Based on his Blood Gas numbers, the RT wanted to decrease his PEEP setting on his vent from 20 to 18, but he didn’t love that. His O2 started dropping a bit, so they increased his pressure support, and he’s satting in the 90s now, and we rejoice!
There has been so much beauty in this desert season. Even on the very darkest days, God has revealed Himself to us time and time again in many different ways, mostly through songs, texts, calls, and hugs. But also in how beautiful the sunset is from Chris’s room, his nurse Ashley hanging Christmas lights because she remembered our tradition of going to look at them every Wednesday night, friends cleaning our house for us and supplying me with daily green juice, his doctor pulling up the hamper and sitting down to talk to us + the fact that he calls Chris “buddy” and pats him when he talks to me, nurses who run and get doughnuts and dinner at the end of their shifts and bring them back to the hospital because they’re afraid I’m not eating, friends who write his initials on their hands to let me know they’re thinking of him and sending love, and 3 complete strangers at different times over the past 25 days seeing me and asking Chris’s name and asking if they could pray with me.
On Monday, I received a sweet note and gift from one of my mini bffs: a necklace with Isaiah 41:10 on it. Yesterday a friend brought me a beautiful sign to the hospital where many of our friends were gathered to pray. On the sign: Isaiah 41:10. Last night I was going through the mail, and a friend from New Jersey sent a beautiful gift with a card. On the card is Isaiah 41:10
I hear you, Lord
I sent this to my precious team earlier this week, but I wanted to share it here, too:
I have this tendency to live in the future, live for the next moment. I get so much joy from anticipating what’s to come that I often struggle to be present. This season has given me the opportunity to realize that we really only have this one moment, and there is always something to be grateful for in this moment. Now, I wish I was learning this in a very different way, but here we are. And Chris and I are still here. Every breath. Every hour. Every day. Day 25…we’re still here. It’s Christmas Eve, and while I fully expected him to be awake and home by now, the fact that we are spending Christmas in the hospital means he’s still here. He’s still with me. And I’m thankful Also, Chris knows how much I love shaking things up and spontaneous plans, so there that
I love each of you dearly, and I appreciate every text, every call, every scripture, and especially every prayer. I truly wish there was a better way to convey that, but please know these acts of love and kindness are no small thing to me and that my heart bursts with love and gratitude for each of you
And as my friend Rachelle reminded me, the desert blooms, too…
, his doctor pulling up the hamper and sitting down to talk to us + the fact that he calls Chris “buddy” and pats him when he talks to me, nurses who run and get doughnuts and dinner at the end of their shifts and bring them back to the hospital because they’re afraid I’m not eating, friends who write his initials on their hands to let me know they’re thinking of him and sending love, and 3 complete strangers at different times over the past 25 days seeing me and asking Chris’s name and asking if they could pray with me.
On Monday, I received a sweet note and gift from one of my mini bffs: a necklace with Isaiah 41:10 on it. Yesterday a friend brought me a beautiful sign to the hospital where many of our friends were gathered to pray. On the sign: Isaiah 41:10. Last night I was going through the mail, and a friend from New Jersey sent a beautiful gift with a card. On the card is Isaiah 41:10I hear you, LordI sent this to my precious team earlier this week, but I wanted to share it here, too:I have this tendency to live in the future, live for the next moment. I get so much joy from anticipating what’s to come that I often struggle to be present. This season has given me the opportunity to realize that we really only have this one moment, and there is always something to be grateful for in this moment. Now, I wish I was learning this in a very different way, but here we are. And Chris and I are still here. Every breath. Every hour. Every day. Day 25…we’re still here. It’s Christmas Eve, and while I fully expected him to be awake and home by now, the fact that we are spending Christmas in the hospital means he’s still here. He’s still with me. And I’m thankful
, his doctor pulling up the hamper and sitting down to talk to us + the fact that he calls Chris “buddy” and pats him when he talks to me, nurses who run and get doughnuts and dinner at the end of their shifts and bring them back to the hospital because they’re afraid I’m not eating, friends who write his initials on their hands to let me know they’re thinking of him and sending love, and 3 complete strangers at different times over the past 25 days seeing me and asking Chris’s name and asking if they could pray with me. 
