All’s quiet on the eastern front

Well, the big news for the last few days has been the same. No news. No movement. No surgery. Just some coughing — well, a lot of coughing — and Dad maintaining his condition.

Dad’s cardiologist won’t allow him to have that second surgery until the swelling in dad’s arms and legs isn’t so pronounced. Seeing as dad’s hands looked like balloons last time I saw him, I’m not sure Monday will be any different.

So that’s it. Please keep praying, keep hoping, keep sending dad positive energy and white light. He is grateful for your concern.

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Paperwork

You know how sometimes your whole job seems to be nothing but paperwork, getting signatures, getting consensus from conflicting personalities? No? Just me?

Well, today that was my dad’s job. Instead of getting the wound on his spine cleaned out — you know, to make sure any leftover bacteria doesn’t spread — he got to wait around all day because of a “paperwork mix-up.” Apparently, someone forgot to consult with the cardiologist about giving my dad anesthetics. So, said cardiologist had not signed the necessary documents, and dad had to wait for the doctor to consult with him, get HIS signature and then sign off on the procedure. By the time that happened, there was no chance dad could get his treatment today.

So dad is getting his wound cleaned out tomorrow. Meanwhile, he is still in a lot of pain. He is healing from his other surgeries, and of course the wound on his back isn’t comfortable to lay on all day.

The good news? Dad is slowly becoming more aware of his surroundings. He is able to hold cogent conversations (except when he is on pain killers), and the doctors have loosened some of the liquid restriction he was under last week. He still is restricted though, so he has to eat these weird ice-cream-melting-into-pudding things rather than ice cream.

Sometimes it’s the little things.

So much going on at once

If you’ve found this, you either have waaaay too much time on your hands and need to get up from your computer before you find the end of the internet (less likely) or have a vested interest in my family’s well being (probable). Thank you for caring!

For now, we’ll be tracking my dad’s journey from the brink of leaving us for good (not exaggerating — he said so himself) to what we hope is a healthy, happy recovery.

A few ground rules:

Please be patient with me. I’m not always at the hospital, and even when I am I don’t always get information very quickly. I’m doing the best I can to keep up with everything my dad is going through while keeping myself as healthy as I can. Maybe once dad is better, I can tell you about that journey!

Please keep family business to a minimum in the comments. I’m not going so far as to use pseudonyms, but I will if people start abusing privacy or personal integrity on here. If you have a private question to ask, please contact me or my mom.

Please do not send my dad flowers. He’s allergic!

Ok, now to the news as I know it right now.

Dad is still in the hospital. I’ve lost track of how many days it’s been now, but it’s pretty much the entire month of June. He has been in and out of ICU, progressive care and surgical wards. Here’s the quick and dirty. 

  • He has had 3 separate surgical procedures, 2 on his foot and 1 on his back.
  • He was diagnosed at one point with endocarditis, but that seems to have abated.
  • His kidneys, once at terrifying performance levels, have stabilized, at least as of surgery this morning.
  • His blood pressure is moderately high, which is a big change from the dangerously low blood pressure he had just a week ago.
  • His diabetes numbers have fluctuated wildly for the last 3 weeks. Personally, I think this is because of the crazy feeding/insulin schedule the hospital uses, but that’s a topic for another day.
  • The back surgery he had today removed two pus-filled cysts from his spine. They’re going back in tomorrow to “clean out the wound” because there was bacteria in the cysts. (That’s right. Bacteria on his spine. Eww.)
  • He still has a chest infection and sounds like he could literally cough up a lung.
  • He has zero appetite. If you know my dad at all, that’s the scariest part of this whole thing.

So there you have it. You’re as up to speed, in broad strokes at least, as I am. Once I learn more about his condition after surgery and what happens with the cleanout, I’ll be back to report!