Home. Isn't that a comforting word? We've all been hoping for the day that I could go home with my parents and meet all my friends. Home and Love. In my world those two words are inseparably connected! Hopefully it's the same for you. I made it home. Just not the one we were originally hoping for. This Home is even better! There is no pain, no sorrow and I am looking forward to my parents, family and friends joining me here soon.
Well, last I wrote, we were all celebrating that I had peed and my settings were going down! It was exciting. I was trying so hard to get better, I guess I just wore myself out. When mom and dad came back after the nurses shift change, I was struggling more and more to breathe. They kept changing my settings and giving me medicine, and my skin kept feeling tighter and tighter. But I kept peeing, because that had made everyone so happy before. I guess, this time they were too worried about everything else to notice as much. The doc had to come back in around 11 to get me back into a good breathing range. He said he wanted to talk to my parents about "options". Then he told them about different medicines or things that they could do to help me. They decided to paralyze a lot of my muscles and give me some Fentanyl for the time being. After my oxygen came back up, the doc left to get some rest. Around 3 I was still doing good, although it was a little scary not being able to move, I could still look around at my sweet parents' faces and that gave me comfort. Soon I heard the nurses saying they had found a place for my parents to get a little rest.
About an hour later, everything went fuzzy . . . things started beeping, nurses surrounded me, giving me what they called "an epi" over and over, pushing on my chest and saying things like, "come on buddy, you can do it!" I was trying so hard! I heard them talking to my parents and all the sudden, a couple nurses left my bedside quickly and I heard my mother saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just take care of Marshall." I heard them telling her to sit down, she must have been struggling. We all were! Soon, instead of feeling the pain and pushing, I was looking around at a bunch of stressed people, and a tiny little baby in a bed. They couldn't hear a heart beat. They tried with a stethoscope and couldn't hear a thing, then they tried with a doppler (how'd I know that word? Somehow I knew all the words they were using!), they thought they heard something, and kept pushing on the tiny little baby's chest. Things became a little strange, but comforting. One second I was looking around at everyone, the next looking up at them. Soon, the doctor came. They tried more medicine and more pushing, xrays, and lots of prayers. The weird thing is that I could hear a lot of the prayers. I could hear some of their worried thoughts! The face on the little body grimaced a couple times. I was looking around at everyone again. As I turned and noticed my parents staring intently at the bed, I realized that the little guy was me, my body at least. I heard the doc telling my parents that we had an asystolic baby. They were keeping the tiny baby, me, oxygenated but my heartbeat wasn't functioning. He suggested having my mother hold me. I heard her frantic thought, "no, not yet. What if he can still make it?!", and I felt a tremendous amount of love.
I felt the burning of hope surrounding my parents. Hope can be a hard thing to understand. As I sat watching them, I thought back to the day they found out the news that I was going to come early. They had hope that I would live, but it was guarded. I did live, and as I continued to grow stronger and stronger, so did their hope. They began to hope that I would be able to come home and be with them, and that I would have no negative effects from all this trauma. It grew and grew. Other people were also praying and fasting for me and hoping that I would live. As I sat watching my parents and thinking of all the family and friends hoping for this same thing, I realized what the hard part of hope is. Hope, TRUE hope can't simply be the hope for good things to come - that type of hope is too easily crushed when the good things we want don't happen, like what my parents are going through now. True hope is always hoping FOR the best, while hoping THROUGH the worst. For example, my parents were still hoping that I would live (what they saw as the best thing), but I also know that they have hope that no matter what happens we'll be together forever. Their ultimate hope is a knowledge and belief that because of Christ's Atonement, all will be well in the end. If we can just rise every time we fall, and trust every time we despair, and love every time we are able during our short journey on earth, having our lives filled with the light of Christ - the Atonement makes it possible to live together forever with our loved ones when there is no end to time. And all our hurts will be made right, all our scars will be mended and we will be WHOLE.
They unhooked me from the machine, and placed my fragile body in my mother's arms. My parents looked stricken. My nurses and my doctor looked stricken. I did my best to comfort them. I hope they felt me there! I heard my sweet mother's thoughts and prayers. . . "Please no. Please bring him back. He's shown us miracles, please can't we see one more! Did I feel him move? Wasn't I good enough to keep him? I can't do this!" My father sat holding my mother close, pleading and begging Heavenly Father. I heard words like spare, deliver, protect, preserve, and sustain, repeated a lot. "You promised..., you promised...", he demanded inwardly, unable to finish the sentence. I heard a reply to him and understood: "When you placed Marshall in My hands on the day he was born, My promise was peace for your soul."
They moved my heart-struck parents, my Grandpa and Grandma Thornton, and my middle name namesake - uncle Jonathan - to another room. My Grandma and Grandpa Stout arrived. They each took turns holding my frail body. My aunt Bekah and my uncle Nathanael came. Other family members and friends were able to make it. Eventually they brought in pictures of me, and things from my bedside to give to my parents. My pal Woody, and the leads to my monitors. . . and still my sweet mother prayed for a miracle. My heart ached for her!
Some of my dear nurses came in to see my body and my parents. One of my nurses mentioned that I just completed my mission on earth faster than the rest of us. And my other nurse said, "overachiever!" It made my mom smile. I was thankful. I want to be near my parents often during this hard time! All the nurses were crying and consoling my parents, wishing they could have done more. Expressing the desire to turn back time. They said sometimes they think they can decide what's going to happen. That they can save everyone, but then God reminds them Who is in control. One nurse talked about how excited she had left the previous night. Going home to tell all her family how the little baby had peed (still embarrassing). She said, "That's so Marshall - wanting us to go home with lifted hearts by showing us that he could still pee." I sure tried to lift the hearts of all those around me! I just feel this gigantic amount of love for everyone, and I hate seeing them sad. So, even if I was struggling, I sure tried to lift their spirits! I think I learned that from my parents. They sure love everyone a lot, and try not to let it show when they are struggling. Please friends, help me watch over them! I know they are strong, but they sure took a blow today!
Time is a strange thing. Earth-life is but the blink of an eye. Trust me, I know. But when you're there . . . when things seem their bleakest time seems to slow down, but the good times just fly by and sometimes you sure wish you could change the speed, and all your loved ones could be back together again. Please believe me when I say, it will happen. You can be together forever. And when time is trudging on at the pace of a crippled snail, remember I believe in you. I love you. More importantly, Christ loves you. You can do hard things! I will sure miss you all! I'll be watching over you, but I'll be pretty busy too! Please treasure each other and the time you have together. I know I sure treasured mine! Although it was hard, it was definitely worth it!
Well, last I wrote, we were all celebrating that I had peed and my settings were going down! It was exciting. I was trying so hard to get better, I guess I just wore myself out. When mom and dad came back after the nurses shift change, I was struggling more and more to breathe. They kept changing my settings and giving me medicine, and my skin kept feeling tighter and tighter. But I kept peeing, because that had made everyone so happy before. I guess, this time they were too worried about everything else to notice as much. The doc had to come back in around 11 to get me back into a good breathing range. He said he wanted to talk to my parents about "options". Then he told them about different medicines or things that they could do to help me. They decided to paralyze a lot of my muscles and give me some Fentanyl for the time being. After my oxygen came back up, the doc left to get some rest. Around 3 I was still doing good, although it was a little scary not being able to move, I could still look around at my sweet parents' faces and that gave me comfort. Soon I heard the nurses saying they had found a place for my parents to get a little rest.
About an hour later, everything went fuzzy . . . things started beeping, nurses surrounded me, giving me what they called "an epi" over and over, pushing on my chest and saying things like, "come on buddy, you can do it!" I was trying so hard! I heard them talking to my parents and all the sudden, a couple nurses left my bedside quickly and I heard my mother saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just take care of Marshall." I heard them telling her to sit down, she must have been struggling. We all were! Soon, instead of feeling the pain and pushing, I was looking around at a bunch of stressed people, and a tiny little baby in a bed. They couldn't hear a heart beat. They tried with a stethoscope and couldn't hear a thing, then they tried with a doppler (how'd I know that word? Somehow I knew all the words they were using!), they thought they heard something, and kept pushing on the tiny little baby's chest. Things became a little strange, but comforting. One second I was looking around at everyone, the next looking up at them. Soon, the doctor came. They tried more medicine and more pushing, xrays, and lots of prayers. The weird thing is that I could hear a lot of the prayers. I could hear some of their worried thoughts! The face on the little body grimaced a couple times. I was looking around at everyone again. As I turned and noticed my parents staring intently at the bed, I realized that the little guy was me, my body at least. I heard the doc telling my parents that we had an asystolic baby. They were keeping the tiny baby, me, oxygenated but my heartbeat wasn't functioning. He suggested having my mother hold me. I heard her frantic thought, "no, not yet. What if he can still make it?!", and I felt a tremendous amount of love.
I felt the burning of hope surrounding my parents. Hope can be a hard thing to understand. As I sat watching them, I thought back to the day they found out the news that I was going to come early. They had hope that I would live, but it was guarded. I did live, and as I continued to grow stronger and stronger, so did their hope. They began to hope that I would be able to come home and be with them, and that I would have no negative effects from all this trauma. It grew and grew. Other people were also praying and fasting for me and hoping that I would live. As I sat watching my parents and thinking of all the family and friends hoping for this same thing, I realized what the hard part of hope is. Hope, TRUE hope can't simply be the hope for good things to come - that type of hope is too easily crushed when the good things we want don't happen, like what my parents are going through now. True hope is always hoping FOR the best, while hoping THROUGH the worst. For example, my parents were still hoping that I would live (what they saw as the best thing), but I also know that they have hope that no matter what happens we'll be together forever. Their ultimate hope is a knowledge and belief that because of Christ's Atonement, all will be well in the end. If we can just rise every time we fall, and trust every time we despair, and love every time we are able during our short journey on earth, having our lives filled with the light of Christ - the Atonement makes it possible to live together forever with our loved ones when there is no end to time. And all our hurts will be made right, all our scars will be mended and we will be WHOLE.
They unhooked me from the machine, and placed my fragile body in my mother's arms. My parents looked stricken. My nurses and my doctor looked stricken. I did my best to comfort them. I hope they felt me there! I heard my sweet mother's thoughts and prayers. . . "Please no. Please bring him back. He's shown us miracles, please can't we see one more! Did I feel him move? Wasn't I good enough to keep him? I can't do this!" My father sat holding my mother close, pleading and begging Heavenly Father. I heard words like spare, deliver, protect, preserve, and sustain, repeated a lot. "You promised..., you promised...", he demanded inwardly, unable to finish the sentence. I heard a reply to him and understood: "When you placed Marshall in My hands on the day he was born, My promise was peace for your soul."
They moved my heart-struck parents, my Grandpa and Grandma Thornton, and my middle name namesake - uncle Jonathan - to another room. My Grandma and Grandpa Stout arrived. They each took turns holding my frail body. My aunt Bekah and my uncle Nathanael came. Other family members and friends were able to make it. Eventually they brought in pictures of me, and things from my bedside to give to my parents. My pal Woody, and the leads to my monitors. . . and still my sweet mother prayed for a miracle. My heart ached for her!
Some of my dear nurses came in to see my body and my parents. One of my nurses mentioned that I just completed my mission on earth faster than the rest of us. And my other nurse said, "overachiever!" It made my mom smile. I was thankful. I want to be near my parents often during this hard time! All the nurses were crying and consoling my parents, wishing they could have done more. Expressing the desire to turn back time. They said sometimes they think they can decide what's going to happen. That they can save everyone, but then God reminds them Who is in control. One nurse talked about how excited she had left the previous night. Going home to tell all her family how the little baby had peed (still embarrassing). She said, "That's so Marshall - wanting us to go home with lifted hearts by showing us that he could still pee." I sure tried to lift the hearts of all those around me! I just feel this gigantic amount of love for everyone, and I hate seeing them sad. So, even if I was struggling, I sure tried to lift their spirits! I think I learned that from my parents. They sure love everyone a lot, and try not to let it show when they are struggling. Please friends, help me watch over them! I know they are strong, but they sure took a blow today!
Time is a strange thing. Earth-life is but the blink of an eye. Trust me, I know. But when you're there . . . when things seem their bleakest time seems to slow down, but the good times just fly by and sometimes you sure wish you could change the speed, and all your loved ones could be back together again. Please believe me when I say, it will happen. You can be together forever. And when time is trudging on at the pace of a crippled snail, remember I believe in you. I love you. More importantly, Christ loves you. You can do hard things! I will sure miss you all! I'll be watching over you, but I'll be pretty busy too! Please treasure each other and the time you have together. I know I sure treasured mine! Although it was hard, it was definitely worth it!