"I can’t take any more scares!"
Micah has been very awake and noticeably oriented yesterday and today. He’s responding to most questions with a nod, a grimace, or one of those “I hear you but this is ridiculous” looks that confirm his personality survived the medical apocalypse. His humor is coming through in tiny facial expressions, which is one of the best signs we could ask for.
A few friends came by yesterday and today, and Micah reacted really well. He even got a little emotional when one of his closest friends shared a story or two with him. He’s also been able to give small hand squeezes; not full-strength squeezes yet, but enough that we know his body is slowly catching up to his willpower. The swelling in his arms and legs has gone down a lot, and he no longer looks like Popeye.
His medical team is all encouraged by how alert and interactive he is. His ventilator numbers keep improving. His BUN and creatinine are now within normal limits, something we’ve been monitoring. His blood pressure is holding steady, and his oxygen saturation has been consistently solid.
They ran a small spontaneous breathing test today with the Resident hovering over the monitors. Micah did great. Because of that, the plan for tomorrow is a big one: they’ll switch him into CPAP mode for an hour, then begin the full spontaneous breathing trial. If he handles that well, the tube comes out tomorrow!!
"I’m not shouting! All right, I am shouting! I’m shouting, I’m shouting, I’m shouting!" - Clue
But seriously, it's hard not to shout for excitement here! Getting him off the vent has been one of the biggest milestones we’ve been pushing toward. Micah has been off sedation for days, and he’s more than ready to stop breathing through a glorified snorkel. He's aware of what he needs to do to 'pass the test,' and he's prepared to do everything he needs to do to get the dang tube out of his throat. Once he’s extubated, we’re hoping the rest of his progress picks up speed.
It’s wild to think that exactly a week ago, last Sunday, we were preparing to say goodbye. Now he’s awake, interacting, and proving medical predictions wrong like it’s his new hobby.
He stayed awake pretty much all day, probably out of sheer stubbornness and a desire not to miss anything. He’s finally settling this evening while Oceans Eleven plays on the tiny ICU TV. It’s raining outside. With any luck, he’ll sleep, reset, and be ready for what could be a huge day tomorrow.
I shared with him today how much support he’s getting from people across the world. I could see it land. As his sister, it’s surreal and incredibly meaningful to witness. I don’t really have the right words for what it feels like to watch the world rally around him like this. I’ve always known Micah was easy to love; he’s weird, he’s brilliant, he’s stubborn in a way that makes you want to shake him and hug him at the same time. But seeing hundreds of people show up for him, from every corner of his life (and even strangers), has hit me harder than I expected. Every message, every donation, every story someone sends about how he’s impacted them… it’s overwhelming in the best way. Sitting at his bedside and getting to tell him that people he’s never even met are fighting for him has been one of the few bright spots in this whole nightmare. I’m proud of him for hanging on, and I’m proud of all of you for helping hold him up. It means more to me than I can ever properly put into words. One day, I'll be able to personally thank each of you for helping hold Micah up.
Here’s hoping tomorrow brings the next breakthrough, preferably one that doesn’t require any more wires, tubes, or dramatic plot twists.
-Hannah
