DAY 2
January 28, 2009
Wednesday
12:00 a.m.
It was close to 12:30 in the
morning by the time we finally went to bed.
I tried my best to keep things going just like they would be
ordinarily—taking the dog outside when necessary, kids brushing teeth and all
the other night-time routines. As for
me, I was emotionally and physically exhausted.
This had been the most emotional roller-coaster I had ever been on. Bad news, good news, bad news, good news….it
was very nearly more than I could take. All
I wanted to do was sleep, but I knew that probably would not happen. I was still trembling.
Same
day
4:00 a.m.
I finally gave up sleep and
got out of bed at 4 in the morning. I
took my laptop with me out to the living room thinking I would catch up on some
emails or do some homework if I could, or do anything to get me sleepy
again—not that I wasn’t sleepy—I just couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t out there for more than a few
minutes when my youngest daughter, Ellie, came out and sat beside me—she hadn’t
been able to sleep either. She had just
turned 9 years old. I wondered if the other kids were awake as well, but didn’t
want to disturb them. So I put the
laptop back, and we watched TV until we felt sleepy, and I knew she might be
able to go back to sleep. It was almost 5:30
in the morning. I slept from 5:30 to
6:30 in the morning.
Same
day
8:00 a.m.
I had hopes that the kids
would sleep in, but everybody seemed to be up at their usual times. Being homeschoolers, I thought we would have
school so that we could gain some normalcy in the day, and then go to the
hospital, but no one could concentrate long enough to do any school. Instead, I got ready to go the hospital, but
was interrupted numerous times by Ed’s various family members—Ray,
Barbara, and so on, as well as concerned members from church.
During my
morning visit to the hospital, the nurse told me that during the two hours they
were trying to stabilize him, his heart had to be shocked back “something like
15 times” (they previously said 11 times, and we later learned it was actually
12 times). She said his vital signs are all good at the moment and that
it seemed like he was going to pull through physically now the blockage was
cleared, but there was concern about his mental status. She said that each time he “flat-lined” he
was without oxygen, and that seemed like a lot of times without oxygen, but it
was too soon to know at this point.
I did what
I felt I was supposed to do. I held
Ed’s hand, stroked his arm, and talked to him. I told him about his family calling so often,
and of all the well-wishes and prayers coming his way. I decided to go ahead and bring his
belongings home because I knew he wouldn’t want to get changed into his work
clothes home (which he had been wearing when his “event” occurred). If it were me, I would want fresh, clean
clothes, and so that is what I planned for him. I knew Ed would not be conscious at all
today— though there was the remote possibility that he might regain
consciousness in the evening after they began to bring him out of the induced
coma, or paralysis.
I asked
about bringing the kids with me next time— I did not want the kids to see him
in his current condition. The nurse
suggested I call ahead to make sure he was cleaned up and we could temporarily cover
him. To me, it was important that the
kids see their father, even while unable to respond—but I knew it would also be
hard for them.
Same
day
11:30 a.m.
Back at the house, the phone
wouldn’t stop ringing—both the house phone and my cell phone were literally
ringing off the hook. Every time I had
to answer the phone the kids had to hear me re-tell everything, and every time
I did, I became very emotional, and I think this was frightening for them.
I decided
to get the kids out of the house and take them over to Shelby’s. She was expecting company that night in her
new apartment and so Marie and I built her DVD shelf and Rebekah (14) and
Ellie put together her new vacuum, while Anne (11) flattened boxes and
gathered trash. After that, we went to
the hospital.
In the
meantime, Alex was still valiantly trying to save a job that a big client was
considering finding someone else (a $17,000 job, which was supposed to give us
a $4000+ down-payment this week)—because they were concerned Ed might not be
able to do it. He was also trying to help get the payments in that were
owed to us this week—and get those to the bank when he could. He was a
true soldier and was rallying the best he could, which took a tremendous load
off of my shoulders. I thought of my
dad’s blessing on Alex when he was a baby, about how some day he would be a
great help to his mother. This has been
extremely stressful and very frightening for all of us, to say the least.
Same
day
4:22 pm
I returned
to the hospital at least a couple other times that day— in the late afternoon I
brought the kids but made sure Ed would be cleaned up and covered before
they saw him. Earlier in the morning he
had still been bleeding in the mouth, and was still pretty messy.
When I did
bring the kids later that day, the nurse told me that she had just finished
cleaning him up and changed his bedding and so on. So she pulled a blanket over him to hide all
the wires and tubes, and I brought the kids in from the ICU waiting room. Little Ellie wasn’t sure if she wanted to see
him, but she forced herself and was very brave.
He looked much cleaner, and there was no trace of any bleeding that the
kids or I could see, and yet his appearance frightened me. The night before, and even this morning, he
was there—he just looked like he was
sleeping.
This time,
he was gone—he wasn’t there—I had
seen dead bodies before, and they have the same appearance—as if they are
hollow, empty. But I gritted my teeth
and lied to kids and told them “See how good he looks? He looks much better.” In my heart, I justified this lie with the
thought that at least he wasn’t bleeding, wasn’t being covered by a small
towel, and the tubes and wires weren’t visible—see? He looked better that way…
When I
noticed the respirator still going, I asked the nurse how we would know if he
was breathing on his own or not if the respirator was still breathing for
him. She said we won’t know until they
shut it off. That wasn’t much comfort to
me, because they were talking about how strong his heart was beating and that his
vitals were good, and yet a machine was doing the breathing for him—of course
everything else was going to look good.
I felt my blood run cold—something didn’t feel right. But with the kids there, I calmly, as best I
could, reassured them that everything was going to be alright.
I left two
of his Star Trek books on the window seat, along with his glasses, hoping that
if for some reason he awoke, he would have something familiar with him, and
perhaps maybe even read if he felt up to it.
Same
day
6:00 p.m.
That night, Corinne Massey
came over and insisted on staying with us.
She was from the church and was bound and determined to make sure we
were okay. I actually felt much better
now, and felt I was past the crying stage for the most part. I kept telling myself that Ed was in the
best possible hands. The nurses told me
that they would begin waking him up at 5 pm tonight by turning off the drips,
the paralysis medication, and so on. I
offered to come at that time, but they encouraged me to come a couple hours
later, “around 8-ish” because the awakening process could take anywhere from
two to ten hours. After all, one nurse
said, “he was on the strongest paralysis medication possible.” It would be a while before it wore off enough
for him to respond.
Corinne had
arranged a dinner for us, but due to some confusion as to when we would be home
(since we originally thought we would be at the hospital around 5 pm), it
didn’t arrive. So she insisted on
staying while we prepared something that we had in the fridge to eat. I kept telling her that I was fine, and that
she could go home to her family. There
really wasn’t any need for someone just to sit there and “wait” around. I even mentioned that I was thinking of taking
a nap— to which she said she’d wait with the kids.
I wanted to
tell her that Marie is almost 18 and the girls can take care of themselves,
but she seemed very insistent. I ended
up not getting to take a nap, and left at about 7:30 to meet Alex at the
hospital. But Corinne wouldn’t let me
drive—she kept insisting that she drive me there, and so on. She was worried that my one hour of sleep was
going to have adverse effects. I told
her to go home, I was fine. Instead, she
followed me to the hospital, walked me in, and then waited in the ICU waiting
room while Alex and I went in to see Ed.
Same
day
8:00 pm
At this visit, Ed looked
much better even though anyone else might say there was no physical
change. He was still intubated, but this
time he didn’t look hollow. Besides all of the medical equipment, he
looked like he was simply sleeping. It
was a huge relief for me. I knew Alex must have felt better, because he actually smiled for the first time since this
all began. He seemed noticeably happier
and somewhat relieved. We stayed only
for a few minutes—they were still warming him up gradually, and adding warm
blankets. I stroked his arm, squeezed
his hand, and told him all about the emails I had been receiving from his old
high school buddies, and the phone calls from family members and how concerned
everyone was—I even thought maybe it would help if he heard the ole’ battle-ax
whining “Ed, wake up!”—I was only kidding—but Alex looked at me and quietly
said “Don’t do that!” but I thought that
the whole idea was to wake him up.
We went
back into the ICU waiting room where Corinne was still waiting, and told her
about our visit and Alex was cheerful and optimistic. Corinne proceeded to call the public schools
(she works at Chief Joseph Middle School) and I excused Anne’s absence. I couldn’t remember how many days she’d
missed, or even what day it was. I was
thinking she had missed two days of school, but today was only Wednesday—she
was at band the day Ed had his heart attack.
Had it only been a day? I kept
messing up the dates. In either case,
they must have got the message that I was distraught, because they gave her
Medical Excuses for the rest of the week.
Corinne also dialed the high school for me, and I excused Marie and
Rebekah as well. When we left, Corinne
followed me all the way to our street, and then went home. I was glad she had been there, though she
didn’t need to be. It was nice to have
some moral support even when I didn’t think I needed it.
Same
day
10:00 p.m.
Not 15 minutes after I got home, the phone rang and it
was the ICU nurse. She said that Ed had opened his eyes. I couldn’t help but
wonder if my interjection to “wake up” had triggered something in his
brain. She said she told him who she
was, where he was, and what had happened.
She asked him to do some basic commands, such as “Squeeze my finger” and
“Wiggle your toes” which he was able to do.
She sedated him again, she said, because it is often very uncomfortable
when people first regain consciousness and there is a tube down their
throat.
She said he
was awake only briefly, closed his eyes again, and went back to sleep. It isn’t likely he will remember any of that,
but it’s a good sign as I see it. This
was a big relief for me, and another hurdle that I felt we had successfully
jumped. Many, many blessings seemed to
be sitting one on top of the other—they were all falling in to place, and they
were in the right places.
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