Coming Back

Okay, so it's been a year or so since my last post here. Bad on me. But I felt compelled to start this up again after finding myself in hospital again suffering from the same affliction that landed me there last year.

July 31st, I was starting to feeling crummy. I thought that I had a case of the flu coming on, so didn't think much of it. But, then I started to get the chills, and suddenly I had this horrible feeling that things were progressing the same way they did last year. We waited it out Sunday evening before panicing, but when Monday morning rolled around, it was quite clear that there was something serious going on. I was week, and I could feeling my thoughts becoming clouded, and my speech was becoming labored. We went directly to the emergency room.

I remember getting admitted, and getting onto the bed in the ER. Many nurses and doctors came through, but sometime an hour or so into the ordeal, I begin to loose coherent memories of the events. The next clear thing that I remember is being wheeled into the ICU and transferring over to the ICU bed, which, it turns out, was the exact same bed that I used when I was hospital last year.

My memories are very incoherent in ICU. At one point I woke up, and I had was I later found out was an ice blanket on, because my temperature was 107 degrees! I remember waking up and seeing that a nurse was just finishing up putting a PICC line into my arm, a procedure that I went through at least 3 times last year, and something that I wouldn't think I would be able to sleep through. I have a vague memory of our good friends Brendan and Emmily coming into the room to see how I was doing. It's a jumble. Like someone took a picture album and tore all of the pictures out, scattered them on the floor, and lost half of them.

More to come...

Time in the ICU

There are a number of things that I remember about my time in the ICU at Mercy Hospital. Since I was unable to roll myself over, the staff used a small (but powerful) sky lift that was attached to a track on the ceiling. They would lower the lift belt down and connect it to a harness that was placed below me in the bed. The belt was then raised, and the staff was able to change the dressings on the wounds that were on the back of my thigh. It was very scary at first, being lifted into the air, especially since I didn't have a lot of control over my body position. I felt like I was being left in mid-air. But the staff did an excellent job of making sure that nothing unfortunate happened.

Physical therapy has been, and continues to be, a large part of my recovery, and it started way back in the ICU. I remember it taking 6 people just to get me seated at the side of the bed. I was not able to hold myself upright without someone helping to prop me up. Doing leg lifts while seated was so difficult. You might as well have asked me to run the mile. There were attempts to find something that would allow me to sit upright while keeping undo weight off of the wounds on my legs. First was a special bed that was supposed to be able to go from lying down to almost upright automatically. Unfortunately, lying on it was something akin to trying to sleep on several boulders. After bringing my original bed back, they tried a chair that was able to recline into a nearly horizontal position. But, this was about as comfortable as sitting on a hay bail for a couple of hours. They then brought in a wheel chair that I was able to sit in. It was the most comfortable of the three options, although that really wasn't saying much. The nurses wanted me to sit in the chair for meals, which was extremely difficult. I was still having a hard time holding my head up, so combining that with attempts to eat with arms that were nearly as useless as those of a T-Rex made of a very frustrating meal. I sat in the chair eating my evening meal during the NFC championship game, and I literally do not remember any of it, I was so uncomfortable and miserable.

Not long after the traych had been put into my throat, the respiratory therapist wanted me to try and use something called a Pasimer valve. This small piece of plastic, when placed on the breathing tube, would allow me to talk. The first time that I used it, the whole process of talking seemed somewhat foreign. I sounded like a cartoon character, and phlegm from my throat would build up behind the valve and leave me in a fit of coughing. I later realized that if I removed the valve, I was able to clear my throat and stop the coughing fit. It was good to be able to do more than just point, jester, and mouth words, but it wasn't easy to get used to.