In March 2007, Mike was in an accident that resulted in an above-the-knee amputation and degloving of his left leg. This blog was created to simplify keeping a large and distributed group of family and friends up to date, and while it still serves that purpose, it also now provides a record of all that has gone before.
- Please let us know you were here! Sign the guestbook, or leave a comment to an entry (look for the
). - Check out some pictures of Mike on his last blogged adventure: when he and Ruth hiked the Appalachian Trail in 2004 (as Oxymoron and Maine Dish, respectively).
18 March 2007: Potato Salad
I got a call from the surgeon in the middle of the night (which I greatly appreciated) - they found some infected tissue on his lower back that they weren't expecting, and had to take him into the OR to remove it. The doctor did say that removing the infected tissue should allow his blood pressure and temperature to stabilize, and that Dad should feel much better. That call was at about 1:30 in the morning, and I had to wake up again at 4 to take Chris to the airport.
17 March 2007: Nixed escape attempt
Vangie was his nurse overnight again. I got a call from her just after we left the 9pm visiting hour Friday night. Everything was lined up for a 5am departure to Cleveland! I got back to the hotel, crammed all my stuff into the suitcase, and made sure I was ready to go. She called again around 3 in the morning, the flight wouldn't be leaving until 8 or 9am at the earliest. I think either she called again around 5am, or I called her - in either case, his BP had dropped and his temp was up, so we weren't going anywhere.
16 March 2007: Exercises
As we visited, he was usually sleepy in the mornings, and sometimes grumpy if he was still waiting to go into the OR for bandage changes (as that meant no food or water - only IV fluid, which isn't at all satisfying). The middle of the day visits were nicer, as he was most alert and awake during those times. The 9pm visit found him pretty sleepy again.
When he was tired during the middle of the day, it was usually because either the nurses or the occupational therapists had him doing exercises like using what I now know is called an incentive spirometer - a fancy word for a plastic thing that measures how well your lungs are functioning; or teaching him to roll over to help with sponge baths or bedding changes; or doing arm excercises to get some mobility back in his shoulders.
When he was tired during the middle of the day, it was usually because either the nurses or the occupational therapists had him doing exercises like using what I now know is called an incentive spirometer - a fancy word for a plastic thing that measures how well your lungs are functioning; or teaching him to roll over to help with sponge baths or bedding changes; or doing arm excercises to get some mobility back in his shoulders.
16 March 2007: Missed communications
Just for the record, lining up a patient transfer is a lot of work - even with case workers to help you out. There was some confusion about which doctor from the clinic was going to accept Dad (or if anyone would) - I spent a lot of time on the phone with case managers, the nurse for our original accepting doctor, etc. I really ran up my minutes! All of the case managers were very helpful, but the baton passing was still awkward (at least with this first go-round).
15 March 2007: Morphine mouth
Dad is getting more vocal by the day...
Today (Thursday) we had a good discussion about how the cotton mouth caused by morphine was more painful than anything else. Gatorade ice chips (thanks, Val!) were pretty effective in countering this condition, as was the listerine spray thing Ruth picked up for his day pack.
Dad also shared some pretty funny visions from the morphine room as well - detailed images of pizza, sasquatches, rock monsters with fish between their toes, ...
Today (Thursday) we had a good discussion about how the cotton mouth caused by morphine was more painful than anything else. Gatorade ice chips (thanks, Val!) were pretty effective in countering this condition, as was the listerine spray thing Ruth picked up for his day pack.
Dad also shared some pretty funny visions from the morphine room as well - detailed images of pizza, sasquatches, rock monsters with fish between their toes, ...
15 March 2007: Dear Erin...
This post was written considerably after the indicated date, but Dad wanted this email to show up in the right context. So here it is, right when I received it. Some things to understand before you read this: Noël and I have known each other since kindergarden, and spent K-12 in school together being best friends (except for those few years that we detested each other, but I digress); she therefore knew both of my parents from her frequent visits to my house, the softball teams we were on together, etc.
All of us had a much needed laugh (laugh is an understatement - think laughing so hard you're leaking tears and can't breathe) when I read this to Dad in the hospital room. It was timed perfectly, Dad had me read/forward it to everyone he could think of, and still gushes about it (and I'm writing this post in MAY!). So, without further ado, here is Noël's email:
All of us had a much needed laugh (laugh is an understatement - think laughing so hard you're leaking tears and can't breathe) when I read this to Dad in the hospital room. It was timed perfectly, Dad had me read/forward it to everyone he could think of, and still gushes about it (and I'm writing this post in MAY!). So, without further ado, here is Noël's email:
hi dear,
i am thinking about you and your dad constantly. most of the time it is things like 'i hope his leg stays clean and healthy and does not need too many surgeries' or "i hope he is not in a lot of pain" or 'i wonder where he will go for rehab, wow i bet that will be tough but he will be great at it" and then sometimes i remeber what his legs looked like in shorts at our softball games (kind of bowlegged with big old tree trunk calves) then sometimes it is something random and silly like "wow, now he only can wear half of his shoes". then i thought about how your grandma is always trying to convert him and how this could be her big chance! or how funny if there is an afterlife and your mom is waiting for you guys and she gets a message that mike might be coming, and so she's all excited, but sad for you guys, and then all that shows up is a leg and she's like "dipshit!" and how all your cousins will be so awesome the first time they see him. that is my random collection of thoughts because you always seem to go through things before i figure out what to say about them to make you feel better.
14 March 2007: Cleanup continues
First good thing of the morning: he was in a room in the TICU, which meant there were actual visiting hours, and that we could go see him. This began our daily routine: visit at 9am, 1pm, 5pm, and 9pm. Either wait in the critical care waiting room, or back at the hotel in between visits depending on what was going on, and whether or not we were waiting for news or to talk to someone.
He looked better - still scary, but on oxygen rather than a ventillator. Just the removal of the breathing tubes made the whole thing easier to deal with. Dad mentioned that his shoulders were sore - he thinks he may have re-dislocated his right shoulder (which he's done many times), as it felt the same way it did after the last time.
He also had his first sponge bath! He mentioned that the nurses attending to him (not the ones taking care of him on day shift) were all quite cute. Ruth suggested he start interposing the image of that sponge bath into his second-by-second replay of the accident.
We brought Dad a little DayPack for the hospital with a toothbrush, toothpaste, a little listerine-spray thing, his glasses, and a cheap CD player so he could listen to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (a book he has listened to so many times that it doesn't matter if he falls asleep through parts of it), and some cards. Before we left the last visit, we set him up with the first disk of the book, and watched him settle in for a good listen.
He looked better - still scary, but on oxygen rather than a ventillator. Just the removal of the breathing tubes made the whole thing easier to deal with. Dad mentioned that his shoulders were sore - he thinks he may have re-dislocated his right shoulder (which he's done many times), as it felt the same way it did after the last time.
He also had his first sponge bath! He mentioned that the nurses attending to him (not the ones taking care of him on day shift) were all quite cute. Ruth suggested he start interposing the image of that sponge bath into his second-by-second replay of the accident.
We brought Dad a little DayPack for the hospital with a toothbrush, toothpaste, a little listerine-spray thing, his glasses, and a cheap CD player so he could listen to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (a book he has listened to so many times that it doesn't matter if he falls asleep through parts of it), and some cards. Before we left the last visit, we set him up with the first disk of the book, and watched him settle in for a good listen.
14 March 2007: Pizza for Dinner
This was so funny I had to put it in an entry of it's own.
We went back to the hotel after the 5pm visit, to get cleaned up and have some dinner. Ruth does not want to get Papa John's (which was close to the hotel) so we attempt to call Pizza Hut. The first person that answers the phone doesn't know what to do - Ruth says we're from out of town, and the poor thing gets totally confused about what to do with a cell number with an out of town area code. Ruth tried to give her the phone number about 3 times - and every time the girl she was talking to didn't understand what to do with the area code. Ruth gave up, hung up the phone, waited a little bit, and called back. She got a different operator this time - and soon hung up the phone again, as she couldn't understand a single word he said. It was english, we knew - but with such a drawl that the whole thing sounded totally foreign.
We called Papa John's, they handled the whole thing, and we had Pizza in our room a short while later.
We went back to the hotel after the 5pm visit, to get cleaned up and have some dinner. Ruth does not want to get Papa John's (which was close to the hotel) so we attempt to call Pizza Hut. The first person that answers the phone doesn't know what to do - Ruth says we're from out of town, and the poor thing gets totally confused about what to do with a cell number with an out of town area code. Ruth tried to give her the phone number about 3 times - and every time the girl she was talking to didn't understand what to do with the area code. Ruth gave up, hung up the phone, waited a little bit, and called back. She got a different operator this time - and soon hung up the phone again, as she couldn't understand a single word he said. It was english, we knew - but with such a drawl that the whole thing sounded totally foreign.
We called Papa John's, they handled the whole thing, and we had Pizza in our room a short while later.
13 March 2007: Convergence
Bonnie (Dad's girlfriend) and Rodney (Dad's coworker and good friend) flew into Memphis on Monday night, and got there around 11pm to spend a sleepless night in the comfortable-in-a-disturbing-scary-way critical care waiting room.
Our cousin Jenny, crazy woman, drove overnight from Cleveland and gets into Memphis in the early morning. I forget when - 6am? 8am? Something. Somehow, she manages to get to see him; she may have been able to see him even before Bonnie and Rodney manage to. I don't remember now.
Ruthie manages to fly in from Detroit, she arrives around 8:30 or so in the morning. Chris and I manage to finally catch our flight (after a small hiccup with travel math getting to Newark) and arrive in Memphis around 11:30.
While Chris and I are getting ready to get on the plane, we find out from Rodney that Dad is now in critical but stable condition at the hospital in Memphis, and that he would "probably" lose the leg from slightly above the knee. We found out later (I don't remember when) that, in fact, the lower half of his leg didn't make the trip with him from Grenada.
Our cousin Jenny, crazy woman, drove overnight from Cleveland and gets into Memphis in the early morning. I forget when - 6am? 8am? Something. Somehow, she manages to get to see him; she may have been able to see him even before Bonnie and Rodney manage to. I don't remember now.
Ruthie manages to fly in from Detroit, she arrives around 8:30 or so in the morning. Chris and I manage to finally catch our flight (after a small hiccup with travel math getting to Newark) and arrive in Memphis around 11:30.
While Chris and I are getting ready to get on the plane, we find out from Rodney that Dad is now in critical but stable condition at the hospital in Memphis, and that he would "probably" lose the leg from slightly above the knee. We found out later (I don't remember when) that, in fact, the lower half of his leg didn't make the trip with him from Grenada.
12 March 2007: Day of bad news...
It was on this day that I got the phone call from Ruth. My side went something like this. "What? Really? You're joking." I couldn't get my head around this. Dad? Hurt? At work? I am told, "We don't know what happened, only that it happened at work, he's been life-flighted to a hospital in Memphis, and is in critical condition."
« Newer
