Adventures in Anesthesialand

"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."

So says 2 Corinthians 4:16-18.

Our reality was shaken on Thursday, and we had to cling, once again, to God's promises to us, that "He will never leave us or forsake us" and that "He who promised is faithful."

We had to remember, once again, that Luke, ultimately, is not ours. He is God's.

We were reminded, once again, that so much is out of our control, and worrying achieves nothing good. Martin Luther's advice: "Pray, and let God worry."

We came to realize, once again, that when people pray, things happen, and God hears, and God works, and God really seems to get a kick out of showing us His miracles.

We wrestled, once again, with the true meaning of hope, the true meaning of joy; and these are independent of circumstances. Our Christmas cards this year (wait a few weeks in suspense, please, but here's a sneak peek) feature a photo of the little Armstrong toddler filled with glee, and the simple Christmasey word (also Bethany's middle name), JOY. The picture of happy Luke seems to capture the essence of joy. And yet in the card is written the Bible verse John 3:16, which is to us the real source of joy: knowing that, no matter what may come our way down here, God sent His Son Jesus to redeem humanity, to give hope and eternal life to all who believe in Him.

And this is the unseen reality we had to fix our eyes on on Thursday. That there is more to life than the oxygen machines and a comatose toddler. This can't be all there is. There is a bigger picture, there is greater hope, there is greater joy.

At 6:30 AM on Thursday, Luke woke up, and we quickly packed up "The Very Hungry Caterpillar," "Trucks," "The Little Red Caboose," and other favorite Lukey books; Luke's toy trains; and his favorite sippy cup featuring dump trucks and tractors. In the dark, we headed to Sutter Davis Hospital for our 6:45 appointment. We felt like we were tricking our son into going somewhere fun, "Life is Beautiful" style.

Luke needed dental work done, as the "raisin" on his molar that we kept trying to scrub off really wasn't a raisin at all. Decay! Cavity! On a one-year-old! The dentist's first question to us when he saw the decayed tooth was, "Did anything traumatic happen during the pregnancy or birth?" Yes. And yes. Scary virus. Eternal labor. Fetal distress. Emergency c-section. Yes yes yes. Supposedly such baby-trauma can affect the development of the baby teeth; and the dentist thinks that, consequently, a few of Luke's teeth popped up defected.

So Luke, said the dentist, needed his teeth fixed: four sealants, a root canal, a filling, and a stainless-steel cap. (He wouldn't be a true Armstrong without some sort of metal in his body. Daddy's femur, Mommy's back... Let's hope the newest Armstrong is born with metal already installed somewhere, so we can spare ourselves some action.)

And on tykes Luke's age, it is standard practice to put the poor little critters under general anesthesia. We did some research and followed up with the dentist's recommendations, scared to death of putting our kid under just to fix a tooth, but convinced we were doing the right thing.

So off to Sutter we went this past Thursday morning, and Luke was happy and clueless the whole way until we pulled into the parking lot. The surgery center happens to share a parking lot with Luke's pediatrician, where Luke goes monthly to receive his spread-out immunizations. So Sutter Davis, to Luke, equals shots. The moment he recognized where he was, he looked up at us with a stricken face and said, "Boom!"

Cringe, cringe.

Entering the surgery center, Richie and Luke played trains while Bethany checked in, and we were quickly ushered back to a pre-op room, where Luke got his vitals taken and charmed all the staff. His pre-op nurse called him her best patient ever; although when a few procedures were completed, Luke decided enough was enough, and when she tried to take his blood pressure, he kindly told her, "No da dum." (No, thank you.)

Then it was time for liquid "versed," which was supposed to make Luke sleepy and forgetful. Did he swallow it when Daddy gave it to him? Nope. All over the gown. Did he swallow it when the nurse tried? Nope. Despite his nose being forcefully squeezed and his mouth open with intense crying, most of the drug ended up all over his face.

So an hour after arriving at the surgery center, we had to hand a not-sleepy and not-forgetful Luke over to a nurse as he cried for Mommy and looked at us with confused, betrayed, forsaken little hazel eyes; and we walked back into the waiting room to the sounds of Luke surrounded by strangers calling out "Mama! Mommy! MOMMY!!!!" as he was toted back to the operating room.

It was one of the hardest things we have ever had to do. His cry for Mommy still haunts us and makes Bethany sick to her stomach.

In the waiting room, praying and trying our best to distract ourselves, we were relieved after an hour and a half to see the dentist come out and hear him tell us about the successful procedures on Luke's teeth. He also told us that in a just a minute, when Luke was "coming to," the nurse would come out and get us so we would be there as he woke up. We were excited to go be with the little man.

So we packed up all of our stuff and waited.

And waited.

And kept waiting.

Over forty-five minutes later, we were finally called back and were allowed to hold the little man.

But he was still sleeping. Pale as a ghost, limp as a noodle, he just wasn't "coming to."

Normally kids wake up right away and go home within an hour.

The minutes ticked, the hours went on; and after five hours, we were still in the post-anesthesia recovery room waiting for our little man to wake up.

He would have occasional times of alertness, but he would cough and choke and fall asleep again. He got breathing treatments. An oxygen mask. But his little body was stubborn about things, and we watched the numbers on the machine stay bad. Lack of oxygen. Soaring heart rate. Spiking fever. Too many breaths per minute. And they weren't getting better.

The kind nurses never left our side. Doctors came. The director of the surgery center came. His pediatrician came. The dentist came. The anesthesiologist came. No one knew why little Luke was not waking up.

Seven hours after he was supposed to "come out" of anesthesia, he was indeed awake, but still pale, limp, choking, and with bad, bad numbers on the machines. The ambulance came, and Bethany sassed off at paramedics as they insisted on strapping Luke to their gurney, despite the fact that he was totally traumatized and losing it, and when he cried his numbers plummeted--and really, really, was strapping him down in his best interest right now, people???!!? "Can't a mama just hold her baby?" (Richie quietly whispered to Bethany as she said this, "Honey, just follow the rules.") (Raaar, don't mess with Mama Bear!)

As Richie trailed in the Camry, Bethany read scared little Luke his books on the ambulance ride to Sutter Memorial's Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, reciting the words of "The Little Red Caboose" to him but with her mind totally elsewhere: "...so we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen..."

And then she got to witness a miracle. Suddenly, suddenly, Luke's numbers on the machines in the ambulance jumped up to normal. All of a sudden, a 99 popped up on the screen, and she couldn't believe her eyes. Was that really his new oxygen level? (Were the machines broken?)

Admitted to the pediatric ICU, traumatized Luke had to get his IV port switched and new cords put on, and the machines there confirmed that the ambulance's machines really weren't broken after all:

His breathing was normal. He had oxygen again. His fever was going down. His heart rate was approaching the normal range.

And we knew--just knew--at that moment that God wanted to show off His stuff and prove to us that He was hearing everyone's prayers. "Look what I can do!"

Thank you, God. Thank you.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The intensive-care physician came in and said, "We're seeing a different story than the doctors in Davis did."

(God.)

"At this point, we don't even know why he's here."

(God.)

"So we'll monitor him overnight, and if everything continues to look good, you'll be out of here tomorrow morning."

(God.)

And long story short, we were outta there by 8 AM the next day, home with the traumatized little bean, who by that time had grown proud of his hand IV because we had put a sock over his hand and convinced him that it was a baseball mitt; and had grown to love the hospital because it meant driving cars around the ICU halls and playing trains and tractors with the little two-year-old with whom we shared the room.

Luke is currently very sleep-deprived, emotionally fragile, and extremely clingy to familiar faces (more than he already was); and he does look awfully cute with a shiny tooth.

Bling, bling baby.

We continue to pray for all the little ones in the pediatric ICU. And does prayer do anything? No. But God does. God DOES.

And every time we see Luke's shiny tooth, we are reminded of God, His faithfulness, and the bigger scheme of things:

that though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed...

that our troubles, no matter how hard or long, in the perspective of eternity are light and momentary...

that our hope comes from fixing our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen...

So when you get your Christmas card from the Armstrongs this year, and see grinning Luke, and read of God's love for the world, and how that is what gives us joy, you can remember this story of Luke and the Anesthesia Adventures.

There's got to be something more. This can't be all there is. Our joy can't possibly stop at a picture of a happy toddler.

Joy: that God is, that God sent His Son to redeem us, that eternal life awaits, that when we cash it in there will be no death or sorrow or mourning or pain or pediatric ICUs...

Oh, and more details on God's miracle in the Lukeman: Nobody told us until we reached the pediatric ICU in Sacramento that at the beginning of the procedure on Thursday, Luke's airway completely closed. With meds, it opened again, but then after the procedure, he had several scary periods of not breathing. And that is why we waited so long in the waiting room after the dentist came out to tell us the nurse would be getting us in just a second. The little guy wasn't even breathing!

Thank you, God, for performing a miracle on little Luke. We sure don't want to give him back yet.

Thank you, God, for joy that goes beyond this seen world that is so fraught with trouble and suffering little souls...

And please, please, oh pleeeease can we be spared a little drama next time we have a medical procedure?

When Bethany's parents walked into the ICU to see Luke, Bethany, laughing, greeted her dad with:

"Well, count on us Armstrongs..."

But ah. Count on God to do something pretty darn cool.


6:45 AM, the start of The Adventure! How cute does he look in a hospital gown?!


Reading with Daddy in-between pre-op procedures. The nurses were bewildered as to why he wasn't into TV or movies. We don't know. Booknerd?


Scared of the blood pressure band. "No da dum!"

No pictures of spitting the medicine all over himself or sobbing as he is carried away or our tear-filled eyes as we heard him crying for Mommy...


...but we did get a pathetic little shot of Daddy, Luke, and Mr. Oxygen. One of the rare eyes-open photos we got. :(


This was the typical scene, for over five hours. At least he was cute about it.


We kept trying to wake him up and thought that the penguin that Shealyn brought him might arouse him. Nope.

Then came the ambulance ride, when God decided to work His wonders. Unfortunately, Mom was being too sassy to the ambulance personnel to remember to snap a photo. And even more unfortunately, we have no video recording of the paramedic men commenting about Luke's muscly build and how he has "pipes"! :) (Must have gotten them from his mother?)


Still pale, but numbers looking good! First came Miss Kelly, and then Uncle Lilo came to see the little man after work. With food. Yessssss. (Stealing Luke's hospital chicken nuggets and carrot cubes only went so far.) As Shiloh was leaving, Poppy and Grammy arrived. Here's Luke giving a farewell high-five to one of his biggest heroes.


Luke was so happy to see his visitors that he told Mommy and Daddy in a sweet little voice, "Bye!" (Much more pleasant than his previous point with a commanding, "DONE!" when he wanted us to leave the room for some one-on-one time with a preferred companion.) So we gladly left Luke for his alone time with Grammy and took a peaceful stroll down to the cafeteria. Then we came back to hear that Grammy had to be the Bad Guy while we were gone and give Luke Tylenol! Previously, at Sutter Davis, his Tylenol, which he usually loves, made him vomit, and vomit, and keep vomiting; so he had to had it squirted up his behind during a diaper change (!); and Richie went around with chunks of Lukeyvomit all over his dress pants. Ah, parenthood.


Sleeeping in luxury. We actually shared this "bed" for a couple of hours before another cot arrived. Good thing we like each other...


Pulling a Rudolph trick in the ICU.


The fun of sharing a room in a hospital is that when the other patient wakes up, everyone else does too! So Luke's deep slumber ceased when his little roommate woke up and started to cry, and from 2-4 AM we had a some fun zooming through the halls of the pediatric ICU. Nowhere else will you find a race car with an IV pole attached!


IV tricks. We took off Luke's "baseball mitt," and he had fun whipping his tube around and around. Whee!


And the Friday-morning discharge. Do we look relieved?


And now for pictures from a long, long time ago, before the Great Anesthesia Adventure...


What is October without a visit to the pumpkin patch? Sarah snapped this photo of the two mommmyfriends with their little bugs.


Similar pose, when Luke was 7 days old, and Shealyn was only 6 months! Time flies...


The pumpkin patch was extra fun because it involved a petting zoo full of baby animals. Sarah and Shealyn were in heaven. Pregnant Kelly and Bethany were afraid of animal germs. And Luke was more into...


...the tractor.


A hay maze!


Kelly and Sarah were great sports and followed the little buddies around the maze. Seven-months-pregnant Bethany preferred not to climb through small crevices in the hay, lest she get stuck and force God to perform more miracles.


"BALL!"


Pumpkin-patch buddies.


Then we got our first big rain! Luke loooooved it, and now begs daily to wear his boots. Waiting eagerly for the next downpour...


Post-bath hippo lounging in a cardboard box.


The Grammy and The Auntie with their favorite baby girl!


And The Cousin with HIS favorite baby girl. (Oh, to be so popular.)


Luke and Siena make the absolute sweetest pair. Watching him hold her is probably one of the cutest things we have ever, ever seen. He is so tender! (And she is so cooperative!)


Several times a day, Luke asks to see Tam (Sam) and Ta Ta Ta (Siena); and when Baby is around, he comes to Mommy and asks to hold Siena by begging, "Up up up!"


As sweet as he is with his little cousin, Luke inevitably goes in for the kill and (gently) pokes her lips, nose, or eyeballs.


Quickly fleeting are the days of pushing around his mower everywhere and chanting "MAMOW!" wherever we go. Now it's all about bikes. Luke is able to pedal, but refuses to, and has mastered the art of speeding around while being propelled by his feet. He particularly enjoys careening down ramps and gallomping over speed bumps.


Bliss.


We housesat for Bethany's parents last weekend, and Bethany decided to make cranberry bread. You wouldn't think that was too big a deal. She didn't either. But when there was an eerie, extended period of silence in the kitchen, she whipped around to find Luke being naughty as quietly as he could. He had silently opened the lid to Grammy's wheat container and, without a sound, had placed neat little piles of wheat kernels in different spots around the kitchen. So Bethany let him do it one more time, for the sake of a photo.


What's done is done; no use crying over spilled wheat. So she let him play with the wheat while she finished up the bread, and he was in high heaven.


Putting the cart before the horse took on a whole new meaning last week. We often visit the horses near Richie's work, but on this particular day, Luke insisted on bringing along his shopping cart.


A magnificent discovery: horse manure! (Why are little boys so fascinated and delighted by poop?)


Lounging in the swing during a morning at the park with Shealyn and Alexander. Alexander is one of Luke's favorite people these days, and not an hour goes by without Luke talking in a gutteral Germanish sound about "AL." This peaceful swing picture was taken before the asphalt splat that gushed blood all throughout Luke's mouth and all over his lips. He looked like he was painted red. This injury came the day after smashing his finger in the door. He is currently losing that fingernail; it is completely lifted up all the way down to the base and oozed puss for two days. Monday: finger in door; Tuesday: asphalt splat at the park while showing Mommy how he knows how to run and hop; Wednesday: ran down the hallway at Bethany's parents' house in gleeful pursuit of Poppy, only to trip and dive full-force into the corner of the door frame; Thursday: the Great Anesthesia Adventure. Needless to say, it was quite a week.


Friday, after we came back from the hospital, we savored the normalcy of life. Just sitting down to draw with Luke was such a treat.


For all of us.


Luke sports the shoes SHILOH wore as a little guy! Juxtaposed, of course, with Shiloh's feet now...


The Uncle with his little guy; the little guy with The Uncle's shoes.


Saturday, after our rough few days, we left early for the ocean. We were all soooo happy about it. Luke decided to pull his own beach toys.


Bethany forgot her sunglasses, so had to wear Richie's hat (or squint for three hours). Luke got a kick out of Mommy wearing a hat.


Richie got to surf, Luke and Bethany got to enjoy the sand and sun (it was over seventy degrees!!!), and then it was time to pack up for naptime in the car. First, Luke needed to help Daddy and offered up an important tool.


Continuing to "help" Daddy, Luke donned Richie's surf helmet and insisted on wearing Daddy's wet, sandy booties. A bit too big?


And a photo the hygienist took at Luke's first dentist visit, when Luke's "raisin" was diagnosed as decay...

Considering all it led to, we think "Great job" is an understatement. Luke was a total champ. He won over the hearts of all the nurses, and we have gotten so many calls and personal notes wondering how he is. We plan a visit back this week to the Sutter Davis post-anesthesia nurses who sat with us those long, long hours, to let them meet the real Luke and to tell them all about God's miracle in the ambulance...

Perhaps "Great job" should go to more than just Luke?

(Thanks again, God.)