Things are still moving slowly along. I got to the hospital early this morning since that seems to be Dave's most awake and alert time (it's certainly not mine). While I was there he got his second JP drain removed (this was the last of the two drains placed during surgery on the 12th). I guess that's progress. He still has the drain that was inserted when he was re-admitted last Friday, although the volume from that drain has dropped off as well. As of this morning, the doctors were still trying to figure out what to do with the septated (separated by membranes) pocket of fluid that still remains. This afternoon they decided to push some concoction (can't remember the name of the drug, so concoction is the best I can do) into the drain in an attempt to break up the membranes and drain some of the fluid. The risk of that approach is that the fluid they push in may not come back out and he then has a larger pocket of fluid. In addition, the pressure from the fluid is what caused him so much pain in the first place, so there was some concern over whether that might happen again.
Dave's mom left town this evening, so I didn't make it back to the hospital tonight, but I talked to him on the phone a little bit ago and it sounded like pretty good news so far. He said there has been some fluid draining, so hopefully the new approach is going to break through some walls tonight.
In the meantime, there hasn't been any talk of when he might get discharged. The big challenge now is to keep his spirits up while he's stuck in the hospital. Speaking of which, he can have visitors even though he's in what they consider "isolation". The hospital isn't concerned about the staph being contagious to visitors - the concern is about contagion to other post-op patients with compromised immune systems so they don't want it carried from one patient's room to the common areas of the hospital. Before entering his room, visitors need to put on a gown and gloves and put any personal items in a hospital bag (or leave them outside the room). Dave can also leave his room to take short walks around the ward, but when he leaves the room he needs to put on a fresh gown and gloves, while visitors need to take their gown and gloves off and leave them inside his room. So all you local people who have asked about visiting, please give me a call (cel phone is 206.841.2240) and I'll let you know if he's up for a visitor.
I swear in the few weeks Dave's been out of commission, things are falling apart at our house. The pocket door in our bathroom completely dropped off the track, the bottom of one of Miles' dresser drawers broke and fell through, the hot water heater might be on the fritz. Nothing too major, but it reminds me of all the little things Dave usually just takes care of. It reminded me of when I was about 7 months pregnant with Ian and I asked Dave to hang some shelves in our walk-in closet. In the spirit of trying to make me feel empowered (or at least that's what he'd have me believe), he told me to do it myself. He brought me his drill, 4-foot level, tape measure, apron (which barely fit around my gargantuan mid-section), and a few other supplies, and then I think he went on to do something more important like drink a beer and watch baseball (although I'm sure he'd beg to differ). Anyway, I thought, "Fine, I'll show him..." and got to work hanging my precious shelves. I think I got one shelf hung and then was semi-balancing on a chair, holding the second shelf, while trying to drill a hole, when the whole thing came crashing down and landed on my head. A short battle ensued between my stoic Irish upbringing and my pregnancy-induced hormones, and I started crying like a baby. (I like to pretend I'm Italian now anyway - proudly wearing my emotions on my sleeve.)
When Dave heard the crash and came in to find me crying in a heap on the floor, he felt really awful, but he had this epiphany that it wasn't about hanging the shelves - it was that I wanted him to be my big strong man. So here I sit and wait for my big strong man to get home and get well.
2 comments:
Hey Shannon and Dave we are still keeping you in our thoughts daily. Any bright spots at all are good news. We are glad to here that some fluid is draining. The writing you do in the blog must be somewhat theraputic, keep up the good work. Dave it is great to hear that you are able to be up and moving for walks. I'm sure that makes the docs happy. "We" know what a roller coaster ride this can be....keep those spirits up...smiles go a long way.
Shannon -
Once after my grandfather died, my grandmother locked herself in the garage by accident. She fiddled around trying this and that to get out, but couldn't figure it out (pre-cell phone days, of course...). Finally, she broke down and sobbed and sobbed for quite a long time - not because she couldn't get out of the garage (she knew ultimately it would work out), but because the one person in the world who was supposed to be home to open the door wasn't, and it made her feel very alone. She knew he would want to be able to help, and wherever he was he must be quite frustrated that he couldn't just turn the door handle for her... It was his job to this, no one else's.
I know Dave wants to do these things for you and the kids, and know that it breaks his heart to watch you struggle and not be able to participate. Of course, if the situation were reversed, he would do all the same for you and that is the grace of love.
Meals, picking up the kids, stacking up home repair projects are the evidence of his absence, and can make the routine seem lonely and painful. This seems like a never ending road at the moment, but years from now it will be a hazy memory. His recovery, while a little bumpy, is not out of the ordinary and with time he will be back to participate in the life shares with you.
Those Irish gene's will serve you well - my grandmother was Irish, too, and she made it out of the garage...
-jormain
Post a Comment