Greg in ICU
Chapter 5
Finally the respirator is removed from Greg. Greg has developed a bedsore on his buttocks; while on the respirator he couldn't be turned or moved, hense, the bedsore. We have taken care of Greg for ten years; never a bedsore. Doctors and Nurses always commented on what beautiful condition Greg's skin is in; it's pretty unheard of for someone in Greg's condition (full quadreplegic--paralized from the neck down), not to have done battle with bedsores.
I silently worry about this and the care. Christopher Reeves died of complications of an infection from bed sores. It's ugly, red, the skin is broken. How will Greg sit in his wheelchair, I wonder? Will he be bedridden? Troubled thoughts swirl around in my head. Will I be able to care for Greg when he comes home? I feel at fault that Greg is here. We had argued about him coming in sooner; but, he stubbornly said no. He would wait until he was done with the antibiotics. My son is not a child; he's thirtyeight years old. I like to give him the opportunity to make his own decisions, to exhibit some control of his life. He lost so much; yet, his reasoning, thinking, self is still there.
Greg is getting stronger; the bedsore is being treated. ICU wants it closed up before they release Greg to another floor. I'm relieved. Daily he looks better. He's still weak, however his color, the light in his eyes, tells me he's mending to leave here and come home.
Everymorning, I am here at the hospital by eight o-clock so as not to miss talking with the Doctors making their rounds. Because of the aspiration pneumonia the Doctors are recommending Greg have a trach put in; it would make it so much more easier to suction fluids out of the lungs. It is not pleasant the way it is done now. A tube goes down Greg's nose, or there is a cough assist machine that creates a feeling of suffocating as a plastic enclosed tubing covers the mouth and nose and pressue from a machine is administered. It is not pleasant; Greg does not like it.Some of the precedures done to Greg I can't watch, it's hard enough listening to the sounds that escape his body through his mouth. It's as if he were being tortured.
Greg does not want the trach. He cannot talk, however, his laugh has sound and his cry has sound. We know a fellow roommate of Greg's from the convalescent home who has a trach. No sound comes from him. His laughter is soundless; his crying is soundless. Greg does not want to relinquish his meager sounds. He can get our attention by making sounds. I understand. A trach would be a last resort. No trach.
Greg is getting the very best of care. The Doctors and Nurses are vigilant. His stats are taken regularly and everyone is so on top of Greg's care. The bedsore is healing up nicely. It's looking so much better, smaller, less red and closing up.I am relieved.
Finally Greg is going to be released from ICU to upstairs of the hospital. It is April. The caregivers and I shift into our routine of staying overnight with Greg. It is my turn every third night. Even with sleep aids Greg is wide awake. Once we had read a story from the front page of the newspaper about how this woman had gone to the dentist to have a tooth extracted. When she awoke she found she had no teeth at all, the dentist had pulled them. I secretely think he worries about things, like he doesn't want to sleep and wake up with a trach.
Oh, we were so spoiled in ICU. Up on the fifth floor of the hospital is another story. It is good that one of us is with Greg to take of him and his needs. The nurses are busy; we know Greg's routine and the art of communicating with him.
In all truthfullness, we are all so ready to go home. This schedule is wicked. Greg wants his own bed. I don't blame him. I have already requested a home visiting nurse to come every week to our home and check on Greg until he is out of the woods, so to speak. My request is granted! The bedsore is not completely healed up; they want to make sure there are no complications. Relief floods my entire being!
Greg comes home April 03, 2006. There are balloons, a Welcome Home sign on his door and a pair of boxing gloves hanging on his wall symbolizing the "fight" he won in the battle for his life again. The excellient vigilant care Greg got in the hospital, our Faith and prayers culminated in this mini miracle. Miracle to us.
April is the month of my birthday. I could not imagine losing my son in April. If I had, my birthday month would never be the same. I do not mean this in a sacrilegious
manner. I have felt for a long time an affinity with Mary, the Mother Of Jesus. We were both mothers; we have both held the motionless bodies of our sons in our arms. For me there was a mini "ressurection." My son came home. Easter held a poignant
message and meaning for me this year for the second time. I say Thank-You to the Universe, to the Creator, for allowing me another season with my son. I do not know how long this season will be, however, I am so grateful.
One morning when Greg and I were "talking" he told me how he felt an Oriental Doctor was responsible for saving his life. I never met that Doctor. I felt the Doctor I met most of the morning was the life saver.
I laughed and said:
"Greg our experiences at the hospital were uniquely our own. We each had differant experiences though we were seemingly close to the same page." Of course, Gregory's experiences would be so different from mine.
When Easter came, Greg was feeling so much better. Greg enjoys to play dominios
and in my next Post I will insert the pictures of my son and his caregivers on Easter Sunday. Greg's face is alive with mirth; Tim and Angel's body language show two people stumpted!
I am blessed.
Chapter 5
Finally the respirator is removed from Greg. Greg has developed a bedsore on his buttocks; while on the respirator he couldn't be turned or moved, hense, the bedsore. We have taken care of Greg for ten years; never a bedsore. Doctors and Nurses always commented on what beautiful condition Greg's skin is in; it's pretty unheard of for someone in Greg's condition (full quadreplegic--paralized from the neck down), not to have done battle with bedsores.
I silently worry about this and the care. Christopher Reeves died of complications of an infection from bed sores. It's ugly, red, the skin is broken. How will Greg sit in his wheelchair, I wonder? Will he be bedridden? Troubled thoughts swirl around in my head. Will I be able to care for Greg when he comes home? I feel at fault that Greg is here. We had argued about him coming in sooner; but, he stubbornly said no. He would wait until he was done with the antibiotics. My son is not a child; he's thirtyeight years old. I like to give him the opportunity to make his own decisions, to exhibit some control of his life. He lost so much; yet, his reasoning, thinking, self is still there.
Greg is getting stronger; the bedsore is being treated. ICU wants it closed up before they release Greg to another floor. I'm relieved. Daily he looks better. He's still weak, however his color, the light in his eyes, tells me he's mending to leave here and come home.
Everymorning, I am here at the hospital by eight o-clock so as not to miss talking with the Doctors making their rounds. Because of the aspiration pneumonia the Doctors are recommending Greg have a trach put in; it would make it so much more easier to suction fluids out of the lungs. It is not pleasant the way it is done now. A tube goes down Greg's nose, or there is a cough assist machine that creates a feeling of suffocating as a plastic enclosed tubing covers the mouth and nose and pressue from a machine is administered. It is not pleasant; Greg does not like it.Some of the precedures done to Greg I can't watch, it's hard enough listening to the sounds that escape his body through his mouth. It's as if he were being tortured.
Greg does not want the trach. He cannot talk, however, his laugh has sound and his cry has sound. We know a fellow roommate of Greg's from the convalescent home who has a trach. No sound comes from him. His laughter is soundless; his crying is soundless. Greg does not want to relinquish his meager sounds. He can get our attention by making sounds. I understand. A trach would be a last resort. No trach.
Greg is getting the very best of care. The Doctors and Nurses are vigilant. His stats are taken regularly and everyone is so on top of Greg's care. The bedsore is healing up nicely. It's looking so much better, smaller, less red and closing up.I am relieved.
Finally Greg is going to be released from ICU to upstairs of the hospital. It is April. The caregivers and I shift into our routine of staying overnight with Greg. It is my turn every third night. Even with sleep aids Greg is wide awake. Once we had read a story from the front page of the newspaper about how this woman had gone to the dentist to have a tooth extracted. When she awoke she found she had no teeth at all, the dentist had pulled them. I secretely think he worries about things, like he doesn't want to sleep and wake up with a trach.
Oh, we were so spoiled in ICU. Up on the fifth floor of the hospital is another story. It is good that one of us is with Greg to take of him and his needs. The nurses are busy; we know Greg's routine and the art of communicating with him.
In all truthfullness, we are all so ready to go home. This schedule is wicked. Greg wants his own bed. I don't blame him. I have already requested a home visiting nurse to come every week to our home and check on Greg until he is out of the woods, so to speak. My request is granted! The bedsore is not completely healed up; they want to make sure there are no complications. Relief floods my entire being!
Greg comes home April 03, 2006. There are balloons, a Welcome Home sign on his door and a pair of boxing gloves hanging on his wall symbolizing the "fight" he won in the battle for his life again. The excellient vigilant care Greg got in the hospital, our Faith and prayers culminated in this mini miracle. Miracle to us.
April is the month of my birthday. I could not imagine losing my son in April. If I had, my birthday month would never be the same. I do not mean this in a sacrilegious
manner. I have felt for a long time an affinity with Mary, the Mother Of Jesus. We were both mothers; we have both held the motionless bodies of our sons in our arms. For me there was a mini "ressurection." My son came home. Easter held a poignant
message and meaning for me this year for the second time. I say Thank-You to the Universe, to the Creator, for allowing me another season with my son. I do not know how long this season will be, however, I am so grateful.
One morning when Greg and I were "talking" he told me how he felt an Oriental Doctor was responsible for saving his life. I never met that Doctor. I felt the Doctor I met most of the morning was the life saver.
I laughed and said:
"Greg our experiences at the hospital were uniquely our own. We each had differant experiences though we were seemingly close to the same page." Of course, Gregory's experiences would be so different from mine.
When Easter came, Greg was feeling so much better. Greg enjoys to play dominios
and in my next Post I will insert the pictures of my son and his caregivers on Easter Sunday. Greg's face is alive with mirth; Tim and Angel's body language show two people stumpted!
I am blessed.
posted by Learning Lollipops | 8:30 PM
1 Comments:
Agonizing times and agonizing details, but you show your strength by realizing that you are still blessed with miracles.
Keep writing Angelina.....
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