Yesterday, Kitty and I switched shifts with Big Kid because she had to work in the afternoon. At about 11am I got there and poked my head in the room.
"How's our guy?"
She jumped up and ran to meet me at the door. "We have a surprise for you!!"
I stared at her for a minute and then burst into laughter.
Her lips were blue. Cobalt blue. And there were blue smudges on her cheeks. Oh golly, I hope that stuff doesn't stain. ;-)
She led me into the room towards Big Kid.
"Hi Mom!" he croaked. And smiled a huge blue Smurfy smile.
Better yet, he is off the vent and breathing on his own. They're going to keep the trach in for a few more days, but he's breathing completely on his own with oxygen from a nose hose.
Joyjoyjoyjoy!I'll fill in the details tomorrow, but he wanted me to thank all of you so much for all the concern and prayers you have sent to him for his recovery.
And he wanted me to post this to you (you can click on it if you dare to see his blue teeth up close and personal):
Another pretty good day. A few bumps in the road, but hey, what are a couple of small bumps compared to the hurdles Big Kid has already overcome?
I left a message for his neuropsych about how best to deal with the "lost time" issue, and he called and spoke to Hubby while it was my turn at the care center. Apparently his on-call doctor 2 weeks ago didn't bother to notify him that his patient was in the ICU, so he had no clue of what's been going on for the past 4 weeks. Needless to say, he was shocked and more than a little ticked off.
He told Hubby that we need to get the boy oriented to time as soon as possible, and to start introducing it as gently and vaguely as possible. Such as, "you've been in the hospital for quite a while", etc. He's going to work with Big Kid's new primary doc at the care center in case any more issues start popping up.
Our son's wide awake now. He lit up like a lightbulb when I first came into his room.
"I love you" he mouthed.
Oh my boy, my heart, I love you too. You have absolutely no idea how close we came to losing you.
He has pronounced fine motor deficits. It could be residual sedatives and stuff, or just because he's out of practice from being sick and sedated for so long. It's too early to say for sure. When I got there, he was trying to write on a clipboard, but was completely unable to. He could, however, point to letters on a board so I could write them down. (He can SPELL! He can SPELL! Hallelujah! )
The first word he spelled out was "Bette".
"Better? You want to know if you're better?" He shook his head and pointed to the word again.
"Bette? Oh, you mean Kitty's mother?" He nodded.
Bless his heart. He wanted to know how Bette, Kitty's 87-year-old mother was. She had fallen ill about a month before he did, and was recovering in a nursing facility. He and Kitty had been visiting her every day before he got sick.
The staff came in to work with him. The plan for the day had shifted from getting him on his feet to getting him talking since he was desperately trying to communicate. He was semi-sitting up, so that was a good start, and he was able to indicate when he thought his chest needed to be suctioned out which is a great sign. He's not apathetic and wants to participate in his own care.
They switched the ventilator settings and one of the tubes in his throat. With this tube, you can cover up a portion of it and try to talk. Then they asked him to shout as hard as he could, and he was able to produce a couple of light sounds. At the third or fourth try, the poor guy threw up all over the place.
After they got him cleaned up, the speech therapist painted his tongue a bright cobalt blue. This was to help them to be able to ascertain whether he is swallowing the secretions in his mouth or aspirating them. If the crap came up blue when they suction him, then it is going into his lungs. The kid looked like a smurf exploded in his mouth.
Pointing to letters on a board is exhausting, so we tried lip-reading for awhile. I asked him to be patient with me, because lip-reading isn't one of my skills. "Tell you what," I said. "If I don't understand what you're trying to say, I'm going to pretend you're telling me that you love me, and I'm going to say 'I love you too!' back atchya. Ok?"
He gave me the thumbs up.
Without the sedatives, he is actually doing a good bit of breathing on his own. They're going to start trying to actively wean him from the vent. Baby steps.
When Kitty got there, she brought his Ipod. I borrowed a docking station with speakers from The Happening Dude, but neither of us girly girls (or old ladies---take your pick) could figure out how the darn thing worked. When Hubby got there in the evening, he was able to figure it out, so the kid has his tunes now.
Hubby stayed with him through South Park, and until they got him to sleep. At one point, Big Kid indicated that he needed to go to the bathroom, but was refusing to poop in his bed. They were able to get him on a bedpan and accomplish the mission. Joy!
4 weeks. Geez. Thanks so much for sticking with us and for all your support.
I don't know how to describe yesterday, other than---wow! Joy has definitely overtaken hope and is ahead in the race.
Where to start?
At 2pm, Big Kid was transferred by ambulance to the acute care center. Hubby was at the hospital to watch over the "packing up" and Little Guy and I were at the center to meet the "delivery". They had given Big Kid an extra dose of the sedative so he wouldn't freak out on the ride, and the plan was to hook him back up to it when he arrived.
When he got there, he was flailing around the best he could (he was strapped down to the gurney) and the paramedics and nurses kept telling him everything was ok, and to calm down. After they got him settled in his room, and hooked back up to everything, we were allowed to go in and see him.
The first thing I noticed was that his legs were going again. Up and down, up and down. Slowly, but he was on the move. ;-) The second thing I noticed was that he wasn't restrained, and his hand was creeping up towards his trach. "Stop him!", I yelped, remembering all the tubes he tried to pull out before.
I guessed the sedative started kicking in, because the kid went still. Except for the feet.
The doctor and nurse on duty explained that unlike the ICU, they wouldn't be checking on him every ten minutes so that he could get some quality rest. The worried Mommy (which would be me) didn't like this a bit. What if he needed help? What if he flipped out again? He's in a private room without windows for staff to look in.
I told the doctor how important it was that Big Kid be restrained until we get the psychiatric issue sorted out. What if he came out of the sedation and nobody was around and he pulled things out? Sure at this point, all he has is the trach and the stomach tube and the pic line, but those are seriously implanted objects.
The doctor said he'd write the orders, and then laughed. "The nurses aren't going to like this."
I looked at the nurse. "We don't agree with using restraints."
I didn't say anything but kept looking at her. She started again. "Our patients are all adults. If they want to throw themselves out of bed, then that's their right. If he knocks out the vent tube, the alarms will go off."
Hubby could tell that I was building up a head of steam. "Honey," he said gently. I ignored him.
"Those patients can do whatever they like with themselves," I said to the nurse. "But my son has a mental illness. Unless you can be absolutely sure that he is in a rational frame of mind, you can't leave him alone unrestrained. Because if you do and he yanks out that stomach tube (which doesn't have an alarm)..." I let it hang with the obvious implication of "I will hold YOU responsible if his guts come out with it and he bleeds to death in here."
"Honey," Hubby said again. Softly. "Look at him. He hasn't been on the sedation for almost two hours."
Wha?? They didn't hook it back up?
The kid was laying still, watching us, and taking it all in. He wasn't flailing, or kicking, or trying to kick himself out of bed. He was totally calm. Groggy, but calm.
The Resperidone was working. Oh golly.
The doctor went over to him. "Big Kid? Can you show me your teeth?" The boy bared them in a grimace. "Can you show me your tongue?" Out it came.
"Can you move your right foot?" The kid moved his left foot.
"Can you move your other right foot?" He did. Deja vu. ;-)
"Can you take your right thumb and touch your right ear?" He tried to touch his left ear with his left thumb, but hey, in normal life, the boy would get the two mixed up from time to time anyway.
After the doctor left, I sat down next to Big Kid. "Sweetie, do you know where we are?" He shook his head. I explained to him briefly, and asked if he understood. He nodded. His hand came up to the trach, and he didn't try to pull it out, he just tried to feel the alien object stuck in his throat.
"Do you know what that is?" He shook his head. I told him that his lungs were very sick and it was a tube to help him breath. He wasn't to pull on it, did he understand? He nodded. I did the same with the stomach tube and the pic line. There were a few tears, but he seemed to understand.
Little Guy sat with him while we filled out paperwork with the case manager and nurse. "I'm here to comfort you," he announced. "I've been worried about you and I had to get a swine flu shot so I don't get germs. But I was brave." Big Kid reached out to hold his hand, and they sat there silently together.
Hubby, Kitty and I have worked out a schedule so that we will be with him almost around the clock for the next few days until we are sure the sedation is completely out of his system (it hangs around in whatever body fat there is and takes a little while to metabolize), and until we are sure that he knows how to use the call button. I know that sounds kind of silly, but we know him and how panicked he can get. I'm going to take the mornings, Kitty the afternoons, and Hubby the evenings until they give the kid something to sleep.
The treatment plan is an aggressive one. They're going to get Big Kid on his feet today, if they have to have 4 people hold him up, vent and all. Once he gets moving, it will be easier for his body to get all that crap in his lungs out.
Last night, Hubby stayed late with Big Kid and they watched South Park together, like they used to do when the boy lived at home. He said that the kid chuckled along although he couldn't see very well (no contacts). Hubby asked him if he remembered anything, and Big Kid shook his head. When Hubby explained about the H1N1 and all the resulting complications, he threw up his hands with a shocked "WTF" look on his face.
We didn't tell him it's been almost a month. We're going to call his neuropsych today to get advice on how and when to best deal with that. Apparently with some people, "losing time" can be a real issue and leave lasting trauma.
He's back. Our boy's back. He still has pneumonia in both lungs and is facing a long stay in rehab, but the corner has been turned.
I can't begin to tell you all how grateful we've been for all of your concern and support, my friends. Your continuing prayers and well wishes for healing are most appreciated.
Joy. Overwhelming joy.
Today they're going to move Big Kid to the acute care center which takes care of people who have to be on ventilators long term. They had planned to do it yesterday afternoon (kind of sprang it on me when I got there), but there was some insurance paperwork to clear up, so they put it off until today.
Many of the ICU staff who have cared for him in the last 25 days had heard about the big move and stopped by to say goodbye and offer reassurances that the center has an excellent reputation and success rate for recovery.
As much as I've come to despise this place, it's almost like leaving family. The valets who park our cars, the security guards, and even the cleaning staff have kept up-to-date on Big Kid's progress through the hospital grapevine, and have offered us so much hope and encouragement through this ordeal. One of the cleaning ladies gave me an embroidered cross on a ribbon to hang over the boy's bed in the new place, and another placed her hand on my arm and said in broken English, "That's a good place! They fix him like new! You see!"
For some reason, to be honest, her ringing endorsement has given us more confidence than any from the specialists.
Dear, dear people. After seeing them day after endless day, they've been woven into the pattern that makes our life.
Big Kid is on 40% oxygen, and they still have him moderately sedated. No change on his lungs. The happy feet have come back, and he is constantly "walking" again. About every third "step", his gown would flip up and expose his stuff.
"You know," I said absently after flipping it back down for the gazillionth time, "we're going to have to start calling you 'The Flash' 'cause you keep showing your junk to the world."
He smiled. A great big goofy smile.
I distrusted it, so I took a sniff. The day before, I'd mistaken an enormous fart smile for a "happy to see Mom" smile. You know, fool me once....
No stinkypoo. It was a smile for Mom. :-)
I looked around to make sure nobody was watching and bent over. In my best Cartman (from South Park) imitation I said, "Moooooom! Git yer bitchass in the kitchen and make me some pie!"
Another big goofy smile. A little drooly, but bright as day.
He's in there. I can feel it. I can feel the part of him that makes him him. We just have to figure out how to get him out in one piece.
Wish us luck on the move. And thanks so much for hanging in with us.
Overall, yesterday was a pretty positive day. Something seems to have shaken loose, and the kid was on 30% oxygen for most of the day. They had to bump him back up to 40% late in the afternoon because he had trouble maintaining it, but it was another baby step in the right direction.
Big Kid's CT was normal, but he threw up twice. While we were there, his nurse drew out two huge syringes of stomach acid and bile, and they discontinued the stomach tube feeding for awhile. They did some kind of stomach scan thing overnight to see if there was anything twisted or blocked, but that was negative.
When we arrived, Big Kid got a huge, beatific smile on his face. Since his eyes were partially open, I thought he could see us and rushed over to say, "Hi Baby!!". But moments later there was enough methane in the room to strip a new layer off the ozone. At least something gastrointestinal is working right. Emphasis on the gas.
The nurse was a new one for us, and he was quite a chatty character. We mentioned that we had noticed that there were only 3 patients left on the board that belonged to the pulmonologists. All were there from complications from H1N1.
"Your boy is very lucky," he said. "One of those boys had a stroke, and another is paralyzed."
Oh no. Nononononononono. Those poor, poor baby boys.
These were also complications that never occurred to us. Big Kid is being treated for blood clots in his arms. gah
When we got home, The Happening Dude was on the phone to his girlfriend-of-the-week. "I gotta go," I heard him say. "My parents are home and I want to hang out with them."
Aww, his parents. He called us his parents! An unexpected and welcome balm to an aching heart.
Then I was immediately worried. What in the heck is wrong with him? What teenager (or "aspiring adult", as he calls himself) in his right mind wants to spend time with the parents? ;-)
The roads are clear, so I'm getting ready to drive down into the city and take the day shift with the Big Kid. Thanks again so much for taking the time to come by and check on us.
The G-tube procedure went well, and the kid had a restful day yesterday. It's probably going to be a couple of days until the Risperidone totally kicks in, so they're keeping him lightly sedated.
They took Big Kid to get a CT done late last night---which is the first time he's been stable enough to be transferred out of the room for a procedure. All of the other ones have been done in the room with portable units. We'll get the results this morning.
There was a little improvement on his X-rays again----after hitting another plateau, he's starting more baby steps in the right direction. They've been suctioning a large amount of crap out of his chest yesterday and through the night, which is really good. He's on 45% oxygen right now, and that's really good too.
I wasn't feeling very well yesterday. I don't know if it was a result of the vaccination I got a few days ago, or the onset of something else. Body aches, chills, massive headache---you know the drill. I can't take any over-the-counter cold and flu medications because of my heart, so I just went back to bed and conked out under plenty of covers for around 16 hours with a couple of periods of wakefulness in between. Hubby braved the snowy roads and stayed with the Big Kid until they brought him back from the CT and tucked him in.
Feeling just fine this morning, and we're going to head in late after the sun has had a chance to melt some of the ice on the roads.
I've armed myself with a secret weapon----printed out a haggis recipe and tucked it in my purse. If I feel like I'm going to lose my cool, I'm going to pull it out and measure the offender---Sweetmeats or any other---for a pot. I got lots of pots to choose from. I've even combed my hair.
But it seems like thanks to you all, my reservoir of patience has been refilled. Bless you.
I know I should be grateful that the weather has been as beautiful as it has for the last 10 days or so, considering it's November.
This morning, all I can think of is Bah! More snow! Driving down the mountain in this crap just ratchets up my own anxiety level about 10 notches.
Found out why Big Kid was no longer on Risperidone. Back when they consulted with his neuro-psych, they didn't actually consult with him. They consulted with the doctor who was on call for him. Of course, he didn't know Big Kid's history, and when he prescribed the Haldol (which the kid was on for a total of 2 days, because it wasn't working), they discontinued his Risperidone. ::sigh::
Since he was sedated yesterday, they stopped the anti-psychotic they were using and let it get out of his system. Started him back on the Risperidone last night. Hope to God it works.
The kid had a little bit of a urinary tract infection the other day, and a bad reaction to the anti-biotics. He came out in a rash. The infection seem to have cleared up, so they're going to go ahead with the feeding tube in his stomach today.
I'm trying so hard to be kind and patient to those around me. I'm a sharpish, no-bullsh*t kind of person by nature, so it's difficult, especially now, since the original numbness I've been engulfed in (between raging bouts of panic) is wearing thin.
I know I look like the dog's dinner. I've been dressing for comfort, not style. Yes, sometimes I've forgotten to comb my hair for a couple of days and just threw it up in a bun. Makeup? Heh. At least I'm clean though.
Anyway I can only imagine how I'm viewed by the medical professionals who are in and out and rotating. I know image can be everything. Most have been kind with my incessant questions, and probably see me as a frumpy, frantic mom with a permanently stunned look on my face. A couple of have been impatient, and talk to me like I'm 12.
I've been persistent though. If they want to me to sign for a procedure, I need to have all the facts. If I don't understand something, I'm going to ask and ask for clarification until I do.
One impatient young medical professional started calling me "hon" over and over kind of in a snotty way. He wouldn't have dared if my husband was with me, and that alone annoyed the crap out of me. After the third time, I was thinking, "Pal, I don't care if you call me Attila or Mrs. Mom, but if you call me 'hon' one more time, I'm going to rip out your thorax and present your lungs to my son for a transplant."
And then of course a moment later I was praying, "Oh God, oh God, forgive me for being so nasty to this man who is trying to save my boy."
So on top of everything, now I have to deal with the voices in my own head. ;-)
Still no changes on the x-ray, and he's on 70% oxygen. He's resting quietly.
Thanks again for all your healing thoughts, and please send me the strength to have more patience.
Yesterday, everything went to hell in a handbasket.
It started the night before last after they had completely stopped the sedation. Big Kid totally flipped out. He was violently fighting everything---trying to pull tubes, kick himself out of the bed, throwing himself against the sides of the bed. gah
When I got there in the morning, he was restrained, but still at it. They'd had to dial his oxygen back up to 90% because he wasn't getting enough of it.
Sometime during the night he was prescribed a strong anti-psychotic, but it didn't seem to be doing much. The nurse or I would hold him down and tell him sternly that he needed to calm down. He'd go limp for a few minutes and then start right back up.
They had to replace one of the IV's in his arm. I don't know if the nurse who did it forgot to clip the restraint on Big Kid's arm, or if he somehow worked it loose, but I had to practically throw myself on him when he tried to pull out his feeding tube (it's in his nose).
At one point, I thought he was having a seizure. He went completely rigid and his back was arched about 3 inches off the bed. His face was purple, and his heart rate skyrocketed.
"There is something very wrong!" I called out to the nurse. "We need to do something!"
"He's on the maximum dose allowed right now."
"Well it's not working", I snapped. We had been waiting for the anti-psychotic in IV form, but it was taking forever. Finally she got a syringe and plunged it into his arm. It calmed him down. A little.
In the afternoon, they put him back on the sedation. Then I drove 3 hours back and forth with the guys to get our flu shots.
When I got back, the hospital called. The doctors wanted to put a feeding tube into his stomach, because the one in his nose was obviously a comfort issue, and it looks like he's going to be on the vent for a lot longer than hoped.
They can't wean him off the vent until they wean him off the sedation (it represses respiratory functions), and they can't wean him off the sedation until they can control the psychiatric issues.
Something about this had been tickling what's left of my brain all day. I woke up at 2:30 this morning and I recognized the pattern.
Rapid-cycling. He's having rage attacks.
A couple of years ago before we found the right cocktail of meds, Big Kid would have uncontrollable rage attacks. Of course he could control them to a point, but if he went over it, the attacks would get too big for him to stop. He would cease for about 10 minutes or so and then start right back up again, like he was stuck in a loop. Unless we could hold him down and practically shovel his meds into him, he would go on and on and on for hours until he finally collapsed in exhaustion.
He's been stable for more than a year on his meds. And the hospital was continuing them this whole time. Right?
I called the night-shift nurse and asked her to please make a note about this to the doctor when he rounds early in the morning. I'd be in shortly after to talk with him about it.
She said, you know, I've been going over his chart tonight and reviewing the meds he's on, why don't we check it against the meds he normally takes?
So we did. They're not giving him one med, because it's for high blood pressure, and since he was having so many issues with his pressure, they were doing something else.
And he's not on Risperdone. Which he takes to control his rage attacks.
There isn't any notation of why he isn't on it. It could be that it was overlooked while they were busy trying to save his life, or it could have been contraindicated with other medication so they replaced it with something that isn't working. If that's the case, I could have told them that we've been through the pharmaceutical gamut and nothing else had worked. ;-)
Please pray that this is the answer. Our boy is really suffering. I can't imagine the case of the screaming meemies he must be having, and the horror of not being able to express it.
Thanks again for all your good wishes and comments.
Three weeks. Good Lord, three weeks.
Big Kid is down to 40% oxygen on the ventilator and 8 something of Peep---volume pressure.
They weaned him off the sedative and for the first time in 3 weeks, he's awake. Groggy, but there's somebody home.
In the next few days, as he comes out of it, they're going to start trying to determine if there is any major brain damage due to oxygen deprivation.
The nurse took his hand and leaned over him. "Big Kid, you're in the ICU. You've been very sick, but you're getting better. Can you tell me if you're having any pain?" The boy's hand fluttered up near his throat where the trach is.
The nurse went to get some pain meds, so I took his place.
"Hi, Sweetie!" I chattered at him a moment while he kept trying to focus on my face.
"Do you want me to bring you some music?" He made a movement with his head but I couldn't tell if that meant yes or no.
"How about some Britny Spears?" He shook his head with a definite no.
"How about some David Bowie?" He nodded vehemently. Well, at least his taste in music is intact.
He gave me a blinding smile.
Oh my boy, my precious boy.
Then he started sobbing. He's frightened and confused.
Oh my boy, my baby. I'm so sorry.
This morning I'm going to meet with Big Kid's doctors and a representative of another facility they're going to try to move him to in a few days. This facility only deals with long-term ventilator patients who are no longer in need of acute care. His lungs are still bad, especially the left one, and he probably won't be able to breathe on his own for a long time.
Afterwards, THD, Little Guy and I are scheduled to get our flu shots. I guess I didn't realize that I'm in a high risk category, but I am and our doctor is persistent.
Thanks again for all your continued support. It really does mean a lot.
Eh, two steps forward, one step back again. But as one commenter wrote---it's still one step forward.
They weren't able to lower the volume enough yesterday to do another SBT, so the trach is in. He's holding steady at 50% oxygen on the general vent.
The docs are going to work on lowering his sedation during the next couple of days so that he'll be more conscious and hopefully able to communicate. Soon a physical therapist is going to come in and assess his condition.
His feet are still moving constantly. Up and down. Up and down. I think he's crossed the state line and is somewhere in Nebraska. ;-)
Thanks so much for your continued good thoughts and prayers.
Well our guy is as unpredictable as ever. Maybe he overheard the staff talking about traching him and it told him he better get a move on.
Yesterday Big Kid was able to breathe on his own without the ventilator for 15 minutes. They were able to dial him down on the bi-level vent to 35% the night before, so they decided to give him a SPT (Spontaneous Breathing Test). They have taken him off the bi-level and now he is on the general vent.
He's also no longer in isolation, so we don't have to wear the masks any more.
Joy and hope are fighting to see who's going to come out on top.
They're going to do another test this morning with less sedation. Then they'll decide whether he'll need a trach after all, or if they might be able to wean him off the vent entirely in the next couple of days.
Big Kid's x-rays on the bad side are showing consolidation----meaning the areas around the main infected spots are starting to show through. Or something like that.
Hope is still the frontrunner, but joy is trying to catch up!
The days just seem to be running into one another. I looked at the calender yesterday and thought Holy Smokes! We're a third of the way into November! It's like we're stuck in some freaky limbo while the rest of the world speeds by. Thanks again for hanging in there with us.
No improvement on the lungs or getting the oxygen down. Big Kid can't seem to maintain his saturation levels under 45-50% oxygen. The doctors are planning on doing a tracheostomy on Wednesday.
The bundle of screams are back.
Logically I understand the reasons for this. It will be easier to care for. The back of Big Kid's mouth and throat are getting pretty beat up. It looks like he's going to be on the ventilator longer than hoped. He's not sicker, it's simply taking longer to get better.
I just can't get past the idea that they're going to cut into his throat. His throat.
On a more positive note, yesterday his nurse and I stood on opposite sides of his bed holding his hands.
"Big Kid, can you move the toes on your left foot?" She asked. He moved the toes on his right foot.
"That's great! Can you move the toes on your other left foot?" He did. ;-)
Two good friends in blogland have swine flu hit their families. If you could send some healing thoughts and prayers to Kim's son and Ashley's Mom, I would be most grateful.
And thank you for all your kind blessings.
Yesterday was a good day. I let Hubby sleep in and went into the city early myself. Poor man, he's so tired too, and he's been such a rock for me.
When I got there, I bent over Big Kid and did our "thing". I haven't done it since I wrote about it earlier, because it's powerful, and I don't want to waste it.
Blublublublublua!
If he hadn't been restrained, he would have shot right up. He had my hand in a kung-fu grip and struggled to sit. Whoa!
His nurse came in, and rushed to adjust his sedation.
"Lay back, Honey, " I said. "Do you know where you are?" He nodded his head.
"Do you know who I am?" He nodded his head, and tried to form a word around the tubes.
It looked like he said Mommy. Maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part. He finally gave me my thumb back and he slipped off to sleep.
His feet and legs are in constant motion, like he's slowly riding a bicycle. One knee comes up and down. Then the other. He has those pressure thingys on his calves to keep him from getting blood clots in his legs and he rubs them together like he's trying to get them off. As long as he isn't panicking, they're not too worried about the movement. It's helping his circulation.
My mom brought Little Guy to the hospital late in the afternoon so I could take him home with me. Hubby had just gotten there to take a shift with Big Kid. Since it was Sunday, there were very few people in this wing, and we decided to take a chance and let him see his brother. He's been obsessing on it terribly, and we've been worried that maybe his imagination has gotten the better of him.
So we did everything but wrap him in Saran Wrap, and whisked him up to the ICU. We showed him the tubes and the IVs and explained what each was doing. He held Big Kid's hand and talked to him in his Marge Simpson voice. Then I rushed him home and practically hosed him down. ;-)
There's been no changes on his x-ray, and he's holding at 45% oxygen on the bi-level vent. They've been able to wean off some of the pressure needed to keep his lower lungs open. Baby steps.
When he grabbed me, his grip was strong. Really strong. That more than anything has given me hope today---hope that he can beat this.
Yesterday was a good day. No changes, but each day he gets a little bit better. He has an infection in one of the lines that goes into his chest, but they're going to take care of that with antibiotics and move it to his arm.
Ever noticed that healing metaphors often refer to places...ie; out of the woods, turn the corner, on the road to recovery, light at the end of the tunnel?
I don't think I've heard so many in so short of time. ;-)
Did I ever tell you guys how much I appreciate your support? I do. More than I can ever say.
Another endless day, but another day I can rejoice that our boy is still alive.
Big Kid's healing seems to be picking up some momentum. He's down to 50% oxygen on the bi-level, and they've been cutting down on his sedation. Most of the patients with this in the ICU turned the corner right after the 2-weeks-on-the-ventilator mark, and they're hoping the same will happen with our guy.
Apparently the new drug he was on can't be used for sustained periods. So he got a couple of days of complete rest without panic attacks. They called in his neuropsychiatrist to consult on the issue, and they switched him to a milder sedative and Haldol. He's not freaking out when he comes up, but his feet are almost constantly moving like a dog having puppy dreams.
Hubby made me stay home yesterday to sleep, since I haven't had a full night since Big Kid got sick. He's worried about the stress level and my heart condition. I scared the heck out him the other night (and yes, myself as well).
I woke up in the middle night feeling as if my chest was being crushed. This is it, I told myself. I'm not going to be able to see Big Kid through this. I tried to lift my arm to touch Hubby to wake him and I couldn't, so I cried out.
It was my bra.
No kidding.
I accidentally fell asleep with it on, and with all my tossing and turning, the darn thing rode up and was strangling the girls.
So Hubby stayed with the boy and I zonked out for about 6 hours with my own oxygen tank. It was wonderful.
We're off to the city to be with our guy.
Thanks again for all of your prayers and healing thoughts. I'm sure that each and every one of them are helping.
