Sorry I didn't write yesterday, but I had a little accident of my own on Saturday. Fell on my face. My face is ok, but my knees (which took the brunt of it) look like a couple of ruby red grapefruits, and I wrenched my shoulder. Chevy Chase would be so proud.
I just didn't have the gumption to face the stairs to my office (and computer). My bed and a couple of ice packs were just so much more appealing. ;-)
Big Kid is doing really well. He's miserable and anxious to come home, which is a good sign. Not the miserable part, but it shows that he is motivated to get better.
Apparently none of the therapists work on the weekends. So he has been trapped in his bed without any forward momentum or activities to keep his mind busy. I put his contacts in yesterday so he can at least watch the TV, but he isn't much of a TV watcher.
His legs are pretty weak, and not obeying the commands from his brain very well. He and all his sheets slide down to uncomfortable positions, and he can't get his legs to work to push himself back up. So he has to wait until the nurses come to pull him upright.
The first thing Big Kid did when he could talk was start demanding that the trach come out. It hurts. The head Respiratory Therapist told him it had to stay in for a few days, just in case something went wrong, because they wouldn't be able to put it back in, and then where would he be? Why didn't he try to work up to singing to show how well he was doing?
Then she wrote orders that he was to have nothing but small sips of ice water and left for the weekend (hence my Stooges imitation. I was going to get him ice water when I tripped on a cart in the hall, fell into another one, and landed on my face. This will forever be known in the annals of Attila family history as "The 'SHIT!!' Heard Round the Ward").
The kid laughed so hard that I threatened to hobble down to the cafeteria and bring back a sausage biscuit to eat in front of him.
Every time a nurse or respiratory tech come in, he serenades them with Mettallica. Except it sounds more like the Budweiser Bullfrogs with strep infections.
The second thing Big Kid did was demand that the catheter come out. He'd had two urinary tract infections already, and it hurt. The nurse warned him that he'd have to take care of his own pee-pee needs because she was too busy to come in and hold "the jug" for him every time he had to go. He agreed, which essentially contracted anybody who is visiting him to jug duty, because what's he gonna do---go get it himself? LOL But that's ok, Kitty, Hubby and I are glad (mostly) to do it.
The kid is Hungry with a capital "H". He started up on Saturday. Every time someone would ask him how he was, he'd say "I'm hungry!" The nurses and RTs would have to remind him that he'd have to wait until the Head Respiratory Therapist came back to work because the only orders they had were for him to have small sips of ice water. Monday was far far away.
When the pulmonologist came in to do rounds, he asked Big Kid how he was. The kid knew the power structure and put on his best soulful puppy-dog face. This was his big chance.
"I'm Huuuuuungry!", he moaned pitifully. The doc asked the RTs if there was any reason why the kid couldn't have a little applesauce or ice cream----had he been aspirating any water (the reason for the blue dye) at all? No he hadn't, but they didn't want to countermand the head RT's orders.
I guess she must be hell on wheels when she's in town. ;-)
The doc decided the kid could have a cup of ice cream with blue dye. That way, when they suctioned his chest, they would be able to tell if any went down the wrong tube.
So that's how I ended up getting to both feed my kid with a spoon, and wipe his other end as well. Something I haven't done in about 20 years.
When I got there early yesterday morning, he was at it again. "I'm Hungry!!"
The RT gave him a little lecture about how his orders are only for ice water, and that while the doctor allowed him to have ice cream yesterday, it really wasn't the doctor's purview and that he wasn't in charge of that, only the head RT was. The boy looked at me with a mournful expression.
"Well, Honey, " I said, "She's the boss, Applesauce."
"No", the RT sang out. "She's the boss OF applesauce!"
The pulmonologist came in about an hour later. Big Kid's right lung is clear. Hallelujah! The left one, which was so bad, shows no sign of active pneumonia, just a bunch of leftover crap that needs to come up. Joy!
He asked Big Kid how he was doing.
"I'm soooooo Hungry!!!"
The doc turned to the RT. "Was there any dye in his chest after he ate the ice cream yesterday?"
"Then I don't see why he can't have a tray of soft food."
The RT blanched. "That's what I was telling them," he said. "That it's YOUR decision."
Why that little lying toady. I gave him the stink-eye.
There is some odd undercurrent of political infighting between the nurses, RTs and the doctors at this place. I don't like it, but as long as they're doing their jobs and getting my son well, I'll live with it.
However Hubby, Kitty and I have decided that we're going to continue with our almost round-the-clock shifts. Although Big Kid is making a good start at advocating for himself, until he is stronger, it would probably be best to have a second person with him to keep an eye on things.
Thanks so much for all your continued good wishes and comments!