So, if you don't like emotions, if you have experienced a similar thing in your life, you might want to skip this blog entry. Callum, that might mean you. At times I have tried to keep things very positive in these blogs - to focus on the good things. We have travelled this journey together, step by step, the good, the bad, the uncertain. In January we experienced the same crisis, but in vastly different ways. I do not want to cause you more worry or distress. You are welcome to read this, to take a "walk" along this part of my journey, but I understand if it is difficult.
So, now that I have everyone's attention.....
My last blog was Sunday, Jan. 24. We had just had a wicked winter storm. Callum had just recovered from a flu or something. He was feeling better. And then came Tuesday.
Callum woke up at 4 am with a headache and vomited. He took a gravol and went back to sleep. He started shivering afterwards and when we got up to get ready to go see Dr H he was still not well. We headed to the ER where they monitored him for the day. His temperature starting going up, they gave him Tylenol, the temp went down, his heart rate was fairly high and his blood pressure fairly low. By the end of the day they asked to keep him overnight - mostly for observation. We found out the next day he had sepsis, which they thought was caused by some form of E.Coli.
Wednesday went pretty good. He was moved into an observation room on the oncology ward and started bantering with the nurses, L and P. We knew he was sick and were expecting a 4 - 5 day hospital stay.
Thursday, he was sitting up in the chair for breakfast, and looked quite a bit better. I went back to the hospital about 2:45 pm that afternoon. They had started giving him Lasix to help get rid of the excess fluid in his body. They had been pumping him full of fluid to try and flush out the infection. He said he had been sitting in the chair for lunch. Somewhere around 3, he suddenly said he was feeling cold, shivering and I gave him another blanket. He asked for the oxygen mask so I let the nurse know what he wanted. He had just finished a blood transfusion and they thought he was having a reaction to the blood so they gave him some bendryl.
The next thing I remember I had nurse S.'s arm around my shoulder asking me if Callum wanted to be intubated, if we got to that point. Up until then I absolutely believed they would be able to get him through this crisis. I had no idea that we were now faced with something so serious. Intubation, that means he can't breathe on his own. They are asking me if I want, if he wants, to have life saving measures, if it comes to that. The words were so hard to comprehend. What were they telling me? I had to ask if I needed to make this decision right now, and was told that yes, they need to know Callum's wishes, just in case. My first thought was that V. was only a few hours away from leaving on her vacation to Mexico. Should I call and tell her not to go? I don't know how many times I asked that. And each time I was told that they strongly suggested I call. That I call all the family. It was too early to tell if it was really needed, but it would be the safe bet to call them in.
My head started swirling. Medical professionals filled the room - one, two, three, four, five...I lost count how many white coats surrounded his bed. I heard someone ask for ventolin. I remember thinking that means he is still having trouble breathing - they had to keep him breathing. I went into the hallway, pulled my pink blackberry out of my pocket, looked at the screen and tried to figure out how to dial V's number. I have no memory of exactly what I told her - I am pretty certain I said they told me to tell her she had to come to Saskatoon. My heart broke to tell her- not only because we were facing a crisis I didn't yet truly understand, but because she was just hours away from heading to the beach, a vacation that she and S. so much deserved.
Fog continued to fill my brain. One of the nurses saw me on the phone, tears streaming down my cheeks, and gently guided me to the unit clerk's room to finish phone calls. I tried so hard to concentrate, but time after time I misdialled. Who do I call? What do I say? Is this really happening? I managed to reach nearly everyone, or at least someone who could call the rest. The family was on its way. I popped into the room to check on how things were going. There were many doctors, nurses and I don't know who else. I remember hearing wheezing, loud wheezing - how long could he wheeze like that?
The room was full, I swear every square inch held the feet of a nurse, doctor or technician. The calmness in the room betrayed the serious of the situation. They were busy. Very busy. Fear started to creep in. But mostly, it was surreal. How does he go from looking so well to being this critical? It made no sense to me. This could not be the end. It just couldn't. I didn't believe it. But everything they said to me contradicted my thoughts.
When people say you may forget what people say, but you don't forget how they act, I now understand. At least on some level. I remember few words. But I remember my heart sinking when Dr H said "Come with me, let's go for a walk". And then he put his arm around me, for a brief moment. It can never be good news when the doctor, who you have only really seen once, puts his arm around you and takes you away from the room where your husband is fighting for his life. The arm of comfort did little to stop the lump from forming in my throat, and feeling like my heart had just dropped into my stomach. This could not be happening!
I suddenly felt very alone, with an emotional force field trying to protect me. "He has Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome" he told me. "Does he want to be intubated? How far do we go with life saving actions, if we get there." My face must have told the story of how much I disbelieved what was happening. Dr H said "Do you understand what I am saying?". I insisted that Callum deserved a chance - after all we had gone through we couldn't give in that quickly. Dr. H kept saying - "as long as it's reversible. You want us to do everything, as long as it's reversible. " I had to ask - "when do we find out if it's reversible?" Within a few hours, I was told. And then he said he really felt I made the right decision. So, the fight for life continued.
And I was still alone. I think. I called some friends to come and sit with me until family could get there. Were our friends there at that time? I don't think so. The fog in my mind was thick. Some things are not in logical order in my mind anymore.
I am sure Callum knew things weren't great when he saw our friends in his room. But nothing was as scary as the look on his face when his brother G came in the room. When Callum looked at him I could see extreme fear on his face - that he was now really afraid of how serious was his condition. Oh, how I wanted to take it all away, to just "kiss and make it better.". Again, my heart fell into my stomach. He had many visitors that night. The nurse on duty in his room was so patient and understanding, but by 3 am he was emphasizing the need to let Callum rest.
Thank goodness by that time we had made it through a lot of the major crisis.
I never thought that things could end that way. We are not ready for that. It likely seems like a contradiction that after this length of time to say we are not ready to face that final journey. But we aren't. We are to have more time. Things are to happen in stages. We are to have warnings before we were having to make those decision. As I told people that night, and the days following, "I am writing a book and this is not how it ends.".
There is much more to say, but that is enough for now. For those who are reading this but don't know, Callum is home now and on his way to a great recovery.
That is enough for now. I will continue in the next day or so.
TTFN
