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
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Coming in for a landing
Okey dokey! Last update post before you're able to post something for yourself.
Dixie's on her way to pick you up from the hospital. I'm curious how many hours it will take, from her arrival, to y'all's departure. Both of you have expressed to me how important it is to each of you to feel that they've told you absolutely EVERYTHING possible about what to do for your care in this next phase. Understandable, since, for six weeks (!!), you've had - at least - an attending doctor, a nurse (for most of the time, a dedicated nurse, as in 100% all about you), a dressing nurse, a breathing therapist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, an opthamologist, a dietician, a phsycologist, a psychiatrist, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker...
This morning on the phone, you and I celebrated that you'd gotten 5+ hours of sleep last night, from 10:30 to 3. And that, at midnight, when the nurse came in to check bp, you were able to drift right back to sleep. Then the traffic began again, and as you said, if you needed anyone, all you had to do was nod off and they'd be right there to wake you up. Hee hee.
[NOTE TO PARKLAND MEMORIAL GENERAL AND BICU STAFF: Thank you for everything you've done. You have been wonderful and you are so good at what you do.]
So, I'm sure it might feel a little shocking to go from all of that, to a more "normal," serene setting. But remember, a lot of those people were assigned to you, not because of your condition upon coming to the hospital, but because of the effects of being in the hospital.
This next phase of healing will, in some ways, be tougher than what you've already been through because it will involve every aspect of your life -- not just your physical one. But I know you're going to be okay, Dad. Just don't try to do everything all at once. You've been on the Bullet Train this last week and a half, but in these next months, remember the phrase I said to you every day those first four weeks:
Little by little, bit by bit.
And now... heeeeeeeere's Daddy!
Dixie's on her way to pick you up from the hospital. I'm curious how many hours it will take, from her arrival, to y'all's departure. Both of you have expressed to me how important it is to each of you to feel that they've told you absolutely EVERYTHING possible about what to do for your care in this next phase. Understandable, since, for six weeks (!!), you've had - at least - an attending doctor, a nurse (for most of the time, a dedicated nurse, as in 100% all about you), a dressing nurse, a breathing therapist, a physical therapist, an occupational therapist, an opthamologist, a dietician, a phsycologist, a psychiatrist, a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker...
This morning on the phone, you and I celebrated that you'd gotten 5+ hours of sleep last night, from 10:30 to 3. And that, at midnight, when the nurse came in to check bp, you were able to drift right back to sleep. Then the traffic began again, and as you said, if you needed anyone, all you had to do was nod off and they'd be right there to wake you up. Hee hee.
[NOTE TO PARKLAND MEMORIAL GENERAL AND BICU STAFF: Thank you for everything you've done. You have been wonderful and you are so good at what you do.]
So, I'm sure it might feel a little shocking to go from all of that, to a more "normal," serene setting. But remember, a lot of those people were assigned to you, not because of your condition upon coming to the hospital, but because of the effects of being in the hospital.
This next phase of healing will, in some ways, be tougher than what you've already been through because it will involve every aspect of your life -- not just your physical one. But I know you're going to be okay, Dad. Just don't try to do everything all at once. You've been on the Bullet Train this last week and a half, but in these next months, remember the phrase I said to you every day those first four weeks:
Little by little, bit by bit.
And now... heeeeeeeere's Daddy!
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
Day 40: The important things
Love
Faith
Voice
Time
Jell-O
People
Health
Family
Friends
Iced Tea
Kindness
Patience
Patients
Breath
Sleep
Skin
Consciousness
Lungs
Eyes
Smiles, wherever they may live.
Dads
Daddies
and Daddios
Pappas
Padres
and Patriarchs
I will not,
Can not
Think of these things
Ever in the same way again.
Faith
Voice
Time
Jell-O
People
Health
Family
Friends
Iced Tea
Kindness
Patience
Patients
Breath
Sleep
Skin
Consciousness
Lungs
Eyes
Smiles, wherever they may live.
Dads
Daddies
and Daddios
Pappas
Padres
and Patriarchs
I will not,
Can not
Think of these things
Ever in the same way again.
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.
Dads say the darndest things
I haven't experienced your coversations for myself, but from what I'm hearing, the nurse (Robby, I believe) was right all those weeks ago about what you'd do, coming off these drugs they've had you on. You're saying some spaced-out stuff, Daddio.
You said that you hope Dubya gets another go in office.
Just kidding. This blog is no place for politics talk.
I think the more bizarre things that you've said have to do with the very vivid dreams you're now able to remember when you wake. Only you can't quite tell that they were just dreams. Like the other night, when in your food-deprived state, you conjured up some sort of grill party the nursing staff was having right outside your room. Taunting you with the smell of grilled onions and such. You told Dixie, you were a little angry with them for doing that to you. Uh, I would be, too! But it didn't really happen. Your milky way drug galaxy and your back-to-Earth reality are starting to separate and it's tough to tell where one ends and the other begins.
You had another dream last night. You told Asia about it this morning. You said that somewhere in it, you actually figured out that it was just a dream. It was a pretty convoluted plot, lots of apocolyptic consequences, but ultimately, you figured out it was only a dream because, as you put it, "I'm not this important!" Well, you're that important to us. It certainly felt apocolyptic when we thought we could lose you, but yes, it was only a dream and your compass is starting to find its magnetic north again.
This is all fascinating to me, but I know you'll be glad when this part, too, is over. I continue to be amazed at all the stops a body, mind and spirit have to make along the way to full recovery. You'll be out of MidWorld soon.
Can't wait to hear what today brings...
You said that you hope Dubya gets another go in office.
Just kidding. This blog is no place for politics talk.
I think the more bizarre things that you've said have to do with the very vivid dreams you're now able to remember when you wake. Only you can't quite tell that they were just dreams. Like the other night, when in your food-deprived state, you conjured up some sort of grill party the nursing staff was having right outside your room. Taunting you with the smell of grilled onions and such. You told Dixie, you were a little angry with them for doing that to you. Uh, I would be, too! But it didn't really happen. Your milky way drug galaxy and your back-to-Earth reality are starting to separate and it's tough to tell where one ends and the other begins.
You had another dream last night. You told Asia about it this morning. You said that somewhere in it, you actually figured out that it was just a dream. It was a pretty convoluted plot, lots of apocolyptic consequences, but ultimately, you figured out it was only a dream because, as you put it, "I'm not this important!" Well, you're that important to us. It certainly felt apocolyptic when we thought we could lose you, but yes, it was only a dream and your compass is starting to find its magnetic north again.
This is all fascinating to me, but I know you'll be glad when this part, too, is over. I continue to be amazed at all the stops a body, mind and spirit have to make along the way to full recovery. You'll be out of MidWorld soon.
Can't wait to hear what today brings...
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
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