ICU Day 4 & 5 : The Way We Get By

Andy's wedding ring would normally be on the ring finger...

 

The Intensive Care Unit is quite a different animal from our spacious room on the Oncology floor.  Rooms are cramped and strictly utility-based, bathrooms are for patients only (when they are not bedridden), there are many new machines, wires, taps and lines everywhere so a nurse can triage a problem in a moment's notice.  Families must stay in the waiting room and call ahead to check in, and only enter two at a time.  There are many medical carts in the low and short halls filled with supplies and the nurses station is central so they can see and hear any emergency. I can not sleep near him like I did previously.

One of my favorite things that happened before he was sent to the ICU was he asked me to sleep on his bed for the first time.  He had lost most of his ability to speak, I think it was due to the viral mono in his throat, so he gestured for us to sleep back to back.  It only lasted a short time before he was up again from discomfort in his stomach, but I know the feeling of us acting like normal, it was nice to feeling his breathing and the warmth.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Anyone who has been with someone in the ICU on a breathing and feeding tube can attest, it's no party.  The experience is frightening to behold and much more frightening for the patient when they begin to come out of sedation.  With continuous kidney dialysis (gentler on the system than the regular, 4-hour kind people can get as out-patients) he is currently on the maximum amount of life-support.

I met with some of our family, the Resident ICU Doctor and the Palliative Care Nurse Practitioner to have a serious discussion about the possibility of Andy's heart stopping while he is in the ICU.  At the start of this, Andy was 1000% all-in; do whatever we have to do to fight these things.  The medical teams have warned us that if his heart stops and they initiate resuscitation, his condition is poor enough that it would do more harm and cause more pain than good.  It would likely cause brain damage and if they had to break a rib, it would likely not heal and be excruciating for him.  

We know that Andy's sharp personality, his wit, his humor, his mind - are too important to damage.  He'd rather be himself and unable to walk, than be saved but lose his brain function.  

So we had to make the difficult decision that in the event his heart stops, we must allow him to go peacefully.

I had spent the night crying the entire evening, until the sky started to turn light blue and the birds started.  I slept a bit in the morning, missing the sound of the new year school buses, and headed to the hospital.

I had an awful nightmare about him.  In the dream, my phone rang and a male nurse on the other end said:

"Veronica?  Andy is here, ... he wants to talk to you (go ahead, Andy,...)"

But instead of Andy talking, it was his pained groans and gurgling from a wet breathing tube.

It was terrifying. 

 

I needed to talk to someone and get out of this spiral.  What helped me, like Andy, was planning.

 

I had good conversations with friends who have been on their own spousal cancer journeys, the doctors, and the Palliative care nurses who helped me get through the darkness.

• If my beloved husband passes away, how will I get through this?  
• How will our family?  
• How long will the sadness last?  
• How will I manage all these new challenges by myself?  
• How to deal with recurring depression?

Friends could offer me sound advice:  If this goes badly like they warned:

• For about 400 days, you will be extraordinarily sad.  With kindness, patience with yourself and your grief process, leaning on people you trust, you can claw out of that darkness like your spouse would want you to.
• You will not forget the good times you had.  You will however, remember the dark times.  Do not dwell on regret or past arguments.  The time to care about that is over.
  
• Imagine you are not alone in your house.  He is still here, talk to him, look at his pictures, who cares what people think of that. 
• Do not dwell on the loss.  Focus on the love.  Try to enter into a state of grace.
  

Andy said to me many times, if I went first he would talk to me even if I wasn't around, he would keep my chair at the table open, he'd act like I'm still around.  No matter what happens, he always will be.

He is a part of us.

Currently he is stable in the ICU, his infections are being treated with the right medications, and his natural immune system is beginning to recover slowly from the chemo.  We never give up hope and we know he can pull through this difficult hospitalization.

I'm glad some more relatives will be in town this weekend and the boys will hopefully get to spend some Dad-time with Andy.

Many thanks to:

Jan, Mike S., Kim, Stephen 

& all our friends for their support

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MATT!