So..........Things have improved markedly this week. When we last left Sonja, she was struggling with breathing, her lungs filed with excess fluid, and the fear was that she might have contracted pneumonia.
Happily, that turned out not to be the case.
Her blood pressure remained strong enough for them to continue to give her a strong diuretic called lasik, and it has done the trick. The swelling is down all over her body, and as just one of the benefits, she's can now commit to working on her physical therapy, especially toward regaining the strength in her legs.
The other noticeable benefit of reducing the swelling throughout her system is that she's more alert, more voluble and talkative. The effects of her "sundowning" have lessened, and she seems more focused in her occasional delirium, if that makes any sense; it seems to be more about her attempts to come to terms with short term memory loss and the stress of the ICU than anything else.
So it's been a good week, a very good week. Though indicative of this whole experience, I sit here now typing this while she naps, Friday night about 9pm, and her temperature has been heading up toward fever for the past hour and a half. It is probably nothing. But all we can do is sit here and "keep an eye on it", as her nurse just said. All we can do......
......And here it is on Sat. afternoon, and happily her low grade fever has calmed down and she's fine again. We've worked the exercises for her legs once already today, she's sat up at the edge of the bed and "dangled" (their term for this process) her legs over, and she's gotten into the Stryker chair for a couple of hours. Her strength is slowly returning, and she's starting to eat again (I've pretty much given up on the hospital's food, and have been making daily trips to Wegmans for supplies). All very good news!!! More to come later this week.....Once you've dangled, can walking be far behind!!!????
And now, from the Surreal Files: Thursday morning Sonja had to be wheeled down to Radiology to have a new PICC IV line put it. It's a specialized kind of arterial line (I believe) that goes in through the upper arm or chest and is threaded through the artery toward the heart. Anyway, the one that had been sited for Sonja last week had pulled loose, and so a new one was needed. The special PICC nurse tried to do it at bedside Tues. night, but couldn't locate the vein well enough to feel comfortable with the procedure, so it was decided that they would do it in Radiology, where they have sophisticated imaging equipment to make it a much simpler, safer affair.
At any rate, it took Radiology two days to make it happen, and finally our whole little troupe, Sonja and I and her nurse du jour, Tammy, with the help of two hulking transportation techs, wheeled down to the basement and into the staging room. Thereupon the nurse assigned from Radiology, Emily, picked up her clipboard and, after some preliminaries, began asking the fully conscious Sonja a pretty typical battery of questons about her medical history. Allergies? Ever smoke? For how long? Etc., etc. So this goes on for some time, and I realize that with her memory gaps from medication and delirium, she's only answering about half of the questions correctly. So I decide to wait for Emily to conclude her questions, and then I'll find the right moment to get her the info without embarrassing Sonja or seeming to correct her in front of everyone (two doctors are by now part of the mix). Which it what happens.
And then I'm ushered outside while they do their medical magic, and I'm sent to the "waiting room". This consists of a long, and I mean really long, thin fluorescent-lit corridor, with about sixty identical waiting room chairs lined up, all along one wall of this corridor. So I sit there, facing the dry wall across from me, and do what any sane person does....I abjure the two year old magazines, whip out a paperback (cheap, escapist science fiction), and try to assert some degree of The Normal by diving into the book. After a short while, a tiny, wizened old woman is herself ushered to a chair near me and told to wait for her own procedure to begin.
She's fascinating in a Twin Peaks kind of way. Not a "little person", but very small, with long blonde-gray hair and eye glasses thick enough to make you hope that somebody else drove her to the hospital this morning. And then you realize that that is part of the reason she fascinates; something about her makes you believe that she's been in charge of her own life, by god, since before you were born. There is a strength and a power about her that is palpable, that fills this already small space with no effort at all. She's wearing dark red heavy wool slacks with sensible flats, and a heavy green and gray checked barn coat, collar turned up now more against the fear of being here than the cold outside. While I sit and sneak glances her way, a child is led down the corridor by a nurse in scrubs and her parents, a little tow-headed blonde girl clutching a stuffed dog. She is calm and obedient while her parents make small talk with the nurse, who mentions as they pass me that it's been years since they last saw this same little girl.
Distracted, I try to read again, and am just starting to regain my place in the book when through closed doors that same child, one has to assume by proximity and the voices involved, starts to scream. I mean she's howling with the kind of wrenching despair that only a child can reach down for when they're really, really scared, and these idiotic adults don't seem to get it, for Christ's sake, and why did she ever trust these losers in the first place!! Collectively we're supposed to ignore this kind of thing, in this kind of environment, and I try, reflexively, I try..,..but the kid keeps screaming, over the obvious efforts of everyone in that room to quiet her, and finally you have to just put the book down pay attention to it.
And then I turn, and Little Woman is staring at me, and for one horrible moment I feel like whatever the kid is going through is somehow my fault. That I've just been judged. And I sort of half smile and try to share some kind of "moment" with Little Woman, you know, the way we all do when something terrible has just happened but your not really responsible and damned happy that it hasn't happened to either of you!! She acknowledges nothing, and instead with an empty expression that could mean anything turns away from me again, faces forward, and then the screaming finally stops. It occurs to me that she might have hoped I was an entrant to the Fun House, like she and the child, and was disappointed that my glance didn't share her own fears of what might await her and her own testing later that day. Moments later another nurse materializes and asks Little Woman to follow her (happily, given my frame of mind by that point, in a genuinely kind and gentle way). She rises with an unthinking dignity, and I'm alone again.
And then the absurdity of the earlier scene back in Radiology strikes home. There we were, surrounded by literally millions and millions of dollars worth of equipment, while Nurse Emily dutifully recorded the responses of a someone who's memory of late hasn't been the greatest and Nurse Tammy just smilingly nodded and I looked on wondering when to jump in to make sure none of these people hurt each other.
And this was a good day.......
More to come.
-- Paul
No comments:
Post a Comment