It's New Years Eve; the last day of 2004; the day it all went south. Adam is still alive. We spent the night at the hospital because he was so unstable yesterday. His blood pressure kept dropping dangerously low. His brain pressure continued to climb. It was 7:00am. The waiting room was empty except for me, Jim and Crystal. The hospital is quiet. Suddenly the doors that lead to the neuro ICU burst open with a bang. I watch a nurse at a full run headed straight for the waiting room. She has papers in her hand. They are taking Adam down for surgery. His brain pressure is now 36. If they don't relieve the pressure, the brain will herniate into the brain stem and it will be instant death. There is no choice. This is his only chance to survive. He is so unstable he might not survive the surgery, but they have to try. Crystal signs the papers. We have only a moment to say goodbye because they are almost ready to leave with him. We rush back to his room. It is filled with doctors. The entire trauma team is with him for transport, which in and of itself is dangerous. The portable ventilator is not as powerful as the one in ICU. I find the surgeon. I give him a picture of Adam. I ask him to keep it with him. This is the young man he is saving. Please don't let him die. He assures me he will do everything he can. This is the surgery we were dreading. We hoped and prayed it would never come to this. They had to remove the top section of Adam's skull on both the left and right side to relieve the pressure. They would save the bone and when he had recovered he would need a 2nd surgery to put it back in place. I prayed he would live to see that 2nd surgery. It's odd - I cannot tell you if the surgery lasted 1 hour or 10 hours. I don't remember. His head is completely shaved now. He has an incision that starts at the top of one ear, goes across the top of his head and ends at the top of his other ear. I lay my hand on his head and pray. Pray for God to heal his brain; to restore him. God is silent. For the first time I look at Jim and tell him I think we're going to lose our son. He said he thinks so too. This is what despair feels like. But the worse is yet to come. The nurses have become a little more flexible in the time they will allow us to spend with Adam. I know what that means. I pray for strength to endure God's will. I feel a peace in Adam's room. It's as though God has finally wrapped His arms around me. Time is standing still. Time is flying by. Another day passes and I still have my son.