Monday

We had a moment of normalcy yesterday. Eric and I headed in to Swedish to be with Chris..."Smells Like Teen Spirit" came on the radio. Radio instantly got flipped to full blast, Nirvana was good medicine. For just a couple of minutes, we weren't dealing with sepsis, we didn't feel like a family going through the scariest depths of critical illness and we were just a mom and a son, blasting Nirvana. And it was a retreat. I wonder how Kurt Cobain would feel to know that I listed him in my journal last night as part of my daily bread.

It's been two weeks as of last night that Chris has been on the ventilator. In those two weeks, my kids have seen their dad be poked, prodded, tested, turned over, and lifeless. They lovingly thread their fingers through his, they lay their heads on his leg and put his hand on their heads so he can feel his babies underneath his touch and they talk. They talk about everything and anything and they do the very best they know how to remind him they need him to come home because they love their dad.

I'm sitting at Chris' bedside now making a Walmart list. We're out of hair conditioner and airsoft bb's and both have equal importance to the people in our house. I need to get the brakes checked, I need to stop by Safeway, I need to talk to a liver surgeon, I need to vacuum. Life is surreal on the one hand and normal on the other. Normal invades the surreal space we occupy and adds both comfort and annoyance...and that, in itself, is a new normal.

I wish I could give this nice neat and predictable update to the people who ask. The simple fact is that we don't know. Sepsis heals when sepsis heals. Fever comes, fever goes. And getting off a ventilator is a process that we both know about and yet do not understand. Teenagers now know what "peep" is on a ventilator, that they saturate normal air at about 99% and Chris saturates on a vent at about 97%. The O2 clip has gone on everyone's finger at some point here. "Can I have the debit card and what's his creatine level?" "We're out of orange juice and did his fever come back?"

And so begins our third week in the wilderness...that outstretched hand of Jesus pulling us through this Lent. Easter can't come soon enough.

Grace for your journey,
Leigh