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outsdrI'm at home now, and have been since Monday.
Two Thursdays ago, while I was still in the nursing home, the UTI that I knew I had kicked me hard with its ugly little feet. I was out walking to halls, working on building my strength, when I got the chills and started shivering so badly I didn't think I'd be able to make it back to my room. Somehow, I managed, and went to bed to warm up. I had known I had a UTI since I arrived, but the first test supposedly never made it to the lab (found this out after six days) and the results of the second test hadn't come back yet.
Later that evening, the nurse woke me up for my medication. I was incredibly hot, and had thrown off all my blankets, and I was sure he was trying to poison me. Nothing he said would change my mind. He managed to take my temperature ... and I had a 103 degree fever! It's no wonder I was whacked out of my skull.
One of the staff, Jacob, a Tibetan who came to America 14 years ago after growing up in India, had always been incredibly kind and attentive to me. He came in and managed to persuade me to trust him, and packed ice around my head to cool me down. They called an ambulance to take me to the hospital. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, the nurse told me the results of my UTI test had finally come back, after nearly a week. I had an e-coli infection.
The ambulance had the air conditioner on for the entire ride to the hospital, as I was still very hot. They also ran an IV. Once I was at the emergency room, they did something that dropped my fever enough that I couold think straight. I felt terrible for causing trouble (An absurd reaction, I know!) They decided to admit me so they could get the infection and fever under control, and they were also afraid the infection would go septic.
I did not want that.
The first night was terrifying. My fever kept spiking, and I know I was thrashing about and talking and yelling in my sleep. There was nothing I could do. I ended up sleeping for 36 hours straight!
Friday afternoon, I finally woke up, and I was terribly dehydrated and thirsty. Naturally, I couldn't find my call button for the nurse. I couldn't raise my voice above a croak, either. Eventually, I saw a shadow underneath the privacy curtain of someone walking into my room, but they stopped before entering. I managed to croak out a feeble, "Hello?" and heard Andy ask, "Tim?" then he walked in.
I was so happy to see him I almost started crying. I told him how thirsty I was, and he brought cup after cup of water until I felt better again. My bed was soaked with sweat, and I was cold again, so Andy tracked down a nurse and they set about changing my linens. I sat in a chair shivering uncontrollably. Andy gathered up a few blankets and with great tenderness tucked them around me until I stopped shivering.
He has truly been amazing throughout this entire ordeal.
The next few days were spent trying to get my fever under control. By Monday, I was well enough to be released, and to my surprise the doctor said they were going to send me home instead of back to the nursing home! This made me feel better than anything else had over the previous month.
So, now I'm home, and I feel my recovery is going smoother than ever. The kitties are happy to see me, and I missed them as well. I also missed Andy terribly, and it's doing me a world of good just being around him again (While I had my 103 degree fever, I was convinced 'they' were out to harm him as well!). I'm walking with a cane now, although I don't need it to walk; it's there in case I start to lose my balance (which has happened a few times.)
WHile I was in the hospital, I met the respiratory therapist who watched over me at night during the two weeks I was intubated and sedated. My sister-in-law, Janet, who has been keeping close tabs on me (she works in healthcare) had told me about a phone call she had received from the hospital during that time period; they said they needed her to "make a decision". She told them that they had to call Andy, because he holds my medical power of attorney. But Andy never received a call. I asked Nate, the therapist, about this, and he said that call was probably made on the night that I was doing very poorly (He had previously mentioned that there were a lot of times when it was touch-and-go with me, and they nearly lost me a few times!). I can't remember what it's called, but I was hooked up to machines that kept my lungs inflated and working ... and that night, I was hooked up to 18 of them, all of the ones available in the hospital, and they couldn't keep me breathing. Neither could they get my blood pressure to a point were it could sustain me ... I think he said it was down to 80 over 20.
They were calling Janet to ask if they should let me die.
But in the time it took for them to call her and then look up Andy's number to call him, I rallied and came back. The next night, the same thing happened, but this time they just waited to see what would happen, and I pulled back from the brink on my own as well. Nate was very worried that a clot had made it to my brain and "exploded" into a shotgun-like burst of tiny clots that would do major brain damage, but I managed to avoid that.
(The hospital seriously pissed me off with how the dealt with my POA ... Andy had all the paperwork submitted to have power of attorney as well as my advanced directive, and the hospital just seemed to ignore all that. They even initially lost the paperwork!)
Now I know why every medical staff I met who had taken part of my recovery was so excited to see me up and about and recovering like normal. By all rights, I should either be dead, or suffering major brain damage, instead of (slowly) recovering back to my old self again. And every so often, it hits me pretty hard as well. My doctor's are honestly baffled that I pulled through this. I saw a picture of the clot they pulled out of my heart (They put me on a bypass machine and stopped my heart for two minutes to work on it) and the clot was as big, if not bigger, than my thumb. The clot they pulled out of my pulmonary artery was ten inches long!). But I know exactly how and why I pulled through.
Because I've promised Andy that I'll always come back to him. And I don't break promises.
Two Thursdays ago, while I was still in the nursing home, the UTI that I knew I had kicked me hard with its ugly little feet. I was out walking to halls, working on building my strength, when I got the chills and started shivering so badly I didn't think I'd be able to make it back to my room. Somehow, I managed, and went to bed to warm up. I had known I had a UTI since I arrived, but the first test supposedly never made it to the lab (found this out after six days) and the results of the second test hadn't come back yet.
Later that evening, the nurse woke me up for my medication. I was incredibly hot, and had thrown off all my blankets, and I was sure he was trying to poison me. Nothing he said would change my mind. He managed to take my temperature ... and I had a 103 degree fever! It's no wonder I was whacked out of my skull.
One of the staff, Jacob, a Tibetan who came to America 14 years ago after growing up in India, had always been incredibly kind and attentive to me. He came in and managed to persuade me to trust him, and packed ice around my head to cool me down. They called an ambulance to take me to the hospital. As I was being loaded into the ambulance, the nurse told me the results of my UTI test had finally come back, after nearly a week. I had an e-coli infection.
The ambulance had the air conditioner on for the entire ride to the hospital, as I was still very hot. They also ran an IV. Once I was at the emergency room, they did something that dropped my fever enough that I couold think straight. I felt terrible for causing trouble (An absurd reaction, I know!) They decided to admit me so they could get the infection and fever under control, and they were also afraid the infection would go septic.
I did not want that.
The first night was terrifying. My fever kept spiking, and I know I was thrashing about and talking and yelling in my sleep. There was nothing I could do. I ended up sleeping for 36 hours straight!
Friday afternoon, I finally woke up, and I was terribly dehydrated and thirsty. Naturally, I couldn't find my call button for the nurse. I couldn't raise my voice above a croak, either. Eventually, I saw a shadow underneath the privacy curtain of someone walking into my room, but they stopped before entering. I managed to croak out a feeble, "Hello?" and heard Andy ask, "Tim?" then he walked in.
I was so happy to see him I almost started crying. I told him how thirsty I was, and he brought cup after cup of water until I felt better again. My bed was soaked with sweat, and I was cold again, so Andy tracked down a nurse and they set about changing my linens. I sat in a chair shivering uncontrollably. Andy gathered up a few blankets and with great tenderness tucked them around me until I stopped shivering.
He has truly been amazing throughout this entire ordeal.
The next few days were spent trying to get my fever under control. By Monday, I was well enough to be released, and to my surprise the doctor said they were going to send me home instead of back to the nursing home! This made me feel better than anything else had over the previous month.
So, now I'm home, and I feel my recovery is going smoother than ever. The kitties are happy to see me, and I missed them as well. I also missed Andy terribly, and it's doing me a world of good just being around him again (While I had my 103 degree fever, I was convinced 'they' were out to harm him as well!). I'm walking with a cane now, although I don't need it to walk; it's there in case I start to lose my balance (which has happened a few times.)
WHile I was in the hospital, I met the respiratory therapist who watched over me at night during the two weeks I was intubated and sedated. My sister-in-law, Janet, who has been keeping close tabs on me (she works in healthcare) had told me about a phone call she had received from the hospital during that time period; they said they needed her to "make a decision". She told them that they had to call Andy, because he holds my medical power of attorney. But Andy never received a call. I asked Nate, the therapist, about this, and he said that call was probably made on the night that I was doing very poorly (He had previously mentioned that there were a lot of times when it was touch-and-go with me, and they nearly lost me a few times!). I can't remember what it's called, but I was hooked up to machines that kept my lungs inflated and working ... and that night, I was hooked up to 18 of them, all of the ones available in the hospital, and they couldn't keep me breathing. Neither could they get my blood pressure to a point were it could sustain me ... I think he said it was down to 80 over 20.
They were calling Janet to ask if they should let me die.
But in the time it took for them to call her and then look up Andy's number to call him, I rallied and came back. The next night, the same thing happened, but this time they just waited to see what would happen, and I pulled back from the brink on my own as well. Nate was very worried that a clot had made it to my brain and "exploded" into a shotgun-like burst of tiny clots that would do major brain damage, but I managed to avoid that.
(The hospital seriously pissed me off with how the dealt with my POA ... Andy had all the paperwork submitted to have power of attorney as well as my advanced directive, and the hospital just seemed to ignore all that. They even initially lost the paperwork!)
Now I know why every medical staff I met who had taken part of my recovery was so excited to see me up and about and recovering like normal. By all rights, I should either be dead, or suffering major brain damage, instead of (slowly) recovering back to my old self again. And every so often, it hits me pretty hard as well. My doctor's are honestly baffled that I pulled through this. I saw a picture of the clot they pulled out of my heart (They put me on a bypass machine and stopped my heart for two minutes to work on it) and the clot was as big, if not bigger, than my thumb. The clot they pulled out of my pulmonary artery was ten inches long!). But I know exactly how and why I pulled through.
Because I've promised Andy that I'll always come back to him. And I don't break promises.
