Yea, Boo

Today is a Yea, Boo Story like the ones Bunky has told kids over the years. I’ll start with the Boo just because I need to end this episode of our now month long saga with the YEA. I need it for me. Since none of us have had a chance to chat with one of the doctors for almost a week, I was especially eager to do that today. Because you have seemed a bit more active each time your kids or I have visited with you over the past few days, I was hoping to hear that you were ready for the next step toward less and less ventilator help. I must admit that my hearing on Sunday that they had begun a new antibiotic with a lack of explanation or X-ray report gave me the desire for a Q & A with a doctor. After my visit this morning, Dr. Esteroff and two other doctors stopped by the waiting room on their way to check on you. He told me that you have a second strain of pneumonia. This time it is a drug resistant kind but today they started you on a new anti-biotic specific to those bacteria. When I sagged, he quickly said, “We are trying to get on top of this quickly so he doesn’t develop an even worse one.” He also explained that you had pulled out your “food toob” (aka feeding tube-nixed by GerRee) and they were on their way to check on the new one. They wanted to be sure it was going where it needs to be; an assessment they can make from the X-ray taken during my visit. Also, he reassured me that not only is it not uncommon for patients at this stage of recovery to pull out various tubes and IVs, it is almost the norm.
Earlier, your nurse, Robbie, had talked with me about the new toob being smaller, and he was hoping it wouldn’t irritate the back of your throat as the larger one seemed to be doing.
Robbie, what a sweetheart! He was a wealth of compassionate information. When I mentioned the IVs you had pulled out this morning, he explained that you had done fine without the wrist retrains this morning until about 10 o’clock. Then he laughed and said, “I’ve been here a number of years and this is one I haven’t seen before. It is not unusual at all for patients at the stage to pull out IVs, but he pulled this tube apart in a place I’ve never seen before.” Well, I had to laugh; surprise, surprise. He went on to say that patients who have been in ICU for more than a week have their entire bio-rhythms askew. He said they can look out the window at the noon day sunshine and think it is midnight. Every hour someone is in to suction lungs, change bags, check temperature, push buttons on machines, check tubing, turn the patient and taking all the other myriad actions to help someone heal all day and all night. It is totally disorienting.
“So you’re saying that it’s worse than jet lag?”
“Absolutely. He works with us; we’ll take care of him.”
I repeat, what a sweetheart.

Now for the YEA. I could see two ladies through the glass as I approached your room. I slipped in and eased over to the boxes of gloves.
They looked up and greeted me. We introduced ourselves. They were physical therapists. One continued working with your leg. Then Jessie said that they would come back later to help you sit up for the first time so that you could visit with your sister. “Oh, no. If that’s what you were planning to do now, please continue. How exciting! I’m so happy I’m here for this!”
So they did.
I watched with appreciation of your brave efforts and their expertise. When I told you I would be your cheerleader you grinned at me. They directed you to use your stomach muscles to help you sit up, then move first your left leg, then your hips, then your right leg. Inch by inch with their explicit directions you maneuvered your way. I got to help move tubes out of your way and then hold your hand to help you balance yourself as you edged ever closer to the edge. I told you how wonderful it was to feel you hold my hand. Finally you were there. When I realized that you were in position to look out the window, I called your attention to the trees that you could see for the first time in a month. You smiled and looked out. It was an effort to keep your balance, but Jessie counted down the 5 minutes all too soon for me, but you were relieved to get to lie down again. I marveled at your accomplishment. What a thrill for me.
After an X-ray, I got to visit with you. I gave you your daily reminder that GerRee loves you. What a smile you gave! Then, “You and me and me and you, happy together.” Smile-nodding head. Then I reminded you that the book I was about to read from was the one you read to Asia after her knee surgery. Smile again.
You leaned in for a kiss on the forehead when I let you know it was time for your bath. “See you tomorrow, brother.”
Awesome!

Status - Encouraging considering:
Oxygen assist still at 40% PEEP holding steady at 5