrounded and supported by great friends like all of you in this tough time. Thanks so much for all the support via text/cell/e-mail/facebook.
TAKING A STEP BACK: To summarize again with another familiar saying: God is good... ALL the time! Note: this is when that "all the time" part really comes into play and makes you lean heavily on God's sovereignty and the Holy Spirit's peace. If we had no hope after this life, we would be hopeless, indeed.
LEST WE FORGET: Bethany has her C-section appointment on Saturday, so it will be an intense week around here. If you're the praying type, please pray for Mom, Sarah, Bethany and Richie, Grace (who is Antarctica and trying to find a way home without her passport, which was lost on the trip there), and Dad, of course.
FINALLY: Please do not come to the hospital to visit unless you call me first and get the okay. With Dad in the ICU, Mom isn't feeling like seeing lots of people right now, which is totally understandable. That's all for now... we will probably know a little more tonight. Thanks again for your prayers and offers to help!
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