The story of Brett's meningitis, day 1

Though I wrote a post a while back about specific circumstances for which we were thankful in the midst of Brett's illness, I have never told the rest of the story. It has taken me a while to work up the desire to write about something so painful and personal. 

On Friday February 1st we drove up to east TN. Brett had a job up there very close to some good friends of ours, Richie and Suzanne, so the plan was for him to work Friday and then we would all visit with them on Saturday and drive back Sunday. Friday went as planned.

Saturday morning when I woke up Brett said he wasn't feeling well and that he had been unable to sleep for a couple hours, so he was going to stay in bed a little longer. I took the babies downstairs and we all made breakfast. Brett came down around 9:30 and said he still had a headache but was feeling ok. He seemed like his usual self during breakfast and afterwards said he thought the headache was caused by sinus pressure and that he was going to run to the store for some meds. When he came back, a little after 11, he was obviously not feeling well at all and kinda stumbled up into bed. I was concerned because he is very tough and must be in significant pain to go to bed in the middle of the day, especially at a friends house. I followed him upstairs a couple minutes later and he said his head hurt terribly. Then he started shaking and said he felt very chilled. I piled blankets on him, curled up next to him, and applied pressure on his forehead because he said that helped a little. 

I remember saying, "I wish I could take this for you." And he said, "No, the babies need you." 

I was upset he was in pain and I was scared. I remember crying. I had a sense that something was very wrong. Even though I kept telling myself it was probably just a migraine or the flu, meningitis was my fear. I felt almost silly thinking it though, meningitis is so rare and headaches are so common. I know of a young girl who died of bacterial meningitis and as a result was familiar with the symptoms. Periodically I would go downstairs and keep Richie and Suzanne informed. 

After an hour or so of this, he threw up, which did not surprise me, given how horribly his head was hurting. Whenever I have a bad headache I feel nauseous. It was however, the final straw for all of us, and we decided that he needed to go to the hospital. At this point I was still telling myself, "We'd just better be safe than sorry....surely nothing could be seriously wrong??" It took a little while to convince him that he needed to go, but when I said, "They can give you something for the pain." He said, "Ok...please hurry!" Then I really really knew how much pain he was in. 

Richie drove fast to the hospital, as snow was beginning to fall. I held Brett's head as tightly as I could, willing us to be there. We stumbled into the ER, supporting Brett. I was so thankful to see that it was practically empty. I put him in a chair and ran to the desk. "His name is Brett Hawkins and he needs to be seen now. I think he has meningitis and he's in terrible pain" I said frantically. The lady handed me a clipboard and I began to fill it out as quickly as I could with my hands shaking. "Do we really have to do this now? Can't you take him back right away?" I said impatiently.The lady said nicely, "We have to have enough information to generate an armband for him." They put him in a wheelchair and he was next to me now. I couldn't remember more than the last four digits of his social. Usually his wallet is in his car (which was what we came in) but it wasn't and I hadn't brought my wallet either. He was holding his head and moaning and couldn't remember his social, which was very upsetting to him and concerning to me. He did remember his driver's license number and spouted it off, while I told him to just be quiet and not worry about it. He thought they asked him what day it is and he said, "Tuesday". I looked at the nurse and said quietly, "It's not Tuesday." He heard me and began to almost sob, "It's not Tuesday....I don't know what day it is....I'm losing it." Praise God they took us back with essentially just his name and DOB on the file. 

The next couple hours in the ER were the worst hours of my life to date. I try not to remember them. When something triggers my memory and part of that time comes flooding back I physically feel like someone just punched me in the stomach. At one point I thought that he was imminently dying, right there in front of me. Even now the memory has faded a little and I hope that it eventually fades away entirely. Here are a few highlights for which I am thankful. 

-The doctor did a spinal tap very quickly.

-Brett was not in pain during most of this time. When he was...that's what I prefer to forget.

-The culture confirming meningitis came back quickly and within an hour after that they determined that it was not the contagious strain of bacterial meningitis (which I would later learn is also the more deadly). In the moment, I was thankful that the children and I were not also in danger.

-The doctors and nurses were very kind to me. 

-Richie was there. He has managed to be around during most of the difficult times in my life and I was thankful he was there for this one. He brought me food and made me eat. 

-Many people were already praying for Brett. My parents prayed on the phone with me when I called them right after we were taken back into the ER, while Brett was having an MRI. 

-Brett was able to be on antibiotics by about 2 pm, only a few hours after his symptoms became severe. 

Brett was pretty knocked out on pain meds and I needed to go nurse Evelyn so we left the hospital around 5:30. The doctors wanted to intubate Brett and get him into ICU as soon as they had an open room. I prayed that that would be soon. 

We went to Suzanne's parents house, which was literally right down the road from the hospital, where my children had been all day. I had only met the Baileys twice before but they welcomed us into their home and took excellent care of us for the next week. One memory stands out in my mind. While praying over dinner, Dr. Bailey prayed that "we would find our hope in You more than in the doctors or in medicine". That shook me deeply because I realized up until that moment that I had been primarily hoping in the doctors and only in God as an afterthought. 

After attempting to choke down some spaghetti, we rushed back to the hospital to find the doctors just finishing intubating Brett and about to move him to ICU. Part of me was sad that I wasn't with him during that horrible process, but most of me was glad that I missed it because my being there would not have helped him much and I am sure it would have been a very scaring memory for me. 

It was all so strange. "Here's the wife" they said and pulled back the curtain. He lay so still and white and his chest moved exaggeratedly with the machine helping him with each breath. 

The doctor said that there was nothing more to be done. That the antibiotics take about 24-48 hours to start really working and that hopefully his body would hold up that long. "He's young and strong and healthy" was the assurance they offered. 

I watched him be rolled to ICU and stayed there for a while. One of the night nurses was in there for a long time and was trying to be kind but inadvertently troubled me. I asked about the medication Brett was under and he said that no one really knew whether it took away pain, but it definitely took away memory. "Hopefully I put him deep enough under that he isn't conscious of any pain." All night I pushed away the thought that Brett was in the same horrendous pain that he was earlier in the day, just unable to move or scream. Then I asked (don't do this if you're ever in a similar situation) if the nurse had ever seen anyone else with meningitis. He danced around with his answer a bit but it was clear to me that the other guy hadn't made it.

I think I left around 10 pm. I hated leaving him, but knew that I could not help him by staying and that my children, especially Evelyn who still nurses, needed me. I knew that I would need some rest to face tomorrow. So I kissed him goodbye, knowing that it might truly be goodbye and brushed away some hot tears as I walked out. 

When I am still in bed when he leaves in the morning for work, I always hold out a hand and we squeeze and then he pulls away until just our middle fingers are touching and gradually slid off each other. I have always loved saying goodbye that way because it feels like we are holding onto each other for as long as possible. That night, he couldn't hold on, but I held on for him. 

I think that is one of those situations that I would have imagined and said, "How could I ever do that? I could never do that." And in my imagination, I could not have, because there isn't anything to do. In your imagination you just stay stuck in that one awful moment. In reality, even during that awful moment (or many many moments) there is a path in front of you to walk, so you walk it. In your imagination, God is not giving you grace for that moment and dear friends are not lifting you up in prayer for that moment. So while the pain does feel just about exactly as you would imagine it to be, it is possible to keep walking. I suppose that is a very obvious truth but I was never able to truly grasp it until I experienced it. 

That night was another of the most difficult times in my life. I dreaded going to sleep, for fear that my phone would ring. I knew that if it did, the worst would have happened or be imminent. I laid down in bed soon after getting back to the Bailey's house because they encouraged me to try to rest. I googled "mortality rates with bacterial meningitis" on my phone. Bad idea. After about 2 minutes my heart was racing with fear. I read one article that listed 3 indicators of mortality and Brett had all 3. I resolved not to do any more research. It wouldn't change anything and certainly was not helping me.

After about 5 more minutes I could not stay in bed any longer and went down to the kitchen where I was relieved to find Mrs. Bailey. I needed some hot tea and companionship. 

Tea is strangely comforting to me. During the long dreadful night that James died, we drank lots of tea. There was nothing else to do except drink tea and cry. 

I do not remember many details of our conversation. I remember feeling very comforted and hoping that someday I would be wise and kind enough to bless a practical stranger like she did me. I remember crying, "I do want to be sanctified, but can't it happen gently and slowly, please God?"

Not surprisingly, sleep was elusive when I did climb back into the bed where Nate was peacefully sleeping. Mostly I lay there and repeated psalms to myself. I discovered that even Scripture that had nothing particular pertaining to my current situation was still comforting. It still brought God into the room and drowned out my fear. I don't know how many times I said Psalm 23 over. "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, You are with me." And He was. 

I had always been afraid that I idolized Brett, but that night I was enabled, truly, to give him up. Even while I was praying, "please, please please..." I was also able to pray, "Your will be done". I held my hand open, but trembled.  

Most of the time I was amazed at the level of peace that I had while laying there in the dark, listening to Nate breathing beside me. Peace that was clearly coming to me from somewhere outside of myself. I felt lifted up by the many prayers that were ascending. I was so thankful for all the Scripture that I had memorized as a child. 

I was standing in the middle of my one of greatest fears and I was able to face it. Even here, I was not alone. The pain was severe, but it did not destroy me. This realization gave me courage.

Eventually around 4 am, thankful that my phone had thus far sat silently on the bedside table, I drifted off to sleep. 

*the rest of the story coming shortly*