Day #11

It was another difficult day for Ron and family. But let me first share the good news. My dad is still alive, and he is still fighting to stay here. It is the fight of his life though, even taking into account his time in Vietnam. He has never worked harder in his life either, and everyone who knows him well knows that he can be a workaholic. I can say without a doubt that, without the prayers, faith, and love of so many wonderful people, he would not be with us right now.

I arrived this morning before the doctors did their rounds of the I.C.U. When I walked into the room, my dad looked like a mess. He had blood in his mouth, on his pillow, and around every hole that they had poked in him since he'd entered the hospital. He was also breathing so hard, he was almost hyperventilating, and he had worked up a great sweat through this effort of breathing. Most of his responsiveness from the previous day was gone. He would still look at people, but he seemed to be so absorbed in this effort to breathe that he didn't respond to anything that we said.

When we went out of the room for the doctors' rounds, the I.C.U. staff explained to us that my dad had not responded well to the Heparin. This blood thinner had caused all of the bleeding in his mouth, nasal passages, and wounds. So even though he still had blood clots in his right arm, the doctor had been forced to discontinue the Heparin treatments. He went on to explain that while a blood clot in the leg will inevitably find its way to the lungs causing a pulmonary embolism, blood clots in the arm are rarely so malignant. So while his clot is probably causing him a lot of discomfort, it is most likely not life-threatening. The doctor also explained that this type of clot often cleared itself up once the needles were removed.

The doctor went on to explain once again that my dad's feet would have to come off as soon as possible. He thought it would probably have to happen this afternoon. He said that my dad's feet were essentially putting him back in to a septic state. That, in conjunction with the bleeding, were what were causing him to work so hard. The doctor told us that as weak and as sick as my dad was, he had a risk of not making it through this surgery, but that if he did not have the surgery, the resulting sepsis would assuredly kill my dad.

My dad had made it clear to us the night before that he wanted to do what was necessary to live (at least as far as amputation was concerned). We passed this along to the doctor. Then my mom, Autumn and I went back into my dad's room. I gave him another priesthood blessing, and we spent some time talking to and attempting to comfort him.

A nurse came in shortly thereafter and started him on dialysis for the second day in a row. Then the respiratory specialist came in. Shortly thereafter, my dad's blood pressure dropped dangerously low. The doctor and nurses worked with him and gave him some medication to raise his blood pressure.

Ultimately, after discussing the situation with the surgeon, he and the doctor decided to schedule the surgery for tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.

Diann and I went in to see him again tonight. His breathing was much less labored, and he appeared to be in a much more restful state than he had been in earlier in the day. When I told him I loved him and would see him tomorrow, he looked right into my eyes. When Diann told him she would see him later, he actually nodded his head. She said that he very much appeared to be affirming that he would, indeed, see her later. This bolstered my hope. As long as he is fighting to stay here and the Lord has work for him here, he will make it.

I apologize if this has too much (or too little) detail for some of you. I just wanted all of you to know that as hard as this has been, my dad is still fighting. And many of us still have faith and hope for a recovery. Thank you all once again for your prayers and faith, which have made all the difference in the world.