Glioblastoma Multiforme
I sit here again in a Illinois hospital as a loved one lays in intensive care. I cannot seem to escape the gravitational pull of Illinois hospitals with my family members as patients.
Arriving yesterday at 6:00 p.m. after a long flight from Alaska I was confronted with another horrific example of the frailties of human life. He lay there, barely able to breath on his own, with eyes partially open. He just came out of surgery – a craniotomy – and was very tired. He smiled and was able to squeeze my hand in his. He was orientated to both time and place. He needed rest so we left for the night.
A 2:30 a.m. phone call woke me up. The ICU nurse told me he was having trouble breathing on his own so he was intubated. After a quick shower we drove over to the hospital. Asleep, a propofol drip running into his left arm. One of several lines attached to him; feeding him, hydrating him, giving him oxygen. All day spent at his side. I learned that it wasn’t all that uncomfortable sleeping in a chair with my head on the plastic bed rail propped up by my crossed arms.
Hours passed. An attempt to let him breath more on his own the oxygen in the ventilation tube was reduced. The result was not encouraging. A few hours later they raised the oxygen levels back up. The propofol drip was turned-off so he could be better monitored. Pain developed.
Other family showed-up so I went to his house to check the mail and newspaper. Cleaned-up a little bit. Then it was back to the hospital. Now here I sit typing in the dark. Nurse shift change is soon. He wants his propofol drip turned back on. Soon we will go home for a few hours after the nurse shift change. We will come back; perhaps again at 3:00 a.m. or maybe just at 6:00 a.m. and begin this anew.
death, sick | operator101 | 
Friday 19 March 2010 2:59 pm | 
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