I’m so happy to see that you have waded your way through the mud of emotions, reactions, and maneuvers your body was relearning to feel like posting on the blog, Mike. I have to respond that most, if not all, of the medical folks in ICU were not only wonderful but exceptional. Not only that, most with whom I dealt including several of the respiratory therapists, kept telling us how cooperative you were and that they enjoyed working with you to help you recover. We often heard, "He's a good guy." During the last week or two of your hospital stay, several people enjoyed trading little jokes with you. They really got a kick out of your sense of humor.
Byron and I have just returned from a trip into Quebec City, across part of New Brunswick by train, then into Nova Scotia. Wow, what a treat! Although we had watched him make a lot of improvement, it was still difficult to tell Michael, "See ya in two weeks." Thanks to Robin we knew Mike was in good hands. Thanks, “Sis”.
It was wonderful to find you blister free and looking fantastic upon our return, brother. There was only one blister on your shoulder when we left. I was happy to learn that no more had bubbled up after that, and that the skin on your hand has become a little smoother. I keep seeing you back up to a door jamb to do your imitation of a bear scratching his back so it seems the itching will be part of life.
Showing posts with label Sister. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sister. Show all posts
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Happy to be alive and getting better little by little
It was such a joy to bring Michael home with me; I thought the next time there were comments to be posted from here, it would be Mike who posted them. There are some things he is not quite ready for yet, but they will come. Recovery is multi-faceted. There is the physiological aspect and the emotional aspect of this enigmatic puzzle. He feels whole, but this has been a time of discovery for him.
He is amazed with each new revelation of family or friends who have uplifted him during this journey. A few days ago, we learned of another group of folks that have been part of the kaleidoscope of caring. It seems the protective shield was so widespread and strong, if his spirit tried to leave us, it must have rebounded right back to us during those awe full weeks.
Blessings to all.
Status:
A few blisters keep appearing here and there on his back and left arm. At his follow up appointment last week, the doctors told us we can expect that for another two months—new skin is very thin. His left hand gets blistered or cut with the least bump. He says it's the only place that looks "melty". Itching is his biggest aggravation.
We are still putting a clear patch over the stoma where the trach was. The doctor dotted a flap of skin with silver nitrate to adjust cell growth. We are expecting it to close completely some time in the next week or so.
His gait is improving. About a week ago, he gained a second gear. I think I’ve even noticed a new ability to accelerate within the last couple days. Getting in and out of chairs is still a bit awkward. Now he can even pull his shirt over his head without help.
He drinks tea with his breakfast rather than coffee to help break one of the rituals that bring the song of the cigarette siren. So far smoking has crossed his mind, but the thought seems to have stopped with that. (As for me, that thought just brings visions of his wounded lungs any time I consider such a thing for him.) Coughing up gunk may be with him for weeks to come.
Although, he isn’t continuously grazing as he did the first week or so, he is still delighted with the flavor of everything. If I go the grocery store alone I’d better have a good excuse. He likes to go with me because they have electric carts and he likes to look at all the food. I really think it's that he has an excuse to play Speed Racer. And, my or my, has he drunk all kinds of brewed, sweet, unsweet, honeyed, and bottled tea as well as all kinds of juice and soda.
He tells anyone who asks, “I’m glad to be here. If it weren’t for the firemen, the people at Parkland Burn Unit, and the prayers of hosts of people, I wouldn’t be here.”
He is amazed with each new revelation of family or friends who have uplifted him during this journey. A few days ago, we learned of another group of folks that have been part of the kaleidoscope of caring. It seems the protective shield was so widespread and strong, if his spirit tried to leave us, it must have rebounded right back to us during those awe full weeks.
Blessings to all.
Status:
A few blisters keep appearing here and there on his back and left arm. At his follow up appointment last week, the doctors told us we can expect that for another two months—new skin is very thin. His left hand gets blistered or cut with the least bump. He says it's the only place that looks "melty". Itching is his biggest aggravation.
We are still putting a clear patch over the stoma where the trach was. The doctor dotted a flap of skin with silver nitrate to adjust cell growth. We are expecting it to close completely some time in the next week or so.
His gait is improving. About a week ago, he gained a second gear. I think I’ve even noticed a new ability to accelerate within the last couple days. Getting in and out of chairs is still a bit awkward. Now he can even pull his shirt over his head without help.
He drinks tea with his breakfast rather than coffee to help break one of the rituals that bring the song of the cigarette siren. So far smoking has crossed his mind, but the thought seems to have stopped with that. (As for me, that thought just brings visions of his wounded lungs any time I consider such a thing for him.) Coughing up gunk may be with him for weeks to come.
Although, he isn’t continuously grazing as he did the first week or so, he is still delighted with the flavor of everything. If I go the grocery store alone I’d better have a good excuse. He likes to go with me because they have electric carts and he likes to look at all the food. I really think it's that he has an excuse to play Speed Racer. And, my or my, has he drunk all kinds of brewed, sweet, unsweet, honeyed, and bottled tea as well as all kinds of juice and soda.
He tells anyone who asks, “I’m glad to be here. If it weren’t for the firemen, the people at Parkland Burn Unit, and the prayers of hosts of people, I wouldn’t be here.”
Sunday, August 10, 2008
"We Busted Out of That Pop Stand"
The last tube came out at twenty minutes until 5 on Saturday. Did I ever do a happy dance along with Michael doing his version from the bed.
If you try to contact Mike at his new e-mail address, please do not be surprised or concerned if you don’t hear from him quickly. He is doing well and looks great, but he is working on regaining his balance, strength and energy. We are taking things one step at a time over here at recovery central.
Again, our deepest gratitude to all. We've felt your uplifting spirit throughout the making of this ongoing miracle.
God Bless
If you try to contact Mike at his new e-mail address, please do not be surprised or concerned if you don’t hear from him quickly. He is doing well and looks great, but he is working on regaining his balance, strength and energy. We are taking things one step at a time over here at recovery central.
Again, our deepest gratitude to all. We've felt your uplifting spirit throughout the making of this ongoing miracle.
God Bless
Friday, August 8, 2008
The Best
You’re coming home!!
You must have practiced your swallow exercises all night last night because when I left the hospital yesterday, the plan was that on Monday you would have a swallow test while an X-ray followed the progress of the food. When I got there today, you were “down in X-ray” for the test. You passed the test and tomorrow we get our ticket for the next phase of this journey. WooHoo!
It’s been quite a ride so far, brother, and at least the next lap will be taken on familiar ground.
You must have practiced your swallow exercises all night last night because when I left the hospital yesterday, the plan was that on Monday you would have a swallow test while an X-ray followed the progress of the food. When I got there today, you were “down in X-ray” for the test. You passed the test and tomorrow we get our ticket for the next phase of this journey. WooHoo!
It’s been quite a ride so far, brother, and at least the next lap will be taken on familiar ground.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Bullet Train
We decided you felt as though you've been on the bullet train today. I am ecstatic! First things first-you slept better last night. Your dreams weren't nearly as bizarre. Your day began with a shower very early this morning. You reported that you got one yesterday as well and it felt like a spa treatment. Having your hair washed seemed to be the height of luxury to you. You look fantastic!
You moved to "the floor" (another 'medical term'). You are in room 669, bed 1. The speech team came to give you a swallow test with a camera. You must have passed because not only did you get to have some Jell-O, as predicted, you got to try potato, spinach and broccoli soup. You still can't have liquids, expecially milk, but the therapist promised to bring you..... DRUM ROLL-tea!
for your test tomorrow. She even asked if you wanted sweet or unsweet. You took a short stroll down the hall with the beautiful Jessi and her pal. What an accomplishment. You are now almost tubeless; you an IV in one hand and the "food toob". You got to report to your three brave muskateers over the telephone.
Now for the piece de resistance--the trach is out!! Imagine! Two doctors came into the room, asked you to sit up on the side of the bed and announced that they were going to take out the trach. We both gasped! You just kept lying there. We were both stunned. They tried again. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You all know the plan, but I just woke up a few days ago. I need for you to back up and explain this plan."
"You mean you just stand right here and pull it out?!" I croaked.
" Yep. Then we put some treated gauze over it and tape it down, and it closes off on its own. You'll be able to breath and eat just fine. It will take a bit of getting used to. You might have a bit of difficulty talking. Give it a few hours." Both of us were nervous, but I patted you on the shoulder hoping you wouldn't realize how I felt. I tried to sound reassuring when I told you that they doctor had explained this when they put it in.
Well, you were a bit anxious for a while, but by the time I left this evening, you were talking fine. So who's surprised?
Now we know what riding the bullet train is like.
This writing to you about you now that we can actually converse, is feeling rather goofy. I may have to make an adjustment.
What a red letter day, brother.
You moved to "the floor" (another 'medical term'). You are in room 669, bed 1. The speech team came to give you a swallow test with a camera. You must have passed because not only did you get to have some Jell-O, as predicted, you got to try potato, spinach and broccoli soup. You still can't have liquids, expecially milk, but the therapist promised to bring you..... DRUM ROLL-tea!
for your test tomorrow. She even asked if you wanted sweet or unsweet. You took a short stroll down the hall with the beautiful Jessi and her pal. What an accomplishment. You are now almost tubeless; you an IV in one hand and the "food toob". You got to report to your three brave muskateers over the telephone.
Now for the piece de resistance--the trach is out!! Imagine! Two doctors came into the room, asked you to sit up on the side of the bed and announced that they were going to take out the trach. We both gasped! You just kept lying there. We were both stunned. They tried again. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You all know the plan, but I just woke up a few days ago. I need for you to back up and explain this plan."
"You mean you just stand right here and pull it out?!" I croaked.
" Yep. Then we put some treated gauze over it and tape it down, and it closes off on its own. You'll be able to breath and eat just fine. It will take a bit of getting used to. You might have a bit of difficulty talking. Give it a few hours." Both of us were nervous, but I patted you on the shoulder hoping you wouldn't realize how I felt. I tried to sound reassuring when I told you that they doctor had explained this when they put it in.
Well, you were a bit anxious for a while, but by the time I left this evening, you were talking fine. So who's surprised?
Now we know what riding the bullet train is like.
This writing to you about you now that we can actually converse, is feeling rather goofy. I may have to make an adjustment.
What a red letter day, brother.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Rip Van Winkle No More
Today brought tears of gratitude for your support system. We’re so grateful for family and friends. I told you that you can’t even imagine the amount of prayers and well wishes you have been getting.
Your vocalization is great. We’re trying to meet a new challenge; about 6 weeks of high dollar sedation and pain medication have been pumped into your body and slowly but surely that drip has become less and less powerful. Today those drips are no more. Not only that, you continue to have antibiotics, Zantac, insulin, finger pokes, physical therapy, breathing therapy, racking coughing, and numerous other tasks to perform or be performed on you. After being Rip Van Winkle, you’re now fully aware, you’re being bombarded with information. No wonder you have a sense of confusion!
Today's the day we got some glycerin swabs. I’ve asked for them in two different rooms. When you told Patsy that your lips felt like you’d been walking on Mt. Everest in a headwind and wished you had some glycerin swabs, she asked about them. I told her we knew about some swabs that were similar to ones in a container on the counter only they are saturated with glycerin. You explained that when our mother was dieing, we had taken turns moistening her mouth with some. Off she went and brought us a small supply. You used on immediately. Nice.
Finally, after days of requests, Patsy, bless her heart, got the information for us that your X-rays over a week’s time show improvement and your cultures show improvement in the white cell count. Progress really IS being made on the pneumonia. I am so relieved, but it seems we may have a few more days of ICU. This brings a funny incident to mind. We've traded places. You cautioned me to put my gloves back on and to not touch my mouth with my hands!! You don’t want me to have pneumonia with you. LOL
We’re gettin there, brother.
Your vocalization is great. We’re trying to meet a new challenge; about 6 weeks of high dollar sedation and pain medication have been pumped into your body and slowly but surely that drip has become less and less powerful. Today those drips are no more. Not only that, you continue to have antibiotics, Zantac, insulin, finger pokes, physical therapy, breathing therapy, racking coughing, and numerous other tasks to perform or be performed on you. After being Rip Van Winkle, you’re now fully aware, you’re being bombarded with information. No wonder you have a sense of confusion!
Today's the day we got some glycerin swabs. I’ve asked for them in two different rooms. When you told Patsy that your lips felt like you’d been walking on Mt. Everest in a headwind and wished you had some glycerin swabs, she asked about them. I told her we knew about some swabs that were similar to ones in a container on the counter only they are saturated with glycerin. You explained that when our mother was dieing, we had taken turns moistening her mouth with some. Off she went and brought us a small supply. You used on immediately. Nice.
Finally, after days of requests, Patsy, bless her heart, got the information for us that your X-rays over a week’s time show improvement and your cultures show improvement in the white cell count. Progress really IS being made on the pneumonia. I am so relieved, but it seems we may have a few more days of ICU. This brings a funny incident to mind. We've traded places. You cautioned me to put my gloves back on and to not touch my mouth with my hands!! You don’t want me to have pneumonia with you. LOL
We’re gettin there, brother.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Momentous Day
Voice!
Ginger Ale!
Mike said, “Hi. He loves
everybody. ”
Nikky was with me today. Since you are back in the BICU, we got suited up to come in. When we got in the room, you motioned for us to bring the chair over and for me to sit down in it. Then I heard, “I wanted you to sit down for this.” Of course, I jumped up. “Oh my God, oh my God! You can talk!!!” That’s when I noticed the red cap in your trach. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it right away! You said, “I got some ginger ale too.”
“Was it nectar of the gods?”
“Oh my God. They told me go ahead, take a sip. Then I crunched on the ice. They told me it was OK, but I said, “I’ve got to feel every molecule.”
Then you made and snatching motion, “Then they said, ‘OK, you’ll get more tomorrow,” shook your head and grinned.
You also got to try a little applesauce and a bit of graham cracker. It's a slow go, because they can't take a chance on anything getting into the lungs. You've got to learn to swallow again.
Day Thirty Seven: I heard my brother’s voice. When I told you I'd go home and put it on the blog right away, you said, "Put Mike said Hi. He loves everybody."
The physical therapist said you could manage the technique right after the speech people taught you what to do. She said most people do a little at a time over a few hours. We’ve been telling them you’re a talker.
Hear you tomorrow brother.
Ginger Ale!
Mike said, “Hi. He loves
everybody. ”
Nikky was with me today. Since you are back in the BICU, we got suited up to come in. When we got in the room, you motioned for us to bring the chair over and for me to sit down in it. Then I heard, “I wanted you to sit down for this.” Of course, I jumped up. “Oh my God, oh my God! You can talk!!!” That’s when I noticed the red cap in your trach. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it right away! You said, “I got some ginger ale too.”
“Was it nectar of the gods?”
“Oh my God. They told me go ahead, take a sip. Then I crunched on the ice. They told me it was OK, but I said, “I’ve got to feel every molecule.”
Then you made and snatching motion, “Then they said, ‘OK, you’ll get more tomorrow,” shook your head and grinned.
You also got to try a little applesauce and a bit of graham cracker. It's a slow go, because they can't take a chance on anything getting into the lungs. You've got to learn to swallow again.
Day Thirty Seven: I heard my brother’s voice. When I told you I'd go home and put it on the blog right away, you said, "Put Mike said Hi. He loves everybody."
The physical therapist said you could manage the technique right after the speech people taught you what to do. She said most people do a little at a time over a few hours. We’ve been telling them you’re a talker.
Hear you tomorrow brother.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Sunday Number Six
Here we go again. The ICUs are fighting over you, I think. Everybody brags on what a good patient you are so I guess they don’t like it if one ICU has the pleasure of your company for too long. It’s back to the BICU this evening. I was very glad it didn’t happen earlier in the day because we had a nice long visit again today.
Yep. More animals. As soon as I began digging in my bag and telling you that Robin had sent me with your power animal, you nodded. We read it together. Not surprisingly, it was a big hit with you; you requested it be placed on your blog. I was pleased you remembered about the blog. They’ve lightened the sedative and the pain medication drip. After you took a nap from your morning work out in the chair, you were wide awake for quite a while this afternoon.
I told you about stopping by the house a few times and seeing hummingbirds. I still have the same only two hummingbird bushes, but you have trained your volunteers into a lovely privet hedge. Four different times I’ve been sitting on the bench outside when one has helicoptered in for a meal. I realized hummers should be included with hawks as omens for good.
Poppy, the respiratory therapist, came in again today to give you another breathing treatment. When I told her that you had written that it is scary to have that machine take over so much of your breathing, she tested your oxygen level. We joked about maybe it seemed like the Borg to you. She asked if I was a Trekkie. I admitted not exactly, but I had a son in law who certainly qualifies. You worked hard at taking deep breaths and expelling lots of air. You raised the level of the gauge up to 2000. She said that ordinarily a healthy person of your age and height should be able to raise it to 3000, so she was impressed. She determined that you probably don’t need that machine to assist with your breathing treatments any more and made sure you had your new device to take for your return to the BICU. She’s another sweetie. For now, they can give the Albuterol through the trach. You didn’t mind that. You got a shot of Heparin in the tummy (very small needle Kelly assured me) and liquid Zantac into the IV tubing. That’s SOP for all ICU patients.
Randall let me know that you still have lots of secretions so she suspects it may be a little longer before the trach can be adapted for talking and for food. You’re doing an amazing job of being patient. I have to work at it. You did write that today you’re thinking of all kinds of sherbet and ice cream. I told you the story of our trip to Disney World. Chad has long corrected our pronunciation of that icy treat. When someone decided on sorbet for dessert and someone considered sherbet, I suggested it must be “sherbay” so Chad said that was the name for this family from now on. I’m off to make room in the freezer for lots of flavors of ice cream, sorbet, and sherbay. See you tomorrow.
Status: Oxygen 100% Temperature normal
Yep. More animals. As soon as I began digging in my bag and telling you that Robin had sent me with your power animal, you nodded. We read it together. Not surprisingly, it was a big hit with you; you requested it be placed on your blog. I was pleased you remembered about the blog. They’ve lightened the sedative and the pain medication drip. After you took a nap from your morning work out in the chair, you were wide awake for quite a while this afternoon.
I told you about stopping by the house a few times and seeing hummingbirds. I still have the same only two hummingbird bushes, but you have trained your volunteers into a lovely privet hedge. Four different times I’ve been sitting on the bench outside when one has helicoptered in for a meal. I realized hummers should be included with hawks as omens for good.
Poppy, the respiratory therapist, came in again today to give you another breathing treatment. When I told her that you had written that it is scary to have that machine take over so much of your breathing, she tested your oxygen level. We joked about maybe it seemed like the Borg to you. She asked if I was a Trekkie. I admitted not exactly, but I had a son in law who certainly qualifies. You worked hard at taking deep breaths and expelling lots of air. You raised the level of the gauge up to 2000. She said that ordinarily a healthy person of your age and height should be able to raise it to 3000, so she was impressed. She determined that you probably don’t need that machine to assist with your breathing treatments any more and made sure you had your new device to take for your return to the BICU. She’s another sweetie. For now, they can give the Albuterol through the trach. You didn’t mind that. You got a shot of Heparin in the tummy (very small needle Kelly assured me) and liquid Zantac into the IV tubing. That’s SOP for all ICU patients.
Randall let me know that you still have lots of secretions so she suspects it may be a little longer before the trach can be adapted for talking and for food. You’re doing an amazing job of being patient. I have to work at it. You did write that today you’re thinking of all kinds of sherbet and ice cream. I told you the story of our trip to Disney World. Chad has long corrected our pronunciation of that icy treat. When someone decided on sorbet for dessert and someone considered sherbet, I suggested it must be “sherbay” so Chad said that was the name for this family from now on. I’m off to make room in the freezer for lots of flavors of ice cream, sorbet, and sherbay. See you tomorrow.
Status: Oxygen 100% Temperature normal
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Plan for the future-Iced Tea and more of it
Because we spent the central portion of this Saturday together today, it would take three pages to describe it. I’ll leave that until another time and put the condensed version this evening. I brought the dry erase board that Byron bought for you. It helps. We talked about both of us being ready for you to come home with me soon. You wrote: iced tea—sweet, unsweet, raspberry, peach, pear, green, mint..... I told you we’ll get all the flavors you can think of and all the ice you want and some flavors you’ve never thought of. I reminded you that Shanna says that you can have swabs of water for your mouth every hour, but not more because we can’t take a chance on fluid getting into your lungs. You’ve got way too much as it is. You sat in the chair more than two hours today. As soon as you were settled in it, you began the exercises that the therapists have given you. You had a breathing treatment while you were sitting there. Wish we had a movie of the contortions the RT was going through to get you all hooked up!
You wrote that it’s scary to have the machine controlling your breathing. So we had a discussion about how long you were on a ventilator with a wad of plastic in your mouth and your mouth getting sore, then discussed the time after the tracheotomy and having a machine control your breathing through the tracheostomy. You just shook your head in amazement. The respiratory therapist assured us that the full time ventilator days are gone. WooHoo!
You took some good naps today.
Since you can’t talk, you reach out to shake hands with anyone who has done something new to take care of you. It’s so reassuring to see my sweet brother being who he is instead of my brother simply lying in bed trying to heal from the inside out. Now your work has begun as a concentrated effort on your part. You’re doing a great job. I love you; see you tomorrow.
Status: Oxygen level: anywhere from 89 to 100% depending on coughing etc. Mostly in upper 90s -- doing very fine
Temperature normal Sedations remain on the drip system at the same level for the past four/five days
You wrote that it’s scary to have the machine controlling your breathing. So we had a discussion about how long you were on a ventilator with a wad of plastic in your mouth and your mouth getting sore, then discussed the time after the tracheotomy and having a machine control your breathing through the tracheostomy. You just shook your head in amazement. The respiratory therapist assured us that the full time ventilator days are gone. WooHoo!
You took some good naps today.
Since you can’t talk, you reach out to shake hands with anyone who has done something new to take care of you. It’s so reassuring to see my sweet brother being who he is instead of my brother simply lying in bed trying to heal from the inside out. Now your work has begun as a concentrated effort on your part. You’re doing a great job. I love you; see you tomorrow.
Status: Oxygen level: anywhere from 89 to 100% depending on coughing etc. Mostly in upper 90s -- doing very fine
Temperature normal Sedations remain on the drip system at the same level for the past four/five days
Friday, August 1, 2008
Oncoming Tasks and New Doctors
I confess a slight feeling of abandonment today. The doctors that we have learned to trust and respect are moving to a new assignment. It is the first of the month and it seems an entire new team of doctors rotate to the Burn Unit so we’ll have new names and faces to get to know. Dr. Esteroff was making rounds with Dr. Muralirat J. He introduced himself to you then kindly mentioned to both of us that “the speech people” will come visit with you. He told me that they are good at working with the trach. He is beginning to plan the next steps for you. Talking and having some food may be coming up. Oooh, Jell-O: YUM. I have a feeling any flavor will taste good to you after more than a month of nothing by mouth except a wad of plastic.
It seems you can give your sister the raspberries. I was somewhat skeptical yesterday when you wrote, “They made me sit in a chair for an hour and a half.” It seemed way too big a leap from the previous day to me. Today when I got to your room, you were sitting in a special chair, foot twitching. Shanna, your lovely nurse for today, said you had been sitting up for about and hour and 20 minutes. You waved your arm, shook your head, and starting doing the right hand count down. Five, ten, fifteen, ….. forty. Forty minutes more than an hour? Head nod. Shanna looked at the clock you were watching and acknowledged that you were keeping tabs on her. She said that it really helps your lungs to sit up. She reported, “A lot, I mean a lot of fluid is on his lungs and this helps him cough it up.” She gave you an injection of blood thinner. She explained that nearly all their ICU patients get that.
“To ward of blood clots?” “Exactly”
I waited outside while she gave you a bath and got you into a fresh bed. Boy, were you zonked when I returned. We held hands for a while. When I told you I’d see you tomorrow and said, “I love you,” you replied in kind. Progress squared. Hooray.
Status: No more PEEP Oxygen: 99% Temperature: normal
It seems you can give your sister the raspberries. I was somewhat skeptical yesterday when you wrote, “They made me sit in a chair for an hour and a half.” It seemed way too big a leap from the previous day to me. Today when I got to your room, you were sitting in a special chair, foot twitching. Shanna, your lovely nurse for today, said you had been sitting up for about and hour and 20 minutes. You waved your arm, shook your head, and starting doing the right hand count down. Five, ten, fifteen, ….. forty. Forty minutes more than an hour? Head nod. Shanna looked at the clock you were watching and acknowledged that you were keeping tabs on her. She said that it really helps your lungs to sit up. She reported, “A lot, I mean a lot of fluid is on his lungs and this helps him cough it up.” She gave you an injection of blood thinner. She explained that nearly all their ICU patients get that.
“To ward of blood clots?” “Exactly”
I waited outside while she gave you a bath and got you into a fresh bed. Boy, were you zonked when I returned. We held hands for a while. When I told you I’d see you tomorrow and said, “I love you,” you replied in kind. Progress squared. Hooray.
Status: No more PEEP Oxygen: 99% Temperature: normal
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Communication
Today was a day of firsts. The first day off the ventilator. Writing clear words. Sitting in a chair.
Watching you write clearly one word at a time until you got an entire question on paper was pure joy. Real communication. What a great accomplishment you've made. You had several questions for me to answer today. One thing you wrote was: Not getting water is driving me nutz. The answer is you can't take a chance on getting fluid into your lungs. This morning Asia and I had talked about how it would drive us crazy for sure. Jason brought some swabs and a little water so that you could moisten your mouth. You had another terrific nurse. (He also brushed your teeth and then let you brush them. That must be another first.)
The BIG deal today is that you're off the ventilator. WOW. The machine is right there handy. Macon has been giving you a twenty minute breathing treatment with it every 4 hours. Between times, you seem to be doing well on your own.
Another first as well: you sat in a chair today. You thought it was an hour and a half. Jason said it was difficult and he did let you stay a while. Another big deal.
Your arms and legs were free of constraints. Hooray. You had a clear understanding of the trach, the food tube, and your leg wrappings.
You're still getting a very strong antibiotic for the pneumonia. In fact you're getting two antibiotics so hopefully that P word will be behind us sooner rather than later. You're coughing up lots of gunk so that's a good sign. In fact you could pull yourself up into a sitting position in bed which seemed to help.
Oh, and it seems I have a sister for the first time in my life. Apparently Jason got to meet another sister of yours earlier in the day.
You've had lots of company, lots of firsts, and lots of physical therapy today. When I told you before I left, "I love you", I got a clear "I love you", back. You must be exhausted! There is a new goal: getting your days and nights in synch. I hope you sleep well.
Status: No ventilator Oxygen level: 98% Temperature: normal
Watching you write clearly one word at a time until you got an entire question on paper was pure joy. Real communication. What a great accomplishment you've made. You had several questions for me to answer today. One thing you wrote was: Not getting water is driving me nutz. The answer is you can't take a chance on getting fluid into your lungs. This morning Asia and I had talked about how it would drive us crazy for sure. Jason brought some swabs and a little water so that you could moisten your mouth. You had another terrific nurse. (He also brushed your teeth and then let you brush them. That must be another first.)
The BIG deal today is that you're off the ventilator. WOW. The machine is right there handy. Macon has been giving you a twenty minute breathing treatment with it every 4 hours. Between times, you seem to be doing well on your own.
Another first as well: you sat in a chair today. You thought it was an hour and a half. Jason said it was difficult and he did let you stay a while. Another big deal.
Your arms and legs were free of constraints. Hooray. You had a clear understanding of the trach, the food tube, and your leg wrappings.
You're still getting a very strong antibiotic for the pneumonia. In fact you're getting two antibiotics so hopefully that P word will be behind us sooner rather than later. You're coughing up lots of gunk so that's a good sign. In fact you could pull yourself up into a sitting position in bed which seemed to help.
Oh, and it seems I have a sister for the first time in my life. Apparently Jason got to meet another sister of yours earlier in the day.
You've had lots of company, lots of firsts, and lots of physical therapy today. When I told you before I left, "I love you", I got a clear "I love you", back. You must be exhausted! There is a new goal: getting your days and nights in synch. I hope you sleep well.
Status: No ventilator Oxygen level: 98% Temperature: normal
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Nonmusical Beds
Routes and procedures have become more than familiar; they are now routine. So I popped that silver button today, whish went the doors. My blue covered self went boppin’ around the reception desk when I noticed that the sliding glass doors to your room were completely closed. X-ray? With the next step it dawned on me that the room was completely EMPTY.
“Uuuuuh, my brother disappeared.” Sweet Bonnie trotted around the nurses’ station to say, “He went on another tour of the hospital today.” So second time around for new digs.
The good thing is we got in a nice long visit. Your nurse, Jeremy, said they are trying to wean you off the sedative and pain medicine. You had lots of questions today, so I untethered your hands and reminded you not to pull out any tubes. You nodded an agreement. I explained to you that you had pulled out your IV yesterday. You shook your head in amazement.
You were puzzled by the hospital gown. We talked about that. I was happy you didn’t seem to expect me to hand you your jeans and tee shirt. We talked about everything being a mystery to you at the moment and your working on putting the pieces together. When I tried your theme song, you wanted to correct my version so I decided I’d better stop.
A team of therapists came in today. The doctor had you make a fist with your right and which you emphatically did. The left fist was much looser. The doctor asked about your index finger and I explained that was an old injury. “So we won’t try to do much with that, right, Mr. Hinshaw?” He reassured us that you should regain full use of your hands. Then he gave Forrest, Asia and me a new job. Now that we aren’t concerned about fluid retention we can have you working on making a fist, folding your thumb into your palm, and folding your fingers into your palm. Yea, a new goal. He said they would work with you again on sitting up in bed and that the next step would be to help you stand a little at a time even having the ventilator. WOW. We’re making progress, Mikey.
After they left, I told you about Jessie and her pal coming in to help you sit up yesterday. I said she told me about you winking at her last week. So you practiced winking a couple times with your left eye, then with your right eye with your flirty face. It was a hoot.
Good grief, another long blog. And to think, a month ago Colleen and GerRee had to teach me what to do about blogging.
Status: Oxygen assist 40% PEEP 5 No temperature at the moment
“Uuuuuh, my brother disappeared.” Sweet Bonnie trotted around the nurses’ station to say, “He went on another tour of the hospital today.” So second time around for new digs.
The good thing is we got in a nice long visit. Your nurse, Jeremy, said they are trying to wean you off the sedative and pain medicine. You had lots of questions today, so I untethered your hands and reminded you not to pull out any tubes. You nodded an agreement. I explained to you that you had pulled out your IV yesterday. You shook your head in amazement.
You were puzzled by the hospital gown. We talked about that. I was happy you didn’t seem to expect me to hand you your jeans and tee shirt. We talked about everything being a mystery to you at the moment and your working on putting the pieces together. When I tried your theme song, you wanted to correct my version so I decided I’d better stop.
A team of therapists came in today. The doctor had you make a fist with your right and which you emphatically did. The left fist was much looser. The doctor asked about your index finger and I explained that was an old injury. “So we won’t try to do much with that, right, Mr. Hinshaw?” He reassured us that you should regain full use of your hands. Then he gave Forrest, Asia and me a new job. Now that we aren’t concerned about fluid retention we can have you working on making a fist, folding your thumb into your palm, and folding your fingers into your palm. Yea, a new goal. He said they would work with you again on sitting up in bed and that the next step would be to help you stand a little at a time even having the ventilator. WOW. We’re making progress, Mikey.
After they left, I told you about Jessie and her pal coming in to help you sit up yesterday. I said she told me about you winking at her last week. So you practiced winking a couple times with your left eye, then with your right eye with your flirty face. It was a hoot.
Good grief, another long blog. And to think, a month ago Colleen and GerRee had to teach me what to do about blogging.
Status: Oxygen assist 40% PEEP 5 No temperature at the moment
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
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
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
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away?
Day 28. Twenty eight days in ICU?!? To think I was expressing readiness for a little of your zaniness two weeks ago. I've reminded myself over and over during this journey that it was going to be a long haul. However, on the way to the hospital on Thursday, Forrest and I couldn’t help expressing a tiny bit of impatience with the length of time we’ve spent in one sided talk. While we were there, we made an attempt at your theme song. Unfortunately, I’ve become that woman in the pew behind us in church that we used to grimace about when she sang. (You know, there was always one or more at First Church downtown when we were kids and then in the Christian church with Colleen and Jeff whose voice cracked with age.) Forrest did a great job though, and was kind when I threw him off.
I was so happy to hear that your kids got to see you make your first real joke the next evening even if it was pantomime. I got a great lift when GerRee called last night to tell me about the wonderful visit they had before their return to Colorado. She’s been Wonder Woman, Michael.
I hold on to these moments because it looks as though we’ll hit a few rough waves as you continue your slow ride into lucidness. Today when I approached your room, the nurse was completing the task of getting you settled back into place from close to the foot of the bed where you had maneuvered yourself. She said you have had enough of the place and really would like to be out of that bed. I got the stool so that I could look into your eyes. I went through the litany of reasons you are there and the reason for all the tubes. You really wanted me to do something. I checked everything and massaged every place I could find. Finally, I talked with you about the reason you need the pressure cuffs around your calves. When I reminded you that I had had to wear them to prevent blood clots when I had surgery recently, and told you that is the reason you have to have them, you nodded. I came to the realization that the cuffs are irritating you more than usual because today’s nurse is trying to help you work on the goal of reducing the sedation. She said you don’t like them and you’ve been trying to get them off. I got back on the stool to let you know I understand how frustrating all those tubes and restraints are, but that you’re going to have to get calm and get your mind in a zone to help you ride through this rough patch. I reminded you of your reading Carlos Castaneda and you nodded your head and relaxed. I tried to sing a bit but didn’t have any of our singing kids with me so that wasn’t helpful. (I do OK on our family songs, but then you want to join in.) I was glad GerRee had marked the book they’ve been reading because I read and read to you as I stroked your hair. The nurse was kind enough to let me continue long time past visiting time. We’re into the next phase, my brother, and I have to recognize that as progress.
Status: Good news} Oxygen assist 40% --WOW!! PEEP still holding steady at 5. You’re getting antibiotics for the lungs which are improving because the gunk is getting looser.
I was so happy to hear that your kids got to see you make your first real joke the next evening even if it was pantomime. I got a great lift when GerRee called last night to tell me about the wonderful visit they had before their return to Colorado. She’s been Wonder Woman, Michael.
I hold on to these moments because it looks as though we’ll hit a few rough waves as you continue your slow ride into lucidness. Today when I approached your room, the nurse was completing the task of getting you settled back into place from close to the foot of the bed where you had maneuvered yourself. She said you have had enough of the place and really would like to be out of that bed. I got the stool so that I could look into your eyes. I went through the litany of reasons you are there and the reason for all the tubes. You really wanted me to do something. I checked everything and massaged every place I could find. Finally, I talked with you about the reason you need the pressure cuffs around your calves. When I reminded you that I had had to wear them to prevent blood clots when I had surgery recently, and told you that is the reason you have to have them, you nodded. I came to the realization that the cuffs are irritating you more than usual because today’s nurse is trying to help you work on the goal of reducing the sedation. She said you don’t like them and you’ve been trying to get them off. I got back on the stool to let you know I understand how frustrating all those tubes and restraints are, but that you’re going to have to get calm and get your mind in a zone to help you ride through this rough patch. I reminded you of your reading Carlos Castaneda and you nodded your head and relaxed. I tried to sing a bit but didn’t have any of our singing kids with me so that wasn’t helpful. (I do OK on our family songs, but then you want to join in.) I was glad GerRee had marked the book they’ve been reading because I read and read to you as I stroked your hair. The nurse was kind enough to let me continue long time past visiting time. We’re into the next phase, my brother, and I have to recognize that as progress.
Status: Good news} Oxygen assist 40% --WOW!! PEEP still holding steady at 5. You’re getting antibiotics for the lungs which are improving because the gunk is getting looser.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Bath Time
It didn't take me long to negotiate the new maze to your new room; GerRee gave me good directions last night. However, when I walked through the double doors of the new ICU, everything was a mystery. I walked in circles for a minute looking for your room. When I found it, I saw that the curtain was pulled around your bed. I peeked around the curtain. There was a new nurse, Stacie, to introduce myself to.
"Mike Hinshaw?" Confirmation.
"Give me about 10 minutes." No problem, of course.
As I stood against the wall, I realized that a male nurse was working with her to accomplish some task for you. Then I saw her rinse and ring out a wash rag. Ahh, bath time. "I'm going to wash you eyes now," she informed you. As they talked with you and with each other, I would hear them laugh. That made me feel good because I figured it reassured you. This family likes to laugh. Then I heard Stacie say, "Stop, Michael." Uh, oh. I knew what that meant. You were most likely trying to get out of bed. I was glad to hear her call you by your first name.
She pulled the curtain open and said I could come in. As I climbed up on the stool, your eyes were scanning the ceiling. Stacie told me that you weren't very happy with her right then. I asked about the Xrays. You're holding steady on all the things we've learned to check, and your temperature has been normal for another 24 hours.
"Hi, Michael, you can see who I am today. I don't have to wear a mask or hair cover." You were trying to get out of bed, lifting as much of your shoulders off the bed as possible, your arms were waving, and your legs were elevated. She was correct; you weren't just agitated, you were aggravated. "They just gave you a bath. I'll bet that was very uncomfortable." I told you over and over who I was and why you shouldn't try to get out of bed. You became calmer, but still wouldn't really look at me and didn't recognize me. The nurse and I talked for a minute about your day to day habit of pacing and seldom being still. She left and returned with some Lasix which is the medication that helps your body get rid of the extra fluid your lungs and body are retaining. She told you that she was turning out the light so you could get some rest. I climbed off the stool, held your hand and began to hum. You closed your eyes, but you were a bit fidgety for a while. I moved from one hand to the other holding your hand and humming until eventually you opened your eyes enough to look right at me, gave me a smile of recognition finally and went to sleep.
"Mike Hinshaw?" Confirmation.
"Give me about 10 minutes." No problem, of course.
As I stood against the wall, I realized that a male nurse was working with her to accomplish some task for you. Then I saw her rinse and ring out a wash rag. Ahh, bath time. "I'm going to wash you eyes now," she informed you. As they talked with you and with each other, I would hear them laugh. That made me feel good because I figured it reassured you. This family likes to laugh. Then I heard Stacie say, "Stop, Michael." Uh, oh. I knew what that meant. You were most likely trying to get out of bed. I was glad to hear her call you by your first name.
She pulled the curtain open and said I could come in. As I climbed up on the stool, your eyes were scanning the ceiling. Stacie told me that you weren't very happy with her right then. I asked about the Xrays. You're holding steady on all the things we've learned to check, and your temperature has been normal for another 24 hours.
"Hi, Michael, you can see who I am today. I don't have to wear a mask or hair cover." You were trying to get out of bed, lifting as much of your shoulders off the bed as possible, your arms were waving, and your legs were elevated. She was correct; you weren't just agitated, you were aggravated. "They just gave you a bath. I'll bet that was very uncomfortable." I told you over and over who I was and why you shouldn't try to get out of bed. You became calmer, but still wouldn't really look at me and didn't recognize me. The nurse and I talked for a minute about your day to day habit of pacing and seldom being still. She left and returned with some Lasix which is the medication that helps your body get rid of the extra fluid your lungs and body are retaining. She told you that she was turning out the light so you could get some rest. I climbed off the stool, held your hand and began to hum. You closed your eyes, but you were a bit fidgety for a while. I moved from one hand to the other holding your hand and humming until eventually you opened your eyes enough to look right at me, gave me a smile of recognition finally and went to sleep.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Contact
Oh happy day! Contact.
When I came in today, you were looking all around the ceiling. I climbed upon the little stool GerRee got put back into your room last night. I looked into your eyes and there was Miquelito! I talked with you a minute and you smiled right at me. I talked with you a bit about the reason you were in the hospital and how wonderful your doctors and nurses are and how wonderful your kids are and got three more smiles!
Not only that, Dr. Esteroff indicated no grafts, but I'm going to wait until someone hears what I think I heard before I count on it.
What a wonderful day, Michael.
When I came in today, you were looking all around the ceiling. I climbed upon the little stool GerRee got put back into your room last night. I looked into your eyes and there was Miquelito! I talked with you a minute and you smiled right at me. I talked with you a bit about the reason you were in the hospital and how wonderful your doctors and nurses are and how wonderful your kids are and got three more smiles!
Not only that, Dr. Esteroff indicated no grafts, but I'm going to wait until someone hears what I think I heard before I count on it.
What a wonderful day, Michael.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Cheering Visit
What a bright smile from your nurse this evening! Bonnie had some notes of cheer for us. The first thing we noticed was 37.5 C temperature! GerRee and I could not contain a hearty, “Hooray!” We haven’t seen 37s in days. You got some blood yesterday; that has helped your ability to carry oxygen to help in the healing. Your peep number has gone down to 8; another plus for you. Yeah!
I sang one of Mama’s songs for you again this evening. We always think of Daddy being the one who sang. But Mama had a couple to add to the family sing-alongs.
I see the moon, the moon sees me,
Shining out from under the old oak tree,
God bless the moon that shines on me,
Shine on the one I love.
GerRee sang the song I’ve come to think of as your theme song.
You’re on the mend! I love you.
I sang one of Mama’s songs for you again this evening. We always think of Daddy being the one who sang. But Mama had a couple to add to the family sing-alongs.
I see the moon, the moon sees me,
Shining out from under the old oak tree,
God bless the moon that shines on me,
Shine on the one I love.
GerRee sang the song I’ve come to think of as your theme song.
You’re on the mend! I love you.
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