- I really did only just now read it, so any similarities of my account to his are wholly coincidental, save that there are only so many things one can say about "HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BUTT!"
- Okay, the tube is actually about two meters long. I started to say "only two meters", but there is no such thing as "only two meters" when it's going... where it's going.
- Nobody told me you could spike the nuclear laxative with vodka. I don't drink, but I might have been tempted to start had I known.
- I think my favorite sentence must be this: "And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet."
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Showing posts with label medical. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Extremely belated disclaimer
Having only just now read Dave Barry's description of his own colonscopy (published last February, well before my own), I have some reactions:
Monday, February 18, 2008
I'm a shock absorber
This time, I put the update on my LiveJournal page first, so I'm just linking to it from here. No new traumatic events, just a little more information about the last one.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Jove's Own Hiccups
Don't you hate a story that starts out "Don't worry, I'm fine now"?
My defibrillator fired off late Tuesday morning, nine times within five minutes or so. Anyone who wishes to know what this feels like can easily simulate it at home by licking a 9-volt battery and, at the same moment, having your mortal enemy smite you with a sledge hammer.
Nine times.
Failing that, remember the little bird in Shrek that tried to hit that high note?
Spare a few thoughts for roommate John, who wasn't sure anything was going on until he heard me break the toilet seat.
I had just experienced one jolt and was sitting on the closed lid. I had mostly reassembled my wits when I felt another one, and the next thing I remember I was sitting *in* the toilet on pieces of shattered plastic.
He: "Do I need to call 9-1-1?"
I: "I'm not sure..."
ICD: *ZAP*
I: "Yes!"
Sorry, no pictures.
I will say that lying naked on the bathroom floor having Jove's Own Hiccups every fifteen to thirty seconds made me feel as helpless as little else has or can.
I know now that the first few were 5 joule charges, and the last one was 35 joules. I sorta thought it might have been a bigger wham than the ones before, but it also could have just been the emotional reaction of "Oh, God, another one". (The nurse confirmed this: People generally can't tell the difference. A shock is a shock.)
The manufacturer says that someone who's touching me when it goes off might feel a charge of about 2 joules. (This is conveyed in answer to the questions everyone asks, "Can I still have sex?") But what I hadn't been able to learn is "What does 2 joules feel like?"
I thought about that when John was looking for my pulse. I was half afraid it would fire off while he was trying, and, I admit, half hoping it would. It didn't.
Well, now I know what 5 joules feels like, and can extrapolate. It ain't like touching a metal doorknob. It's ultimately harmless, but you'd know you'd been slapped pretty good.
By the time that 35 joule kick happened, the novelty had completely worn off.
I had finally had the sense to lie down on the floor, modesty be damned. I was in the middle of the hall, having made barely a token attempt to get my pants on, when John returned from the 911 call and found me. I'm afraid he thought the worst before I had a chance to speak and tell him that I was still awake and (relatively) lucid.
That 35 joule kick was, it developed, the last. Laying on the floor had helped calm my heart. It never did happen that John was actually watching when I received a jolt. It's a shame. I wanted to know what it looked and sounded like. It sounded like thunder to me, but I suspect it was silent. Except, of course, for me yelling.
Something In The Blood
I'll have to skip over the blur of the arrival of the ambulance and the trip to Emory Crawford Long (where my doctors are). I traveled alone in the ambulance, but I hadn't been there long before my wife (with my daughter) and John (with my son) caught up with us. By then, with the liberal application of modern pharmaceuticals (let's hear it for modern pharmaceuticals!), I was feeling well enough to be snarky about my own condition (it's a coping mechanism), something the nurses and doctor picked up on and responded to. If it's possible to have fun in an ER, I think we did.
One of the really unexpected things discovered in the ER was that my system was all but depleted of potassium. The nurse there had mixed a "cocktail" with the potassium supplement in its liquid form, ice and orange juice -- at least she said it was orange juice, but the potassium liquid must have a really powerful taste. It tasted like-- well, like nothing I'd ever had before. The medicinal equivalent of a Lovecraftian creature that the human tongue cannot describe because it exists in dimentions we cannot perceive. The Pharmaceutical Horror, the Drugg From Out Of Space.
I Have Been Assimilated
Now I have a fourth doctor writing prescriptions for me, another cardiologist, Dr Whelan. He was present when the nurse with the australian accent downloaded my ICD data. That's the only reason I know it fired nine times: I had lost count.
The doctor's official description of the incident was that the ICD had fired "inappropriately". (Not quite the word I might have chosen.) By this he meant that the situation to which it was intended to respond, ventricular fibrillations, had not occurred. It was confused by my rapid heart rate at the time, although there is no particular explanation for the rapid rate in the first place. (Probably the combination of low potassium and a missed dose of toprol.)
After it had fired once, the anxiety it created kept my heart rate elevated, which served to convince the ICD that its job was not yet done. It's programming giving it no alternate course of action, it kept firing.
That won't happen again. While she was reading the ICD's records, the doctor and nurse-tech tweaked the unit's programming to allow it to more easily tell the difference between atrial fibrillations, ventricular fibrillations, and "mere" high heart rate, and react accordingly. The unit's logs stored detailed information about my heart's day-to-day activity not available any other way: They used that information to recalibrate some of the defaults the ICD uses to decide what an extraordinary event is.
That is, the ICD is pretty capable straight out of the box, but the better configured it is to its particular circumstances and environment, the more effective it will be. As a computer geek myself, I find this fascinating, and not just because the gadget is in my chest. I'm awestruck that not only is this degree of care possible, but it's available to pretty much anybody who needs it.
No sense of rhythm
My heart rate was not just elevated, but irregular. As the machines reported a "rolling average", the numbers jumped all over the chart, from 90 to 160 beats per minute. Which is not to say that a minute ever went by in which my heart beat 160 times. My heart sounded pathetic when I was hooked up to a monitor that actually sounded each beat.
And all of this we learned before we ever left the ER. By the time I had a room, it was pretty much all over but the shouting. They kept me topped off with medicines, to keep my heart rate controlled until my system recovered from the trauma and my heart calmed to a regular, normal at-rest rate (60-70 bpm). There was talk of a "plan B" if it didn't do so, but the doctor was confident that it would do so after a night's rest.
And it did.
That's about all there is to tell.
Oh, and there's a new champion. The potassium supplement I now have to take is, without question, the biggest pill I've ever had to swallow. It's about an inch long, the circumference of a piece of chalk, and not half as yummy.
Some of my pills I can just pop 'em down without water. This one, I'll need a *lot* of water and a bit of mental preparation too. I almost didn't manage it in the hospital, and the nurse had broken those in half.
But it is over and I am here to tell the tale, and even laugh at parts of it.
SEE ALSO: LiveJournal.
My defibrillator fired off late Tuesday morning, nine times within five minutes or so. Anyone who wishes to know what this feels like can easily simulate it at home by licking a 9-volt battery and, at the same moment, having your mortal enemy smite you with a sledge hammer.
Nine times.
Failing that, remember the little bird in Shrek that tried to hit that high note?
Spare a few thoughts for roommate John, who wasn't sure anything was going on until he heard me break the toilet seat.
I had just experienced one jolt and was sitting on the closed lid. I had mostly reassembled my wits when I felt another one, and the next thing I remember I was sitting *in* the toilet on pieces of shattered plastic.
He: "Do I need to call 9-1-1?"
I: "I'm not sure..."
ICD: *ZAP*
I: "Yes!"
Sorry, no pictures.
I will say that lying naked on the bathroom floor having Jove's Own Hiccups every fifteen to thirty seconds made me feel as helpless as little else has or can.
I know now that the first few were 5 joule charges, and the last one was 35 joules. I sorta thought it might have been a bigger wham than the ones before, but it also could have just been the emotional reaction of "Oh, God, another one". (The nurse confirmed this: People generally can't tell the difference. A shock is a shock.)
The manufacturer says that someone who's touching me when it goes off might feel a charge of about 2 joules. (This is conveyed in answer to the questions everyone asks, "Can I still have sex?") But what I hadn't been able to learn is "What does 2 joules feel like?"
I thought about that when John was looking for my pulse. I was half afraid it would fire off while he was trying, and, I admit, half hoping it would. It didn't.
Well, now I know what 5 joules feels like, and can extrapolate. It ain't like touching a metal doorknob. It's ultimately harmless, but you'd know you'd been slapped pretty good.
By the time that 35 joule kick happened, the novelty had completely worn off.
I had finally had the sense to lie down on the floor, modesty be damned. I was in the middle of the hall, having made barely a token attempt to get my pants on, when John returned from the 911 call and found me. I'm afraid he thought the worst before I had a chance to speak and tell him that I was still awake and (relatively) lucid.
That 35 joule kick was, it developed, the last. Laying on the floor had helped calm my heart. It never did happen that John was actually watching when I received a jolt. It's a shame. I wanted to know what it looked and sounded like. It sounded like thunder to me, but I suspect it was silent. Except, of course, for me yelling.
Something In The Blood
I'll have to skip over the blur of the arrival of the ambulance and the trip to Emory Crawford Long (where my doctors are). I traveled alone in the ambulance, but I hadn't been there long before my wife (with my daughter) and John (with my son) caught up with us. By then, with the liberal application of modern pharmaceuticals (let's hear it for modern pharmaceuticals!), I was feeling well enough to be snarky about my own condition (it's a coping mechanism), something the nurses and doctor picked up on and responded to. If it's possible to have fun in an ER, I think we did.
One of the really unexpected things discovered in the ER was that my system was all but depleted of potassium. The nurse there had mixed a "cocktail" with the potassium supplement in its liquid form, ice and orange juice -- at least she said it was orange juice, but the potassium liquid must have a really powerful taste. It tasted like-- well, like nothing I'd ever had before. The medicinal equivalent of a Lovecraftian creature that the human tongue cannot describe because it exists in dimentions we cannot perceive. The Pharmaceutical Horror, the Drugg From Out Of Space.
I Have Been Assimilated
Now I have a fourth doctor writing prescriptions for me, another cardiologist, Dr Whelan. He was present when the nurse with the australian accent downloaded my ICD data. That's the only reason I know it fired nine times: I had lost count.
The doctor's official description of the incident was that the ICD had fired "inappropriately". (Not quite the word I might have chosen.) By this he meant that the situation to which it was intended to respond, ventricular fibrillations, had not occurred. It was confused by my rapid heart rate at the time, although there is no particular explanation for the rapid rate in the first place. (Probably the combination of low potassium and a missed dose of toprol.)
After it had fired once, the anxiety it created kept my heart rate elevated, which served to convince the ICD that its job was not yet done. It's programming giving it no alternate course of action, it kept firing.
That won't happen again. While she was reading the ICD's records, the doctor and nurse-tech tweaked the unit's programming to allow it to more easily tell the difference between atrial fibrillations, ventricular fibrillations, and "mere" high heart rate, and react accordingly. The unit's logs stored detailed information about my heart's day-to-day activity not available any other way: They used that information to recalibrate some of the defaults the ICD uses to decide what an extraordinary event is.
That is, the ICD is pretty capable straight out of the box, but the better configured it is to its particular circumstances and environment, the more effective it will be. As a computer geek myself, I find this fascinating, and not just because the gadget is in my chest. I'm awestruck that not only is this degree of care possible, but it's available to pretty much anybody who needs it.
No sense of rhythm
My heart rate was not just elevated, but irregular. As the machines reported a "rolling average", the numbers jumped all over the chart, from 90 to 160 beats per minute. Which is not to say that a minute ever went by in which my heart beat 160 times. My heart sounded pathetic when I was hooked up to a monitor that actually sounded each beat.
And all of this we learned before we ever left the ER. By the time I had a room, it was pretty much all over but the shouting. They kept me topped off with medicines, to keep my heart rate controlled until my system recovered from the trauma and my heart calmed to a regular, normal at-rest rate (60-70 bpm). There was talk of a "plan B" if it didn't do so, but the doctor was confident that it would do so after a night's rest.
And it did.
That's about all there is to tell.
Oh, and there's a new champion. The potassium supplement I now have to take is, without question, the biggest pill I've ever had to swallow. It's about an inch long, the circumference of a piece of chalk, and not half as yummy.
Some of my pills I can just pop 'em down without water. This one, I'll need a *lot* of water and a bit of mental preparation too. I almost didn't manage it in the hospital, and the nurse had broken those in half.
But it is over and I am here to tell the tale, and even laugh at parts of it.
SEE ALSO: LiveJournal.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Floss your head
Hamilton Spectator | Brain cleaner: New stroke treatment can vacuum away deadly blood clotsBefore you ask, no, this wouldn't have helped me. I often speak of what happened to me as a "stroke", but strictly speaking it wasn't. A stroke is an arterial block: What I had was a leak, a brain hemorrhage accompanied by swelling.
It's a tiny vacuum cleaner for the brain: A new treatment for stroke victims promises to suction out clogged arteries in hopes of stopping the brain attack before it does permanent harm.
Called Penumbra, the newly approved device is the latest in a series of inside-the-artery attempts to boost recovery from stroke.
...Specialists thread a tiny tube inside a blood vessel at the groin and push it up the body and into the brain until it reaches the clog. Just like a vacuum cleaner, it sucks up the clot bit by bit to restore blood flow.
Still, I have experienced the up-from-the-groin thing, as it is also the route to the artery that was partly blocked when I had my heart attack. When they speak of cardio-catheterization, that's the procedure they mean.
If it sounds weird, well, it beats going straight in through the chest. It means a recovery period measured in days, not months.
Friday, January 04, 2008
I'd rather be awake
I suffer from occasional insomnia. My doctor, as so many doctors do, prescribed ambien.
Now, I have no real horror story to tell. I took it, and promptly fell asleep (as I'd been warned I would) and stayed asleep for eight-plus hours (as I'd also been warned I would). When I awoke, I awoke more rested and refreshed than I'd felt in weeks.
But my wife told me I'd awakened earlier than I remembered awakening -- sort-of. She gave me an early-morning list of things to do that day, as she often does. I responded appropriately, but she immediately recognized that I wasn't really awake.
All this she told me later. I don't remember a bit of it.
So she waited a few minutes and gave me the list again, and this time I remembered it later. No harm, no foul, all is OK, right?
Well, yeah, if you don't mind losing a half-hour in which only your wife can tell you're still asleep. (I've been subjected to hospital anesthesia three times in the past year, and the same thing happens when I awaken. It doesn't happen when I'm sleeping "naturally".)
I did a little research. I got off lucky.
Run a Google search for ambien sleepwalking. Read a few stories.
Now, I have no real horror story to tell. I took it, and promptly fell asleep (as I'd been warned I would) and stayed asleep for eight-plus hours (as I'd also been warned I would). When I awoke, I awoke more rested and refreshed than I'd felt in weeks.
But my wife told me I'd awakened earlier than I remembered awakening -- sort-of. She gave me an early-morning list of things to do that day, as she often does. I responded appropriately, but she immediately recognized that I wasn't really awake.
All this she told me later. I don't remember a bit of it.
So she waited a few minutes and gave me the list again, and this time I remembered it later. No harm, no foul, all is OK, right?
Well, yeah, if you don't mind losing a half-hour in which only your wife can tell you're still asleep. (I've been subjected to hospital anesthesia three times in the past year, and the same thing happens when I awaken. It doesn't happen when I'm sleeping "naturally".)
I did a little research. I got off lucky.
Run a Google search for ambien sleepwalking. Read a few stories.
Rx List | Ambien and SleepwalkingTell me: Am I over-reacting?
I have been taking Ambien for about 12-16 months now. Prior to taking this, I never experienced sleepwalking (I am 59 years old). I was really unnerved this morning upon awakening. On my kitchen counter were 4 apples, 1 egg, mixing bowl, cutting board, 1/4 cup orange juice, paring knife, steak knife--and in my den, on my sofa, my favorite cookbook. I HAVE NO MEMORY OF GATHERING THESE ITEMS.
Washington Post | To Sleep, Perchance to...Walk
There is no reliable estimate of how many Ambien users sleepwalk, and no one knows who might be at risk. The prescribing information for Ambien lists somnambulism as a "rare side" effect, meaning that it has been reported in fewer than one in 1,000 patients.
New York Times | Study Links Ambien Use to Unconscious Food Forays
The sleeping pill Ambien seems to unlock a primitive desire to eat in some patients, according to emerging medical case studies that describe how the drug's users sometimes sleepwalk into their kitchens, claw through their refrigerators like animals and consume calories ranging into the thousands.
The next morning, the night eaters remember nothing about their foraging. But they wake up to find telltale clues: mouthfuls of peanut butter, Tostitos in their beds, kitchen counters overflowing with flour, missing food, and even lighted ovens and stoves.
New York Times | Sleeping Pill Users Range Far Beyond Bed
With a tendency to stare zombie-like and run into stationary objects, a new species of impaired motorist is hitting the roads: the Ambien driver.
Ambien, the nation's best-selling prescription sleeping pill, is showing up with regularity as a factor in traffic arrests, sometimes involving drivers who later say they were sleep-driving and have no memory of taking the wheel after taking the drug.
...A registered nurse who lives outside Denver took Ambien before going to sleep one night in January 2003. Sometime later — she says she remembers none of the episode — she got into her car wearing only a thin nightshirt in 20-degree weather, had a fender bender, urinated in the middle of an intersection, then became violent with police officers, according to her lawyer.
The New Yorker | The Ambien Cookbook
Sorpresa con Queso
Ingredients: 7 bags Cheetos, 17 to 19 glasses tap water, 5 mg. Ambien
Place Cheetos bags in cupboard. Take Ambien, fall asleep. Wait 2-3 hours, then sleepwalk to kitchen, tear cupboard doors off hinges in search of Cheetos…eat contents of all 7 bags…
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Why I haven't been around lately
The better part of ten days of my life were consumed preparing for, en route to and from, or attending the Robert A. Heinlein Centennial celebration in Kansas City. (No, smart@$$, he wasn't there.) This process was made more awkward by being under doctor's orders not to lift anything heavier than ten pounds, due to having recently undergone the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator.Oh, fine, thanks. I plan to talk more about this on my LiveJournal page; I just thought you should know.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
On my way to being a Cyborg
I don't wish to become one of those people who has nothing to talk about other than his own medical problems, but I thought you might like to know.
I'm scheduled to undergo the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator (ICD) at Crawford Long on Wednesday, June 27. The full story is here.
I'm scheduled to undergo the implantation of an Internal Cardiac Defibrillator (ICD) at Crawford Long on Wednesday, June 27. The full story is here.
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
Wednesday, August 28, 2002
Oreta again. But Daniel said he would try to get online later today.
Yes, he is home.
I went in yesterday at 0930 to observe his therapy, but they had taken him over to the neuro-opthamologists (and abandoned him there) so I tracked him down there, where we spent three extremely interesting and useful hours finding out that he does still have visual problems (Duh), pinpointing the exact nature of those problems, suggesting some strategies for coping with said problems, and being assured that the problems will get progressively better. All in all, the most fruitful three hours we have spent at Emory Rehab. (At some point, every medical person we have met will say, "For someone who has had (fill in the blank) he's doing remarkably well." and this place was no different "For someone who has had multiple brain lesions....")
However, I am under no delusions. Left up to their own pace, Emory would have eventually gotten around to the neuro-opthamologists. About a month from now. The only reason he saw these folk now was because I kept insisting that he was having trouble seeing. I even wrote a note for his file, so they couldn't ignore it.
After the neuro-opthamologist appointment we returned to Emory Rehab to eat lunch and to wait to be discharged, which they did at 1500. The moment the discharge papers were signed we left. John brought the children home from school shortly afterwards and Daniel spent the evening in bed, with both kids sprawled around him on the bed doing their homework.
There are a great many loose ends to tie up, but they aren't important. Daniel is home.
Oreta
Oreta again. But Daniel said he would try to get online later today.
Yes, he is home.
I went in yesterday at 0930 to observe his therapy, but they had taken him over to the neuro-opthamologists (and abandoned him there) so I tracked him down there, where we spent three extremely interesting and useful hours finding out that he does still have visual problems (Duh), pinpointing the exact nature of those problems, suggesting some strategies for coping with said problems, and being assured that the problems will get progressively better. All in all, the most fruitful three hours we have spent at Emory Rehab. (At some point, every medical person we have met will say, "For someone who has had (fill in the blank) he's doing remarkably well." and this place was no different "For someone who has had multiple brain lesions....")
However, I am under no delusions. Left up to their own pace, Emory would have eventually gotten around to the neuro-opthamologists. About a month from now. The only reason he saw these folk now was because I kept insisting that he was having trouble seeing. I even wrote a note for his file, so they couldn't ignore it.
After the neuro-opthamologist appointment we returned to Emory Rehab to eat lunch and to wait to be discharged, which they did at 1500. The moment the discharge papers were signed we left. John brought the children home from school shortly afterwards and Daniel spent the evening in bed, with both kids sprawled around him on the bed doing their homework.
There are a great many loose ends to tie up, but they aren't important. Daniel is home.
Oreta
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
Tuesday, August 27, 2002
Still Oreta.
Just a quick note, because I am on the way to Emory Rehab to observe his therapy and to hear the results of the staff meeting about his condition (which I am forbidden to attend.) Grrr.
Yesterday, for the first time since he arrived, Daniel actually received therapy, rather than just assessments. They worked him hard and the Physical Therapist and the Occupational therapist say that as far as they are concerned, he can go home. Speech and visual stuff can be handled on an outpatient basis.
We'll see what comes of this after the meeting. With luck I may have good news for you this afternoon.
Daniel is still very weak. His perception problems get better each day. Oddly enough, Daniel can read small print better than large print. He makes noticable daily improvement. (His improvement is noticable even to himself, which is very cheering.) He would be making even better improvement if he could get a full night's sleep. But the Rehab Center does not seem to care about that (they moved a very noisy patient into Daniel's ward last night. The new gentleman is confused enough to need restraints and aware enough to fight them constantly, and to call for help.) It is difficult to watch.
Oreta
Still Oreta.
Just a quick note, because I am on the way to Emory Rehab to observe his therapy and to hear the results of the staff meeting about his condition (which I am forbidden to attend.) Grrr.
Yesterday, for the first time since he arrived, Daniel actually received therapy, rather than just assessments. They worked him hard and the Physical Therapist and the Occupational therapist say that as far as they are concerned, he can go home. Speech and visual stuff can be handled on an outpatient basis.
We'll see what comes of this after the meeting. With luck I may have good news for you this afternoon.
Daniel is still very weak. His perception problems get better each day. Oddly enough, Daniel can read small print better than large print. He makes noticable daily improvement. (His improvement is noticable even to himself, which is very cheering.) He would be making even better improvement if he could get a full night's sleep. But the Rehab Center does not seem to care about that (they moved a very noisy patient into Daniel's ward last night. The new gentleman is confused enough to need restraints and aware enough to fight them constantly, and to call for help.) It is difficult to watch.
Oreta
Monday, August 26, 2002
Monday, August 26, 2002
Well, it is still Oreta.
Thank you, Ron, for posting an update in the comments section. I'll just repeat it here.
Daniel is out of the hospital, but not yet home. They moved him to the Emory Rehabilitation Center at 6:00 pm Friday.
Daniel is doing much better. He is recovering his strength and he is able to move around. His aphasa has improved to the point that very few people will notice it in a casual conversation. His vision has improved, but although he can see clearly, he has trouble making words on a page make sense. He can do it, but it is hard work. Think of it like a form of dsylexia.
With any luck he will be seeing a therapist who will help him today. Since he came in so late Friday, he is not yet "in the system". He has seen several physical therapists and occupational therapists and a speech therapist, but apparently nobody trusts anybody else's data because they keep putting him through the same evaluations over and over again. I would have expected that they would be having him walk longer and longer distances each day, for instance. Instead they do the same evaluations over and over again. Each person exclaims over how well he is doing, but no one asks him to do anything more difficult. Ditto for the occupational therapist. The upshot seems to be that he can walk around okay and do basic things like brush his teeth okay, although he has a little trouble with co-ordination and balance. Since he has been in a bed for two weeks this is not surprising.
As well as the frustration of "When do we stop testing and start therapy?" the nurses and therapists are not communicating with each other or us. Each nurse, therapist, or technician has a different idea of what he is allowed to do; so we have to choose between constantly getting into trouble or lying in bed being bored and listening to the guy across the room discuss his incontinence problems every five minutes all day and all night.
I appreciate and approve of the need to keep Daniel in a medical facility until they are sure that he is not going to have any more cardiac incidents, but I'm hoping they will send him home and let him do his therapy on an outpatient basis soon. The contrast between this and Crawford W. Long Hospital is rather spectacular. Crawford W. Long is a gorgeous hospital. Even the Emergency Room lobby looks like a hotel lobby. There are pocket gardens everywhere. There is even a small aviary. The rooms are painted in attractive colors. Emory Rehab is functionally ugly and there is no effort expended to make the wards attractive or pleasant. Personal possesions are discouraged despite the fact that the average stay is 19 days.
When the nurses leave the room the patients' primary conversation is about when they will be able to escape,er, go home.
Now, I understand that things should get better today. That part of the problem is that he came in on a weekend and is not in the system yet. I hope so, or Daniel's stay here will be much shorter than they bargained for.
I take back everything I said about modern medicine and its communication practices.
But really, Daniel is much better. We just need to lick the visual perception problems.
Oreta
Well, it is still Oreta.
Thank you, Ron, for posting an update in the comments section. I'll just repeat it here.
Daniel is out of the hospital, but not yet home. They moved him to the Emory Rehabilitation Center at 6:00 pm Friday.
Daniel is doing much better. He is recovering his strength and he is able to move around. His aphasa has improved to the point that very few people will notice it in a casual conversation. His vision has improved, but although he can see clearly, he has trouble making words on a page make sense. He can do it, but it is hard work. Think of it like a form of dsylexia.
With any luck he will be seeing a therapist who will help him today. Since he came in so late Friday, he is not yet "in the system". He has seen several physical therapists and occupational therapists and a speech therapist, but apparently nobody trusts anybody else's data because they keep putting him through the same evaluations over and over again. I would have expected that they would be having him walk longer and longer distances each day, for instance. Instead they do the same evaluations over and over again. Each person exclaims over how well he is doing, but no one asks him to do anything more difficult. Ditto for the occupational therapist. The upshot seems to be that he can walk around okay and do basic things like brush his teeth okay, although he has a little trouble with co-ordination and balance. Since he has been in a bed for two weeks this is not surprising.
As well as the frustration of "When do we stop testing and start therapy?" the nurses and therapists are not communicating with each other or us. Each nurse, therapist, or technician has a different idea of what he is allowed to do; so we have to choose between constantly getting into trouble or lying in bed being bored and listening to the guy across the room discuss his incontinence problems every five minutes all day and all night.
I appreciate and approve of the need to keep Daniel in a medical facility until they are sure that he is not going to have any more cardiac incidents, but I'm hoping they will send him home and let him do his therapy on an outpatient basis soon. The contrast between this and Crawford W. Long Hospital is rather spectacular. Crawford W. Long is a gorgeous hospital. Even the Emergency Room lobby looks like a hotel lobby. There are pocket gardens everywhere. There is even a small aviary. The rooms are painted in attractive colors. Emory Rehab is functionally ugly and there is no effort expended to make the wards attractive or pleasant. Personal possesions are discouraged despite the fact that the average stay is 19 days.
When the nurses leave the room the patients' primary conversation is about when they will be able to escape,er, go home.
Now, I understand that things should get better today. That part of the problem is that he came in on a weekend and is not in the system yet. I hope so, or Daniel's stay here will be much shorter than they bargained for.
I take back everything I said about modern medicine and its communication practices.
But really, Daniel is much better. We just need to lick the visual perception problems.
Oreta
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
Wednesday, August 21, 2002
Still Oreta, but we are working on finding a laptop for Daniel to type on.
Daniel continues to improve. The aphasia is better, but still there. The speech therapist is very encouraged. Today he picked up the breakfast menu and read it. Big step. His vision is coming back -- there is a noticeable improvement from when the nurse checked him last night and the neurologist checked him this morning.
I was wrong, he isn't seeing a physical therapist, but an occupational therapist. Occupational therapists make sure you can do things like brush your teeth and take a bath. She is very pleased with his progress and let him sit up in a chair today for about ten minutes. He is still quite weak though and took a long nap afterwards.
They did an MRI last night but I haven't heard the results (except that the technician commented that he still has blood in his brain which was no surprise.) The neurologist says they'll run another CT scan in four or five days so it sounds like we are going to be here for a while.
Daniel stayed up a little late last night listening to the election returns in the McKinney-Majette race. Go Majette! I've heard some folks complain about the Republicans crossing over to vote Democrat, but honestly, the Democrats gerrymandered that district to such an extent that there is no hope of a Republican ever being elected. So the Republicans decided to make their votes count and vote in the Democratic primary. This is not what the Democrats intended, but is sort of poetic justice. "Photodude" has been following this story very intensely if you want more details.
Sigh. I realize that in the above paragraph I should have put two links, one to a map of Majette's district and another to Photodude's blog, but I don't know how to do that yet. I promise to learn as soon as I can.
Anyway, Daniel is getting better each day.
Thank you all of you.
Oreta
Still Oreta, but we are working on finding a laptop for Daniel to type on.
Daniel continues to improve. The aphasia is better, but still there. The speech therapist is very encouraged. Today he picked up the breakfast menu and read it. Big step. His vision is coming back -- there is a noticeable improvement from when the nurse checked him last night and the neurologist checked him this morning.
I was wrong, he isn't seeing a physical therapist, but an occupational therapist. Occupational therapists make sure you can do things like brush your teeth and take a bath. She is very pleased with his progress and let him sit up in a chair today for about ten minutes. He is still quite weak though and took a long nap afterwards.
They did an MRI last night but I haven't heard the results (except that the technician commented that he still has blood in his brain which was no surprise.) The neurologist says they'll run another CT scan in four or five days so it sounds like we are going to be here for a while.
Daniel stayed up a little late last night listening to the election returns in the McKinney-Majette race. Go Majette! I've heard some folks complain about the Republicans crossing over to vote Democrat, but honestly, the Democrats gerrymandered that district to such an extent that there is no hope of a Republican ever being elected. So the Republicans decided to make their votes count and vote in the Democratic primary. This is not what the Democrats intended, but is sort of poetic justice. "Photodude" has been following this story very intensely if you want more details.
Sigh. I realize that in the above paragraph I should have put two links, one to a map of Majette's district and another to Photodude's blog, but I don't know how to do that yet. I promise to learn as soon as I can.
Anyway, Daniel is getting better each day.
Thank you all of you.
Oreta
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
Tuesday, August 20, 2002
Still Oreta.
What a difference a day makes! Let's see, first, Daniel is out of ICU and in a regular room. It's a "telemetry" bed so that they can keep track of his vital signs, but at least he's not hooked up to the IV tubes and the wires. Everything that goes beep is at the nurses' station now, which makes for a much quieter room.
Second, they have pretty much decided he does not have a staph infection, so he doesn't need the picc line after all. They ran four blood cultures(two each day) and there was staph in only one of them, so they think it may have been a contaminant.
The cardiologists are still negociating with the neurologists and the current plan is one aspirin every other day. They will also be running an MRI which the neurologist says will give him an idea if Daniel is really susceptible to this sort of brain bleed and that should affect the medications as well. Although I am frustrated by the communication I am receiving from the doctors, I am confident, from various comments they are making, that the doctors are talking to each other, which is really the most important thing at this point.
Daniel has been seeing a speech therapist for several days now, and he should see a physical therapist today. I hope the physical therapist will say that it is okay for him to get up out of bed to perform various necessary bodily functions, because Daniel is really, really tired of the alternatives.
The aphasia continues to improve.
He's not getting much rest -- he sleeps but doesn't remember falling asleep, so he doesn't feel rested, and of course he is awakened every few hours by someone doing something; taking a blood sample; checking his blood glucose level; checking his blood pressure....
Things continue to improve. Thanks for the messages and comments.
Oreta
Still Oreta.
What a difference a day makes! Let's see, first, Daniel is out of ICU and in a regular room. It's a "telemetry" bed so that they can keep track of his vital signs, but at least he's not hooked up to the IV tubes and the wires. Everything that goes beep is at the nurses' station now, which makes for a much quieter room.
Second, they have pretty much decided he does not have a staph infection, so he doesn't need the picc line after all. They ran four blood cultures(two each day) and there was staph in only one of them, so they think it may have been a contaminant.
The cardiologists are still negociating with the neurologists and the current plan is one aspirin every other day. They will also be running an MRI which the neurologist says will give him an idea if Daniel is really susceptible to this sort of brain bleed and that should affect the medications as well. Although I am frustrated by the communication I am receiving from the doctors, I am confident, from various comments they are making, that the doctors are talking to each other, which is really the most important thing at this point.
Daniel has been seeing a speech therapist for several days now, and he should see a physical therapist today. I hope the physical therapist will say that it is okay for him to get up out of bed to perform various necessary bodily functions, because Daniel is really, really tired of the alternatives.
The aphasia continues to improve.
He's not getting much rest -- he sleeps but doesn't remember falling asleep, so he doesn't feel rested, and of course he is awakened every few hours by someone doing something; taking a blood sample; checking his blood glucose level; checking his blood pressure....
Things continue to improve. Thanks for the messages and comments.
Oreta
Monday, August 19, 2002
Monday, August 19, 2002
Oreta here again.
Gosh. Thank you, all of you for the comments, especially yours, Dr. Stoufflet.
Daniel has weathered the weekend well, with his aphasia getting much better and his pulse and blood pressure responding to the oral and patch medications. He can move around on the bed without it sending his pulse through the roof now. I don't believe I have mentioned it, but he also has a staph infection, so he has been running a low-grade fever. They've been giving him tylenol, which controls the fever but doesn't do much for his continuous headache.
Friday's CT scan was good and they will be running another one today. Today should be a big day. As well as the CT scan they will be putting in a "picc" line. This is a special IV which can stay in longer and which can be used to deliver the intrevenous antibiotics that they want to use on the staph infection. For what it is worth, the doctors seem confident they can lick the staph infection. The plan was to start him on some aspirin today, cautiously. Since he had another mild "cardiac incident" one night last week ("angina" is the word I pried out of the doctor) the cardiac doctors really, really, really want him on some sort of blood thinner. The neurology doctors, of course, have a different opinion.
You know, I could have cheerfully gone the rest of my life without learning the difference between a "C-line", an "A-line" and a "picc-line".
Because they work the nurses in twelve hour shifts and because we've been here for over a week, I'm getting to know the nurses. I can't tell you all their names because they persist in wearing their badges wrong side out. :-) The nurses all have their different styles. Some are in and out of the patients room all the time; some vigiliantly sit at the nurses station staring intently at the monitors. Some are comfortable with patient families; others less so. The older nurses are comfortable asking me to hand them stuff and to do things; the younger nurses not comfortable with that. Some are sticklers for rules; others not. All of them are less hard-nosed about rules then they were the first few days.
Communication continues to be a problem. The doctors come when they can, which is usually when I am away and in Daniel's case there are a lot of doctors. One of my frustrations is that there is no central place or person to ask a question of. This may be a function of being in the neurology/surgical ICU where there are a variety of reasons a patient is there. Daniel's needs are very different from the patient three doors down who had a tonsilectomy a month ago which has started bleeding uncontrollably. (He's doing okay and moved out of ICU three days ago). This is different from the cardiac ICU where there were a variety of problems but they were all cardiac problems. It is possible to get different answers from different doctors -- some are optimists; my favorite is a pessimist. And some come in to talk to me after only a cursory glimpse at his chart. Then after giving me some generic information they go out and go over his chart in depth with the nurse. It would be nice if it were possible to schedule a daily briefing. It doesn't have to be with a doctor; it could be with a "patient advocate", say a nurse practioner, who could review the results of yesterday's tests with me and talk to me about the what to expect. So far I am getting some of my best explanations from my priest (it is very convenient to have a priest who was a med student before deciding to become a priest.) It would have been a great deal of help if someone had turned to me last Saturday and said, "He's going to get worse before he gets better." It's not difficulty in understanding the doctor -- it's difficulty in getting the information. I should not have to ask for the results of his CT scan or blood cultures.
Again, I'm not really dumping on modern medicine, because I know very well what state Daniel would be in even twenty years ago. But my concern is -- if they aren't talking to me, are the doctors talking to each other?
Well, it's time for me to go back to the hospital since visiting hours will be starting again. I've been shuttling between work and the hospital and home -- fortunately they are all 10 - 20 minutes from each other depending on traffic.
I'll post more when I can get back to a computer. Thanks everybody.
Oreta
Oreta here again.
Gosh. Thank you, all of you for the comments, especially yours, Dr. Stoufflet.
Daniel has weathered the weekend well, with his aphasia getting much better and his pulse and blood pressure responding to the oral and patch medications. He can move around on the bed without it sending his pulse through the roof now. I don't believe I have mentioned it, but he also has a staph infection, so he has been running a low-grade fever. They've been giving him tylenol, which controls the fever but doesn't do much for his continuous headache.
Friday's CT scan was good and they will be running another one today. Today should be a big day. As well as the CT scan they will be putting in a "picc" line. This is a special IV which can stay in longer and which can be used to deliver the intrevenous antibiotics that they want to use on the staph infection. For what it is worth, the doctors seem confident they can lick the staph infection. The plan was to start him on some aspirin today, cautiously. Since he had another mild "cardiac incident" one night last week ("angina" is the word I pried out of the doctor) the cardiac doctors really, really, really want him on some sort of blood thinner. The neurology doctors, of course, have a different opinion.
You know, I could have cheerfully gone the rest of my life without learning the difference between a "C-line", an "A-line" and a "picc-line".
Because they work the nurses in twelve hour shifts and because we've been here for over a week, I'm getting to know the nurses. I can't tell you all their names because they persist in wearing their badges wrong side out. :-) The nurses all have their different styles. Some are in and out of the patients room all the time; some vigiliantly sit at the nurses station staring intently at the monitors. Some are comfortable with patient families; others less so. The older nurses are comfortable asking me to hand them stuff and to do things; the younger nurses not comfortable with that. Some are sticklers for rules; others not. All of them are less hard-nosed about rules then they were the first few days.
Communication continues to be a problem. The doctors come when they can, which is usually when I am away and in Daniel's case there are a lot of doctors. One of my frustrations is that there is no central place or person to ask a question of. This may be a function of being in the neurology/surgical ICU where there are a variety of reasons a patient is there. Daniel's needs are very different from the patient three doors down who had a tonsilectomy a month ago which has started bleeding uncontrollably. (He's doing okay and moved out of ICU three days ago). This is different from the cardiac ICU where there were a variety of problems but they were all cardiac problems. It is possible to get different answers from different doctors -- some are optimists; my favorite is a pessimist. And some come in to talk to me after only a cursory glimpse at his chart. Then after giving me some generic information they go out and go over his chart in depth with the nurse. It would be nice if it were possible to schedule a daily briefing. It doesn't have to be with a doctor; it could be with a "patient advocate", say a nurse practioner, who could review the results of yesterday's tests with me and talk to me about the what to expect. So far I am getting some of my best explanations from my priest (it is very convenient to have a priest who was a med student before deciding to become a priest.) It would have been a great deal of help if someone had turned to me last Saturday and said, "He's going to get worse before he gets better." It's not difficulty in understanding the doctor -- it's difficulty in getting the information. I should not have to ask for the results of his CT scan or blood cultures.
Again, I'm not really dumping on modern medicine, because I know very well what state Daniel would be in even twenty years ago. But my concern is -- if they aren't talking to me, are the doctors talking to each other?
Well, it's time for me to go back to the hospital since visiting hours will be starting again. I've been shuttling between work and the hospital and home -- fortunately they are all 10 - 20 minutes from each other depending on traffic.
I'll post more when I can get back to a computer. Thanks everybody.
Oreta
Friday, August 16, 2002
Friday, August 16, 2002
Oreta here.
Nothing much to report. Daniel's pulse and blood pressure continue to be elevated. His aphasia is about the same and he still can't see to the right -- it's not that the right eye doesn't work -- it does. But the brain simply isn't processing the information it receives. They will be doing another CT scan today to see how well the two bleeds are being absorbed.
His pulse and blood pressure continue to be elevated.
He is still not eating well. Part of that is being ill. Part of it is the hospital food. They used to cook it on site and it was okay. Institutional food, but well-prepared institutional food. Now they bring the meals in from outside and the food is simply not edible. IMHO, the executive who made this decision should be forced to eat the same food the patients get for a week. The policy would change.
Many years ago when I was in college at Clayton Junior (now Clayton State) the campus was considered to be one of the most "accessible" campuses in the Georgia system. Why? The student government association had a policy -- one day a year they rented a truckload of wheelchairs and everybody from the college president on down tried to go through their daily routine in a wheelchair. I tell you, this event had far more impact on accessiblility than any amount of government regulations.
Well, I'm wandering off the subject here. Y'all take care. thanks for the comments.
Oreta
Oreta here.
Nothing much to report. Daniel's pulse and blood pressure continue to be elevated. His aphasia is about the same and he still can't see to the right -- it's not that the right eye doesn't work -- it does. But the brain simply isn't processing the information it receives. They will be doing another CT scan today to see how well the two bleeds are being absorbed.
His pulse and blood pressure continue to be elevated.
He is still not eating well. Part of that is being ill. Part of it is the hospital food. They used to cook it on site and it was okay. Institutional food, but well-prepared institutional food. Now they bring the meals in from outside and the food is simply not edible. IMHO, the executive who made this decision should be forced to eat the same food the patients get for a week. The policy would change.
Many years ago when I was in college at Clayton Junior (now Clayton State) the campus was considered to be one of the most "accessible" campuses in the Georgia system. Why? The student government association had a policy -- one day a year they rented a truckload of wheelchairs and everybody from the college president on down tried to go through their daily routine in a wheelchair. I tell you, this event had far more impact on accessiblility than any amount of government regulations.
Well, I'm wandering off the subject here. Y'all take care. thanks for the comments.
Oreta
Thursday, August 15, 2002
Thursday, August 15, 2002
It's still me, Oreta.
Daniel's aphasia is much improved but his heart is not happy. He still has an elevated blood pressure and pulse rate. The cardiologists would like very much to put him on blood thinners; the neurologists are vetoing that. He is, however, off most of his IV medicines and being treated with oral and patch medicines (A lot of them -- he had to take seven pills at lunch). He is beginning to eat, but not a lot, so it looks like we are going to be in ICU for another couple of days.
Thank you very much for all your messages.
Oreta
It's still me, Oreta.
Daniel's aphasia is much improved but his heart is not happy. He still has an elevated blood pressure and pulse rate. The cardiologists would like very much to put him on blood thinners; the neurologists are vetoing that. He is, however, off most of his IV medicines and being treated with oral and patch medicines (A lot of them -- he had to take seven pills at lunch). He is beginning to eat, but not a lot, so it looks like we are going to be in ICU for another couple of days.
Thank you very much for all your messages.
Oreta
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
Wednesday, August 14, 2002
Oreta redux.
We are still in a holding pattern here. The fourth CT scan shows no change. No new hemmorhages (good); no increase in the two known ones (also good); and no decrease either (not so good, but not bad either. Expected.).
He still has the visual impairments. Basically he can't see anything on his right side -- the eyes function but the brain is not processing the information. There is a fair amount of aphasia, which is a fancy term for difficulty in understanding and using words.
The hospital is "weaning" him off the iv cocktail of cardiac medicines they have him on. They want him on oral medicines and skin patches so that he can be moved out of ICU onto the regular medical floor. That part of the process is doing nicely, but I have slightly mixed feelings about it. I will be very grateful that he is well enough, but frankly, I've been spoiled by the quality and quantity of the nurses here in ICU at Crawford Long. The regular floor nurses have many, many more patients so they don't have time to do the kinds of things the ICU nurses do. His day nurse has been adjusting his medications in little increments constantly, playing around with all the different ones to get his pulse and blood pressure exactly where the doctors want it. There appears to be as much art as science to this. Eye of beta-blocker and toe of calcium-channel blocker...Wool of nitro and tongue of esmolol.....
Other than that, it's a waiting game.
Thank you, all of you, for your messages. I've been reading them to Daniel and I'm sure he is grateful for them also.
Oreta
Oreta redux.
We are still in a holding pattern here. The fourth CT scan shows no change. No new hemmorhages (good); no increase in the two known ones (also good); and no decrease either (not so good, but not bad either. Expected.).
He still has the visual impairments. Basically he can't see anything on his right side -- the eyes function but the brain is not processing the information. There is a fair amount of aphasia, which is a fancy term for difficulty in understanding and using words.
The hospital is "weaning" him off the iv cocktail of cardiac medicines they have him on. They want him on oral medicines and skin patches so that he can be moved out of ICU onto the regular medical floor. That part of the process is doing nicely, but I have slightly mixed feelings about it. I will be very grateful that he is well enough, but frankly, I've been spoiled by the quality and quantity of the nurses here in ICU at Crawford Long. The regular floor nurses have many, many more patients so they don't have time to do the kinds of things the ICU nurses do. His day nurse has been adjusting his medications in little increments constantly, playing around with all the different ones to get his pulse and blood pressure exactly where the doctors want it. There appears to be as much art as science to this. Eye of beta-blocker and toe of calcium-channel blocker...Wool of nitro and tongue of esmolol.....
Other than that, it's a waiting game.
Thank you, all of you, for your messages. I've been reading them to Daniel and I'm sure he is grateful for them also.
Oreta
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Tuesday, August 13, 2002
Oreta here again. There is not much to update. The third CT scan shows no more hemmorhages and not much change in the two that are there.
While I admire much about modern medicine, I find that I am increasingly frustrated with its ability to communicate. If I may be blunt, the doctor-patient relationship frequently reminds me of the auto mechanic-automobile relationship. The mechanic does not explain to the car what he or she is doing; neither does the doctor explain to the patient. Hospitals are even worse, because of the number of medical professionals involved. Furthermore, there seems to be no one person who pulls all the strands of care together. Certainly there does not seem to be a person who communicates to the patient, or the patient's family.
So, I'm still a bit puzzled by what is going on and I may be using the medical terms incorrectly. Daniel has had two hemmorhages in his brain. If I understand correctly this is a kind of stroke, just not the blood clot kind that is most common. The problem is not that there is not enough blood getting to the brain, but that a combination of high blood pressure and too much anti-cougulant has caused blood to leak through the blood vessels.
At the moment he has some trouble speaking and lacks vision in his right eye. This is not the kind of stroke where one side of the body doesn't work -- it's really mostly a software problem not so much hardware. Think "corrupted files." Daniel is extremely weak and his heart is not happy, but they have him on medication to control the way his heart beats and to control his blood pressure. They ran one kind of a heart test yesterday and will run another kind today.
He's very weak and still in what is called the "acute" phase. They will wait a few days and run another CT scan. (A CT scan is a series of x-rays of the brain taken from multiple angles and then put together by a computer into something that tells a doctor what is going on in the brain. The whole set up looks very much like a science fiction movie set. But it is x-rays and they don't do those casually these days.)
The problem seems to be that the blood in the brain puts pressure on the brain and irritates it, which also causes swelling. The nurse tells me that the maximum swelling occurs around 72 hours after the hemmorhage. Depending on whether or not the first one happened Friday morning when his headache started or 0300 Saturday when it became bad enough for him to wake me up, we should be approaching that point. When the swelling goes down, we'll see what kind of permanent damage, if any, there is.
However, I want all of you to promise me that if you don't have a history of headaches and you ever, ever, have a headache that hurts so much it is hard to think, you will go to the ER. Immediately.
Oreta
Oreta here again. There is not much to update. The third CT scan shows no more hemmorhages and not much change in the two that are there.
While I admire much about modern medicine, I find that I am increasingly frustrated with its ability to communicate. If I may be blunt, the doctor-patient relationship frequently reminds me of the auto mechanic-automobile relationship. The mechanic does not explain to the car what he or she is doing; neither does the doctor explain to the patient. Hospitals are even worse, because of the number of medical professionals involved. Furthermore, there seems to be no one person who pulls all the strands of care together. Certainly there does not seem to be a person who communicates to the patient, or the patient's family.
So, I'm still a bit puzzled by what is going on and I may be using the medical terms incorrectly. Daniel has had two hemmorhages in his brain. If I understand correctly this is a kind of stroke, just not the blood clot kind that is most common. The problem is not that there is not enough blood getting to the brain, but that a combination of high blood pressure and too much anti-cougulant has caused blood to leak through the blood vessels.
At the moment he has some trouble speaking and lacks vision in his right eye. This is not the kind of stroke where one side of the body doesn't work -- it's really mostly a software problem not so much hardware. Think "corrupted files." Daniel is extremely weak and his heart is not happy, but they have him on medication to control the way his heart beats and to control his blood pressure. They ran one kind of a heart test yesterday and will run another kind today.
He's very weak and still in what is called the "acute" phase. They will wait a few days and run another CT scan. (A CT scan is a series of x-rays of the brain taken from multiple angles and then put together by a computer into something that tells a doctor what is going on in the brain. The whole set up looks very much like a science fiction movie set. But it is x-rays and they don't do those casually these days.)
The problem seems to be that the blood in the brain puts pressure on the brain and irritates it, which also causes swelling. The nurse tells me that the maximum swelling occurs around 72 hours after the hemmorhage. Depending on whether or not the first one happened Friday morning when his headache started or 0300 Saturday when it became bad enough for him to wake me up, we should be approaching that point. When the swelling goes down, we'll see what kind of permanent damage, if any, there is.
However, I want all of you to promise me that if you don't have a history of headaches and you ever, ever, have a headache that hurts so much it is hard to think, you will go to the ER. Immediately.
Oreta
Monday, August 12, 2002
Hi. It's Oreta again. Yes, that means what you think it does. Daniel is back in the hospital. I took him in early (0400) Saturday morning. He has a small hemmorhage in the right temporal lobe of the brain and a somewhat larger one in the left occippital lobe (People who know something about medicine please forgive my spelling.) The situation does not appear to be life threatening and so far does not appear to be severe enough for surgery, but it is serious. I'll know more today after they run the (third) CT scan.
I'll try to post further news, but the ICU room has neither phone nor internet connection, so my postings will be somewhat spotty.
I hope you will have Daniel back and typing soon.
Oreta
I'll try to post further news, but the ICU room has neither phone nor internet connection, so my postings will be somewhat spotty.
I hope you will have Daniel back and typing soon.
Oreta
Thursday, July 11, 2002
Oreta here again. Daniel says thanks for all the concern. He is still doing well. His color is good and he is moving around on his own two feet, albeit a bit shakily. He doesn�t bend over well, but that�s because of the location of the incision to do the cardiac catheterization. They will be releasing him on Friday. Apparently he is supposed to relax for a couple of weeks and then get to work reducing his weight and exercising.
Daniel should be back to blogging soon. (Actually if the laptop hadn�t died a few months ago, he�d already be back.)
Thanks, everyone.
Daniel should be back to blogging soon. (Actually if the laptop hadn�t died a few months ago, he�d already be back.)
Thanks, everyone.
Wednesday, July 10, 2002
Hi, folks. This is not Daniel. This is Oreta, his wife. First things first, Daniel is okay.
Second things...Well, let's define okay....
Daniel had a heart attack on the way to work Monday afternoon. He parked the car and called his boss who called the ambulance, which took him to the closest hospital, Kennestone. Kennestone stablilized him and sent him to Crawford W. Long. They did a heart catheterization and found the clot. They did the angioplasty and put in a stent then and there. Daniel did ask for a room with an internet connection but the nurses just laughed. :-)
Late last night they moved him to a "regular" room". He may be coming home today. Maybe. There are some tests they want to run.
There is some possibility that he may have type II diabetes. His blood sugar is very high and they were certain he had diabetes but his blood sugar has been going down so it may be a stress reaction. They are running a blood test to try and determine that.
Daniel should be back to blogging soon.
Oreta
Second things...Well, let's define okay....
Daniel had a heart attack on the way to work Monday afternoon. He parked the car and called his boss who called the ambulance, which took him to the closest hospital, Kennestone. Kennestone stablilized him and sent him to Crawford W. Long. They did a heart catheterization and found the clot. They did the angioplasty and put in a stent then and there. Daniel did ask for a room with an internet connection but the nurses just laughed. :-)
Late last night they moved him to a "regular" room". He may be coming home today. Maybe. There are some tests they want to run.
There is some possibility that he may have type II diabetes. His blood sugar is very high and they were certain he had diabetes but his blood sugar has been going down so it may be a stress reaction. They are running a blood test to try and determine that.
Daniel should be back to blogging soon.
Oreta
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