All quiet here at Chez Vinny. The three of us are watching the Arkansas/LSU game, a post-thanksgiving tradition of sorts. Dad's breathing well, yawning, flinching...all wonderful things. I have the speaker turned up so he can hear the game. By the look on his face, he's not particularly impressed with Mallett's performance so far.
His hospital bed is very fancy- it's got air chambers that inflate/deflate to turn him as needed. Trouble is, it's got a short in it somewhere, so the error alarm goes off once every 15 minutes or so. Mom and I take turns hitting the cancel button. They're sending a technician in Monday to fix it, so only 1 more day of annoyance.
Monday's also the day we get a full team of doctors to do an assessment. They'll most likely order more brain scans and run a few more tests. The resp staff is going to put him on a machine that's a step down from his ventilator and see how he handles it.
...and an 87 yard punt return for LSU? Yeesh. It's only the 2nd quarter! I've got to move Dad's arms anyway, so I'll do it when they call the Hogs (for my non-Arkansas friends, ask me later. It's really best explained in person).
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Friday 11/26: New contact info
If you try to go visit Dad at UAMS, you'll be out of luck. We're not there.
Here's Dad's new hospital info:
Select Specialty Hospital
on the campus of St. Vincent Infirmary
2 St. Vincent Circle, 6th Floor
Little Rock, AR 72205
(501) 552-8310
I'll leave his room number off, but you may ask at reception for his location. Visiting hours are 10 am-8 pm only. The staff has been pretty easygoing about visitors, but keep in mind that he's still at risk for infections, so no sniffles or flu recoverers allowed. Mom and I are around most of the day, stepping out for lunch and errands.
He's settling in quite well here. There's more color in his face, he's breathing like a champ and his sleep/wake cycles are becoming more obvious (I can tell when he's sleeping/dreaming, and when he yawns, when his body's alert).
One of his first nurses here generously took the time to go through his chart and medicine list with me. I apparently sounded like I new what I was talking about, because he asked if I was a nurse. I laughed so hard I think it scared Dad.
All in all, thing at Chez Vinny are rocking steady. We've had a steady flow of visitors, and we welcome any that would like to drop by. Keep up the prayers/chants/hopes. They are working.
Here's Dad's new hospital info:
Select Specialty Hospital
on the campus of St. Vincent Infirmary
2 St. Vincent Circle, 6th Floor
Little Rock, AR 72205
(501) 552-8310
I'll leave his room number off, but you may ask at reception for his location. Visiting hours are 10 am-8 pm only. The staff has been pretty easygoing about visitors, but keep in mind that he's still at risk for infections, so no sniffles or flu recoverers allowed. Mom and I are around most of the day, stepping out for lunch and errands.
He's settling in quite well here. There's more color in his face, he's breathing like a champ and his sleep/wake cycles are becoming more obvious (I can tell when he's sleeping/dreaming, and when he yawns, when his body's alert).
One of his first nurses here generously took the time to go through his chart and medicine list with me. I apparently sounded like I new what I was talking about, because he asked if I was a nurse. I laughed so hard I think it scared Dad.
All in all, thing at Chez Vinny are rocking steady. We've had a steady flow of visitors, and we welcome any that would like to drop by. Keep up the prayers/chants/hopes. They are working.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Wednesday, 11/25: Moving Day
I knew I was ready to get back to Little Rock today; I had no idea how essential it was until I got here.
Dad's no longer a patient at UAMS. In a meeting this morning with doctors from the neurology, surgery, SICU and social work staff, we were informed that ICU treatment had done everything possible for Dad, and he shouldn't stay any longer. Their primary objective was to get him out of imminent life-threatening danger, and they had succeeded. He is now stable, and the best possible move for him would be to a facility that could focus on the next objective of weaning him off his ventilator and giving his brain further time to mend. Also, with a high-traffic intensive care unit, the longer he's there, the longer he's at risk for contracting infections, pneumonia, and whatever else walks in the door (an elderly woman a few doors away from his room was brought in with H1N1 last week). Also, it's sort of an unspoken that the good ICU discharge window is 2-3 weeks.
We were moved this afternoon to Select Specialty Hospital, operating out of the 6th floor of St Vincent's Infirmary Hospital (at Markham and University in LR). It's not another ICU, but rather a long term acute care (LTAC) facility. Here the foot traffic is not as heavy, and the staff is smaller and a bit more specialized. He has 2 respiratory therapists who are monitoring him in rotation, both former ICU resp staff. Dad breathes completely on his own, but it's through his trach ventilator which needs monitoring. He'll also be receiving more aggressive physical therapy, and staff will also be more aggressive in trying to obtain a neurological response. Sounds intense, but it's good- he's to a point now that we need to start pushing his limits and see how he reacts.
One drawback (or bonus, depending on how you see it) is that we no longer have round-the-clock access to Dad. SSH does not allow any visitors between 8pm-10am. There's a family waiting area, but it's much smaller and not designed for overnight stay. While we know we won't be staying overnight in the hospital much anymore, neither of us could bear to be far from him on the first night in his new digs at Chez Vinny (that's what I've dubbed the hospital- you've gotta have fun with it). We've checked into the Guesthouse Inn on St Vincent's campus for the night. And boy, did we need it. For the first time since the accident 2 weeks ago, Mom's sleeping in a real bed (and snoring. infinitely more than her usual symphonic range, but it's wonderful because I know she's really resting). It's been nice, given the whirlwind of today's venue change, to be alone in a private hotel room with real beds and a tv.
Tomorrow we'll spend the day with Dad and plan for the next week. We've officially moved into a new stage, but it's one we weren't planning for so soon. We may come home for some time tomorrow, but nothing's definite.
Bottom line: Dad's in the best place he could be for right now. He's on no sedatives, he breathes on his own, and he yawns like a lion as part of his coma's sleep/wake cycle (it's adorable). His eyelids flutter (yes, both!), he coughs a lot (which is good- he's clearing his lungs of debris), and he moves all limbs when he gets irritated. Now we wait...more. But with a slightly different purpose, and the exact same faith that he'll keep improving.
Dad's no longer a patient at UAMS. In a meeting this morning with doctors from the neurology, surgery, SICU and social work staff, we were informed that ICU treatment had done everything possible for Dad, and he shouldn't stay any longer. Their primary objective was to get him out of imminent life-threatening danger, and they had succeeded. He is now stable, and the best possible move for him would be to a facility that could focus on the next objective of weaning him off his ventilator and giving his brain further time to mend. Also, with a high-traffic intensive care unit, the longer he's there, the longer he's at risk for contracting infections, pneumonia, and whatever else walks in the door (an elderly woman a few doors away from his room was brought in with H1N1 last week). Also, it's sort of an unspoken that the good ICU discharge window is 2-3 weeks.
We were moved this afternoon to Select Specialty Hospital, operating out of the 6th floor of St Vincent's Infirmary Hospital (at Markham and University in LR). It's not another ICU, but rather a long term acute care (LTAC) facility. Here the foot traffic is not as heavy, and the staff is smaller and a bit more specialized. He has 2 respiratory therapists who are monitoring him in rotation, both former ICU resp staff. Dad breathes completely on his own, but it's through his trach ventilator which needs monitoring. He'll also be receiving more aggressive physical therapy, and staff will also be more aggressive in trying to obtain a neurological response. Sounds intense, but it's good- he's to a point now that we need to start pushing his limits and see how he reacts.
One drawback (or bonus, depending on how you see it) is that we no longer have round-the-clock access to Dad. SSH does not allow any visitors between 8pm-10am. There's a family waiting area, but it's much smaller and not designed for overnight stay. While we know we won't be staying overnight in the hospital much anymore, neither of us could bear to be far from him on the first night in his new digs at Chez Vinny (that's what I've dubbed the hospital- you've gotta have fun with it). We've checked into the Guesthouse Inn on St Vincent's campus for the night. And boy, did we need it. For the first time since the accident 2 weeks ago, Mom's sleeping in a real bed (and snoring. infinitely more than her usual symphonic range, but it's wonderful because I know she's really resting). It's been nice, given the whirlwind of today's venue change, to be alone in a private hotel room with real beds and a tv.
Tomorrow we'll spend the day with Dad and plan for the next week. We've officially moved into a new stage, but it's one we weren't planning for so soon. We may come home for some time tomorrow, but nothing's definite.
Bottom line: Dad's in the best place he could be for right now. He's on no sedatives, he breathes on his own, and he yawns like a lion as part of his coma's sleep/wake cycle (it's adorable). His eyelids flutter (yes, both!), he coughs a lot (which is good- he's clearing his lungs of debris), and he moves all limbs when he gets irritated. Now we wait...more. But with a slightly different purpose, and the exact same faith that he'll keep improving.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, 11/24
For a guy in a coma, Dad's sure making progress.
He's breathing almost completely on his own. His heart rate is normal, except when he hears Mom reading to him, when it accelerates (read: he's in there). His circulation is still improving, and I can't wait to see him tomorrow.
I was called by Dr. Wagner today to grant consent for a small procedure. They've implanted an IVC in one of his veins. Because he's laying still and not moving around, he's at a higher risk for blood clots, specifically in his legs. Should one of those travel to his heart, it could get passed rather quickly to his lung, resulting in a pulmonary embolism. These are incredibly dangerous and could be fatal (I lost a singer friend of mine to one of those earlier this year). The IVC will act somewhat like a sieve, allowing blood but not clots to pass back up to his heart. I granted consent, and the procedure was completed seamlessly before 6 pm.
Tracy, his day nurse, gave him a great report, as did Kelly, a new evening nurse. Again, our outlook is positive. We must, because the alternative robs us of our sanity. We understand the length of this process, but we know the amount of fight he has in him. Besides, after surviving as much as he has, and defying countless predictions, how do you not have faith?
He's breathing almost completely on his own. His heart rate is normal, except when he hears Mom reading to him, when it accelerates (read: he's in there). His circulation is still improving, and I can't wait to see him tomorrow.
I was called by Dr. Wagner today to grant consent for a small procedure. They've implanted an IVC in one of his veins. Because he's laying still and not moving around, he's at a higher risk for blood clots, specifically in his legs. Should one of those travel to his heart, it could get passed rather quickly to his lung, resulting in a pulmonary embolism. These are incredibly dangerous and could be fatal (I lost a singer friend of mine to one of those earlier this year). The IVC will act somewhat like a sieve, allowing blood but not clots to pass back up to his heart. I granted consent, and the procedure was completed seamlessly before 6 pm.
Tracy, his day nurse, gave him a great report, as did Kelly, a new evening nurse. Again, our outlook is positive. We must, because the alternative robs us of our sanity. We understand the length of this process, but we know the amount of fight he has in him. Besides, after surviving as much as he has, and defying countless predictions, how do you not have faith?
Sunday, November 22, 2009
11/22: Sunday Funday
There was no post yesterday for 2 reasons. 1. There wasn't much to report. Dad's vitals didn't change much, but all is good and stable. 2. Ashlee had a final rehearsal for the opera tonight, and when she got home she slept. She was so tired that she spoke of herself in third person.
I did have an amazing conversation with Mikal, Dad's nurse. She's the one Mom and I love to pieces- she also used to ride bikes, so she sympathizes with our situation. She put some things in perspective for me. As trite as it sounds, one of her phrases hasn't left my head: "Life changes, but it does go on."
Mom and I are still getting used to what is now our new normal: stats, temps, bodily fluid discussions that aren't even our own. She managed to go home for a few hours yesterday, and I'm so proud. If you see her before I do, make sure she's taking care of herself.
Dad breathed all by himself today on a CPAP machine. And that, my friends, is what we call progress! The nurses also convinced Mom that Dad's beard had to go. It's getting too long, and soon it will interfere with the trach collar, which would cause him even more discomfort. They had makeover day this morning, and Mikal sent me a shot of dad from her camera phone...c'est adrorable! Less Grizzly Adams, more Timbo circa 2002. They did a pretty good job; very few nicks.
This morning at mass at Church of the Ascension, I was thinking of not just my own father, but the patriarch of the McSheehy family in Russellville. His daughter was a friend of mine from college, and he passed yesterday morning. When you have your next spiritual moment, please send some of the good wishes you have for my father to their family so that they find peace and comfort during their grief.
Again, today is a good day for Dad. He's holding is own, which is exactly what we want for now. I'm heading to my modern opera with Vox3/Eclipse Theatre Co, where I'll be screaming above the staff as Esther Dudley in Democracy. I'll record it because my mother wants it for Dad, but my character is the daughter of an agnostic who's trying to decide if she wants to marry and Anglican priest in post-Civil War America. Not sure how my pitched religious arguments will go with the Temptations and Gladys Knight, but I'll work on it.
I did have an amazing conversation with Mikal, Dad's nurse. She's the one Mom and I love to pieces- she also used to ride bikes, so she sympathizes with our situation. She put some things in perspective for me. As trite as it sounds, one of her phrases hasn't left my head: "Life changes, but it does go on."
Mom and I are still getting used to what is now our new normal: stats, temps, bodily fluid discussions that aren't even our own. She managed to go home for a few hours yesterday, and I'm so proud. If you see her before I do, make sure she's taking care of herself.
Dad breathed all by himself today on a CPAP machine. And that, my friends, is what we call progress! The nurses also convinced Mom that Dad's beard had to go. It's getting too long, and soon it will interfere with the trach collar, which would cause him even more discomfort. They had makeover day this morning, and Mikal sent me a shot of dad from her camera phone...c'est adrorable! Less Grizzly Adams, more Timbo circa 2002. They did a pretty good job; very few nicks.
This morning at mass at Church of the Ascension, I was thinking of not just my own father, but the patriarch of the McSheehy family in Russellville. His daughter was a friend of mine from college, and he passed yesterday morning. When you have your next spiritual moment, please send some of the good wishes you have for my father to their family so that they find peace and comfort during their grief.
Again, today is a good day for Dad. He's holding is own, which is exactly what we want for now. I'm heading to my modern opera with Vox3/Eclipse Theatre Co, where I'll be screaming above the staff as Esther Dudley in Democracy. I'll record it because my mother wants it for Dad, but my character is the daughter of an agnostic who's trying to decide if she wants to marry and Anglican priest in post-Civil War America. Not sure how my pitched religious arguments will go with the Temptations and Gladys Knight, but I'll work on it.
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