Sunday continued
As I mentioned before, to us Sunday was mostly a day of holding steady. His numbers looked good (and the nurse commented that there wasn't much to tell us when we came in for visits, because we could by then read his vitals as well as anyone could!). The most medically interesting thing that happened that day was that they removed the balloon that was supporting his heart, and his heart continued to beat steadily and strongly. As far as I know, there is still no indication as to whether his right ventricle will recover or not. They kept him well supplied with oxygen and they kept his fluids up to help support his heart.
As of Sunday we were really getting to know some of the other regulars in the ICU waiting area. One family of four siblings, about our age, is there for their mother. The family seems very much like us -- they are completely settled into their space with reading material, craft projects (mainly home-made playdough!), and rosaries piled around. They see that someone stays there all night, which is serious dedication, since the waiting room sofas are four feet long at best, not to mention seriously uncomfortable. (After four days of sitting on these chairs my legs, hips, and back were aching -- being four months pregnant doesn't help -- so I can't imagine four days and nights of this.) When I arrived on Sunday morning, one of the men told me that during the night a young man was brought in. He had been stabbed in the eye with a screwdriver. It had missed his eye, but his brain was damaged, and they couldn't get him to respond. Just when you think you've hit a low point, you learn that someone has it worse than you. My mental prayer list is getting long.
We occupy ourselves in the waiting room with reading (but less than you'd expect, for a family that is inclined to read all the time), card-making (all of us girls are into rubber stamping), watching videos (Amy decided this was a good time to buy a portable DVD player -- when Dad is more alert he'll get it on extended loan), and conversing with one another. And trying not to worry. At times it gets tense. Eric is frustrated at the lack of progress and prognosis and would like to have a doctor friend of his see Dad's medications (and chart, if possible). The rest of us feel this would express a lack of confidence in the Sinai medical staff, and we know there's no prognosis because they really don't know it. Mom worries that Eric is trying to be pushy, but the daughters think he's just feeling as helpless as the rest of us and is grasping at one of the few things he might be able to do for our family. It's a moot point, because no one outside Dad's approved medical team is allowed to see his charts. But it causes more tension on already frayed nerves.
Dad was pretty responsive for the evening session, and we stayed for an hour and fifteen minutes. He didn't want us to go -- he never wants us to go, and I can't blame him for that! I was also reluctant to leave, because I was due to leave on Monday morning, and there was no guarantee I'd be able to see him the next morning. Fatigue won out all around, though. Mom did ask Dad if he'd like her to bring a book to read to him on Monday, and he nodded, so maybe that will help keep his mind away from worry. Or boredom. Or confusion. I wish we knew what he was thinking. I bet he does, too.
As of Sunday we were really getting to know some of the other regulars in the ICU waiting area. One family of four siblings, about our age, is there for their mother. The family seems very much like us -- they are completely settled into their space with reading material, craft projects (mainly home-made playdough!), and rosaries piled around. They see that someone stays there all night, which is serious dedication, since the waiting room sofas are four feet long at best, not to mention seriously uncomfortable. (After four days of sitting on these chairs my legs, hips, and back were aching -- being four months pregnant doesn't help -- so I can't imagine four days and nights of this.) When I arrived on Sunday morning, one of the men told me that during the night a young man was brought in. He had been stabbed in the eye with a screwdriver. It had missed his eye, but his brain was damaged, and they couldn't get him to respond. Just when you think you've hit a low point, you learn that someone has it worse than you. My mental prayer list is getting long.
We occupy ourselves in the waiting room with reading (but less than you'd expect, for a family that is inclined to read all the time), card-making (all of us girls are into rubber stamping), watching videos (Amy decided this was a good time to buy a portable DVD player -- when Dad is more alert he'll get it on extended loan), and conversing with one another. And trying not to worry. At times it gets tense. Eric is frustrated at the lack of progress and prognosis and would like to have a doctor friend of his see Dad's medications (and chart, if possible). The rest of us feel this would express a lack of confidence in the Sinai medical staff, and we know there's no prognosis because they really don't know it. Mom worries that Eric is trying to be pushy, but the daughters think he's just feeling as helpless as the rest of us and is grasping at one of the few things he might be able to do for our family. It's a moot point, because no one outside Dad's approved medical team is allowed to see his charts. But it causes more tension on already frayed nerves.
Dad was pretty responsive for the evening session, and we stayed for an hour and fifteen minutes. He didn't want us to go -- he never wants us to go, and I can't blame him for that! I was also reluctant to leave, because I was due to leave on Monday morning, and there was no guarantee I'd be able to see him the next morning. Fatigue won out all around, though. Mom did ask Dad if he'd like her to bring a book to read to him on Monday, and he nodded, so maybe that will help keep his mind away from worry. Or boredom. Or confusion. I wish we knew what he was thinking. I bet he does, too.
posted by Emily @ 6:42 PM
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