It’s funny how words or pictures will bring back such vivid memories. The Cultural Arts Department at work sponsored a poetry/prose writing contest recently with the theme, “Rhythm.” I don’t usually enter such contests but when I thought about the theme, it brought back memories of standing next to Lynn’s bed while he was in the ICU about three or four years ago.
That year was terrible. Just after Thanksgiving, Lynn was admitted to the ICU due to a urinary tract infection gone wild. He had been using an external collection device instead of an internal intermittent catheter thinking it was less likely to cause infections. Well, he got one anyway. He saw his urologist who confirmed the diagnosis and gave him antibiotics. It didn’t help. The urologist took a culture the next visit and kept Lynn on the same antibiotic. This went on for three weeks while he got sicker and sicker; pus coming out each time he urinated. The urologist said he couldn’t figure it out but if I wanted to call the Epidemiologist, go ahead. So, I did; turns out the urologist didn’t read the culture. If he had, he would have seen that the bacteria Lynn had was resistant to the antibiotic he was taking. (Another good reason to push back if your care isn’t going the way you think it should.)
Unfortunately, getting the right diagnosis was too little too late. By the time the infection was showing improvement, Lynn was not eating, was extremely weak, and felt so terrible that HE asked me to go to the emergency room (He never wants to see a doctor so this was a big deal). He told the Emergency Department doctor he couldn’t eat because he felt like he could not swallow. They thought he might be having an exacerbation. Into the hospital, he went in order to get a nasogastric (NG) tube inserted to feed him. Shortly after insertion, he coughed the tube up part of the way into his lung as he was receiving a tube feeding and ended up with pneumonia. Pneumonia lead to septicemia and he ended up in the ICU with a body temperature of 90o; yes, I said 90o. Three long weeks after this admission, he was released home; very weak and still not feeling very well.
Three months later, we were back again when he just couldn’t stay awake. I had been saying for a few weeks that I thought he had sleep apnea pretty bad so he saw a sleep specialist and was put on CPAP and then advanced to BPAP. His lungs were retaining large levels of carbon dioxide even with the respiratory support. The respiratory therapist who knew him from a prior admission, let me know that his lung capacity was significantly less. As his CO2 levels continued to rise, I was pulled aside to let me know that if they could not stop the continued elevation cycle, they would have to put him on a respirator. They called in an anesthesiologist to evaluate and he recommended a change in his set on the respiratory support being provided. They wanted to give that thirty minutes to see if it would work but then it was either put him on the vent or he would likely have a respiratory arrest. The following story I wrote for the contest, describes how it was to wait those thirty minutes.