It’s been a long 36 hours.
Thursday when I checked on Mom, her caregiver said her oxygen sats had dropped to 82 overnight and hadn’t gotten above 85 all day. They had her on 4 liters of oxygen and had done all the extra things the pulmonologist recommended, but nothing helped. I called the pulmonology office and was advised to bring her in first thing Friday morning.
She was seen by the physician’s assistant, who struck me as more cautious and thorough than the physician we saw on Monday. At first he was inclined to attribute the low saturation numbers to her anemia and poor circulation. But when I mentioned the chest x-ray done 11 days prior, he called the imaging center and got a copy. And as soon as he looked at it, he said “Take her to the hospital.” He gave me a copy of the x-ray results and his notes to give to the ER doctors, and off we went.
I think having that information helped — and it also helped that it was midday and the ER wasn’t too busy — because she was taken back while I was still parking my car. She’d told the PA that she felt “fine,” but by the time we got to the ER she was telling me she felt “yucky” and was so weak, I needed to ask for help transferring her from car to wheelchair. They did an EKG, drew blood, and gave her a chest x-ray and had her settled in one of the ER cubicles all within the first hour. A doctor came in, took some info, reviewed her labs and x-ray, and said he was going to get to work on her admission. It was the best, most efficient ER visit we’ve experienced to date.
(Side bar: One of the ER nurses who took her vitals and helped make her comfortable looked and sounded really familiar to me, but I assumed I’d just seen her on other visits to that ER… until she looked at me and said “Is your name Lira? We were in a writing class together.” Small world! And great memory – that class was three years ago.)
Mom’s one complaint was that it was too cold in the ER. Here she is tucked under her blankets.
There was the usual long wait for a room to open up, though, and it was five hours from arrival time until she was taken upstairs. I stayed to give her medical history and make sure she ate a little dinner, then headed home and met my best friend for dinner, a couple glasses of wine, and some much needed decompression.
I was supposed to be at a workshop all weekend, one that I’d been looking forward to for months and that is only offered in my area once a year. But there was no way I could leave her there without an advocate, so I sent a message to one of the teachers and explained why I wouldn’t be able to attend. I got about five hours of restless sleep, rolled over to check the time on my phone and saw a voicemail from the hospital time stamped 5:22 am. It was the night nurse, leaving me a status report before going off shift. Mom “had an emergency” overnight, her message said, but it was all resolved. She was really struggling to breathe, so they had given her a stat chest x-ray and the doctor had ordered an extra dose of Lasix and turned the oxygen up to 5 liters. I popped a Vivarin tablet (no time for coffee), threw some clothes on, and headed to the hospital.
She was eating her breakfast when I arrived and seemed pretty chipper, all things considered. More blood was drawn for labs, and mid-morning she was taken down for a CT scan. She barely touched her lunch, so my lunch was half of her hamburger and a bottle of juice. I didn’t want to leave to get food in case they came to take her for the procedure to drain her lung, but that didn’t end up happening until around 2:30 pm.
They let me go down with her and I thought I’d just wait in the hallway as I had for the CT, but the ultrasound technician was really sweet and said I could be with her for the procedure. It’s called a thoracentesis and involves inserting a needle between the ribs into the space between the lungs and the chest wall, then draining the fluid through a thin tube. The ultrasound tech explained it, saying that they would numb the area first but warning that the numbing agent stings when it’s first injected. Then the radiologist came in and went through it with us again, complete with ennumerating the risks (the most dangerous being the possibility of the needle puncturing the lung and causing it to collapse). When he finished, he asked Mom if she had any questions. She said no and when he turned away to begin prep, she muttered to me “He already told me more than I wanted to know.” I stifled a nervous laugh.
She was sitting on the gurney, her legs over the side, leaning over one of those little bedside tables with a pillow on it. The tech had me stand on the other side of the table to be sure it didn’t move, and I held Mom’s hand. She was a real trooper, stayed still and didn’t even flinch when the needle went into her back. I closed my eyes, squeezed her hand and prayed silently. After a minute or so, the doctor got up and left the room with a quick word of instruction to the tech, who would monitor the draining fluid and remove the tube when it was complete. I don’t know if it was the relief of realizing that the hard part was over and her lung had NOT collapsed, standing stiffly with my knees locked, low blood sugar from lack of food, or all of the above — but I started feeling like I was going to faint. I tried bending my knees and closing my eyes, but when my ears began to ring I had to sit down and put my head between my knees. (Dad, if you were watching over us today, now you know why I never had the least interest in a career in medicine…) It took perhaps five minutes for a liter jar to fill with a yellowish fluid, which was sent to the lab for tests.
They had replaced Mom’s hospital bed mattress with an air mattress while we were downstairs, which I assumed meant she would be in some pain and her back needed to be cushioned. She was very drowsy and kept dozing off, but she didn’t experience any pain for the four hours I sat with her after the procedure. When my niece arrived at 7:30 to spell me, I headed home to get a decent meal and some rest. Okay, the rest hasn’t happened yet because my cat needed attention after being alone all day and I couldn’t stand the pile of dishes in the sink for another minute… But the dishwasher is humming as I type and the bed is calling. Hopefully Mom is getting some sleep too. I’ll see her in the morning.