So, Mom would need a chest tube. Earlier, while we were waiting for the chest x-ray, Mom had emphatically stated that she did not want surgery. We were a little disappointed, but not too concerned. The doctors explained that it would be a simple procedure that would take about 20 minutes. Mom would not be completely unconscious, but heavily sedated. “I don’t want to have to do this,” admitted one of the younger ER doctors, “but I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight knowing that pocket of air is in there and possibly getting bigger.” I was a little uneasy that he “didn’t want to have to do this.” Why? Was the chest tube that bad? It would mean a longer hospital stay for Mom than what we’d hoped for, but other than that, it seemed like it would be a good thing – or at least useful. Maybe “necessary” was a better way of looking at it.
Through all this Mom continued to be alert and breathlessly talkative – so much so that we told her several times that she didn’t need to talk. She was obviously in pain; frequently grimacing, shifting and saying “ouch” while she talked.
A Moment of Levity
This iPhone photo was taken right after Kelly unwittingly put contraband lip balm on Mom. She had been wanting something to drink because the air was very dry in the hospital, but she could not have anything to eat or drink because it was prior to the CT scan. A few minutes later, the ER nurse walked in with some supplies for Mom. She gave her a wash cloth that she could soak in water, those foam things on sticks (which you can see in the picture) which she could dip in water, and lastly, some "hospital-grade lip balm". Oh. OK. What's wrong with regular lip balm, we wondered, kind of nervously. I’m sure we were all thinking of the Burt’s Bees lip balm Kelly had just put back in her purse. Apparently, "non-hospital grade lip balm contains petroleum, which is flammable, so it cannot be used on patients who are on oxygen," explained the ER nurse matter-of-factly. Nobody said a word, but we were glancing around at each other kind of sheepishly. Who knew? :-)
The Chest Tube
A short time later, several doctors came in, including the Chief Trauma doctor, and explained the chest tube procedure. This doctor had himself broken several ribs in his lifetime. He had seen Mom’s x-rays and experienced the same type of injury. “I know you are in a lot of pain, but with my own experience and the experience of our patients, we know that the pain of broken ribs increases and peaks on Day 5.” This was not good news, but at this point, we were focused on getting Mom through the chest tube procedure.
The procedure itself took longer than we expected; it was probably about 45 minutes before we were able to go back and see her. This time, she was markedly different; very groggy and much more quiet. I was glad they had given her the strong drugs for the procedure, because she seemed to be in less pain, or at least not as aware of the pain. Soon after this, it was time to move her from the ER to a room on the fourth floor. It was in the evening now, and Dad, Kelly, Glenn and I were the only ones still there. Unfortunately, we arrived on the fourth floor during a shift change, and there was some confusion and hustling when we realized Mom’s room didn’t have a bed in it. We stayed out in the hallway for probably 15 or 20 minutes, but Mom hardly seemed aware of anything.
Once they got her settled into her room, the waves of nausea started. This nausea would continue to plague Mom off and on (mostly on) for the rest of her stay. There were several theories: the shock of the trauma, the strong pain meds, a concussion (Mom and Dad’s hunch, a few days after they got home). Whatever was causing the nausea, it was pretty relentless and made Mom feel really miserable. They tried several different remedies: various anti-nausea meds, cold wash cloth on back of neck, etc., but it took several days to get it under control.
Day 2
When we got to the hospital on Thursday night, Kelly & Glenn were there. We took Rachel, Claire, Grant & Trent with us (the others were at ballet). The kids were interested to see Grandma and didn’t seem to be upset to see the few scratches on her right cheek from the shattered glass or the large bruise on her right arm. Later, when we were leaving the hospital, though, Rachel told me she heard Grant quietly say “Poor Grandma.”
At one point that day, a transporter came to take her for an ultrasound. Ultrasound? No one had mentioned anything about this. Dad and Mom both stopped him and asked to talk to a nurse or doctor to find out more. No one seemed to know anything about it until they finally located an ER nurse who came up and explained. Apparently, there was a routine head-to-toe scan done shortly after Mom was admitted to ER. During this scan, a “large nodule” was spotted on her thyroid, near her ear. It could be several things, but they weren’t speculating. By the time this was all explained, there was another patient who was scheduled for the ultrasound machine, so they needed to reschedule Mom’s procedure for the next morning. This was a little unsettling, and Mom told us the next afternoon that she spent a sleepless night (partly due to pain and nausea) praying about this nodule and asking God to just remove it, to take it away.
Day 3
On Friday, I was scheduled to go in to work downtown. As I was driving up toward the hospital, which is just north of the exit I needed, I decided to stop in and see how Mom was doing. It was around noon. I stopped by the Au Bon Pain restaurant in the hospital and picked up some coffee and a couple of danishes for Dad. He later whispered to me that that was the first thing he’d eaten that day. When I got into the room, I could tell this was not a good day for Mom. Apparently, just before I got there, she was feeling really awful, both from the nausea and from not being able to move around or change positions. It got to the point where she just had to get up from the bed. So, the nurse and Dad helped her get into a chair right beside the bed. It was a slow, painstaking process and she could only bear to be sitting in the chair for about 10 minutes. But all this energy and shifting took its toll. Mom was back in her bed when I walked in, but she was very uncomfortable, shifting, occasionally shaking and grimacing. The blankets were off, her socks were off, and Dad had turned the thermostat down to 60 degrees, but she was still unbearably hot. I gave her ice chips and Dad and I talked quietly. A short time later, Dad took a call from a policeman friend of us about getting a copy of the police report. While he was talking, Mom turned her head towards me with eyes closed and whispered very slowly “Tell Dad to get my nurse, Emily, and tell her to beg the doctor to remove this tube.” It was unbearable – even worse than the broken ribs (I asked). So I found Emily and told her that my usually stoic Mom was obviously in a tremendous amount of pain. She calmly said she knew the chest tube was uncomfortable, but they needed to keep it in until they were sure it wasn’t necessary, otherwise, they’d need to just put it back in. But she said she would talk to the doctor about it. In the meantime, they brought Mom a new anti-nausea med to try. Uncle Kent called and Mom couldn't talk to him because she "didn't have enough air to talk", so Dad updated him. After that, Uncle Rob called. At first Mom shook her head, but then she said she could say hi to him. She took the phone and talked to him for maybe 30 seconds before handing the phone back to Dad.
She still kept her eyes closed and rarely talked, but within a short time, Mom seemed more calm and actually dozed for maybe twenty to thirty minutes while I Dad and I talked quietly at her side.
Turning a corner
As Mom started waking up, she groggily asked Dad to turn on the fireplace (they have a gas fireplace at home), then she stopped herself and smiled a little bit and asked him to turn up the furnace and cover her with a blanket. We put socks back on her feet. Gradually, she seemed more calm. The shaking stopped. She talked a little more. When we asked if her nausea was better, she thought for a minute and then said it did seem to be.
A church friend of hers stopped by with a gift (I think I had been there for about 2 hours at that point) and I thought "this is not going to go well." This friend was very talkative and had quite a "presence" about her. I just mean that you knew when she was in the room. :-) (If anyone has seen the movie "Despicable Me", she reminded me physically of the lady from the orphanage with the southern accent. ;-) But it was interesting to watch Mom. It was like she was really rallying to try to talk to this lady. The woman probably stayed 45 minutes, talking about everything from healthcare to politics to the Scriptures. I thought Mom was pushing herself too hard; that she was just being polite. Towards the end of her visit, Mom told her that it was nice to have the distraction of the visit. I thought she should surely crash when this lady left, but she didn't. After she left, she continued to nibble on a Saltine and take ice chips and was more talkative with us. It was really amazing to watch. I think about all the people who know and love Mom and who have been praying for her generally and specifically and I know God is answering those prayers.
A little while later another friend from church came - a good friend of Mom's who we just met last month when we were at Mom and Dad's - at the same time, a representative from their church's Stephens Ministry came in, along with Florence and Patty. This really perked Mom up and she had a good visit with them.
Around this time, a nurse came in to see how Mom was doing. While she was in the room, she mentioned that the mysterious "nodule" was actually a hematoma, probably from the accident. Florence speculates that it was caused by the pressure of the seat belt during the accident.
I ended up leaving the hospital for about an hour and half to head over to my client's office (I was scheduled to work that day) to explain why I hadn't been in. While I was gone, the dreaded chest tube was finally removed and - wonder of wonders – the removal procedure wasn't even that uncomfortable! The doctor had ordered the pain reliever Fentanol (sp?) for the procedure, but the nurse practitioner who performed the procedure assured Mom that would not be necessary. Mom said the procedure was quick and uneventful. I'm so relieved she didn't need the pain meds because I didn't want to see that nausea issue crop back up. Mom said she would rather have pain than nausea! They scheduled another chest x-ray for 4 hours after the tube removal so that they could make sure the lung was still inflated and that no air had seeped back into the chest cavity. When we left that night, she said "I think I've turned a corner."
Day 4
So, day 4 ended up being a whirlwind. Kelly, Heather, Jennifer & I had exchanged phone calls that morning about staggering our visits so we could help out Dad. We talked about making sure he had meals (he was so busy taking care of Mom that he was barely eating anything). During one of these calls, we found out that Mom would be able to be released that day if she meet her goals, one of which was walking down the hallway. Amazingly, she was able to meet these goals, and she said “it wasn’t as hard” as she thought it’d be! So, she was discharged that afternoon. Jennifer had already made arrangements to go to the hospital that day, so she helped them get Mom settled in at home. Chuck called to see how he could help and Dad asked if he could bring some ibuprofen. On his way to pick it up, he stopped by Olive Garden and got breadsticks, soup, salad, entree, etc. I’m sure it was more than what Dad had eaten during their entire stay in the hospital.
At home
Some good friends lent Mom a very comfortable recliner to use. We’re so glad they offered it, because it’s been the only bearable seat for her to use at home. It has now been a week and a half since she was released. The trauma surgeon’s prediction that Mom’s pain would increase up to Day 5 proved to be correct. She has continued to be in a tremendous amount of pain, and tried out many different pain meds (even going for several days with nothing more than Tylenol and Ibuprofen) while trying to find something that won’t make her feel worse than she did before she took it. The Percocet that she began taking yesterday seems promising. The nausea is gone, the chest tube is gone, and now Mom is acutely aware of the feeling of 7 broken ribs. At her first visit with her family doctor last Friday, he said she can expect some relief from the pain in 3 weeks. She’ll probably notice a little more improvement in 6-8 weeks. She wasn’t expecting a quick recovery, but was hoping he could give a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel.
Dad continues to be her ever-present caregiver. So far, she has had long, sleepless nights of pain, and he has spent the majority of those nights up with her. When I talked to her yesterday, she told me she can’t even change positions without his help. Dad admitted he’s never seen her this weak, even after her fall on Memorial Day.
At this point, now 8 days before Thanksgiving, we’re all kind of wondering what the holidays will look like this year. We have no idea what kind of shape Mom will be in by then, but we're not expecting they’ll be able to host, as they always have. Celebrating Thanksgiving somewhere else is such a strange thought – we’ve been celebrating that day at their house for about 25 years! (Before that, it was at my grandparents’.) But these are unusual circumstances and we will all just need to be flexible and accommodating this year. I do have a list of food that I’m planning on making for Thanksgiving, just not sure where I’ll be taking it!
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