moving up
3 minute read
long nights, longer days
The first night John was conscious was the longest of my life - he was confused and angry and couldn't talk and the only thing he wanted was water, which I wasn’t allowed to give him because the doctor didn't know if a) he could swallow properly or b) if he could swallow would water go to his lungs or stomach? So, no water, no matter what.
In his sliver of a whisper John begged and begged and begged all night to please give him some water - which I could understand since his mouth had been open for over three days with a tube down his throat and lips swollen and cracked. A couple of times I dozed off in my recliner only to wake up to my boy trying to pull himself out of his bed to get to the small sink in the corner of the room. Of course with tubes and lines and machines still connected there was no way he could accomplish this but his determination was impressive.
Finally, due to complete exhaustion and motherly empathy I dipped the corner of a washcloth into a cup of ice chips and let him suck on the end of the washcloth. We tried it the first time with only a tiny drop of water on the washcloth because I was scared to death I was going to choke my child who just survived two overdoses - not something I could even fathom. He just held the moisture in his mouth and seemed to be able to swallow the tiny drops so there we sat, for hours, me dipping the washcloth in ice chips and him desperately watching and sucking on it as if it was liquid gold.
By morning (only recognizable by light- there had been no sleep) John's doctor was talking about the possibility of him moving off the ICU and up to a "normal" floor. On the one hand that sounded great, but on the other we were at home in the ICU by this point and knowing the routine and nurses and aides and doctors was very comforting, even though it was constant chaos. But we knew that physically this was a good sign and started another long process of waiting for various test to be done (starting with swallowing) and paperwork to be filled out and filed.
John's dad and brother as well as my husband and parents were all gathered in the ICU waiting room and moving between there and John's room and the hallway as we got filled in on what would be next. There was a sense of positivity yet also uncertainty because we had no way to assess what level of brain or internal organ damage had occurred.
As we waited, there were a few encouraging moments that came like little gifts wrapped in guarded optimism. The first was a comment from John as we sat holding hands in his semi-dark room. He still wasn't able to speak well but kept pulling at my left hand and touching my wedding ring. I couldn't understand what he was doing or trying to communicate so I leaned in close so he could whisper to me. He asked, "Where'd you get that ring?" I was immediately caught off guard realizing he didn't even know, and told him it was my wedding ring from his stepfather, to which he replied, "Those are pretty small diamonds." He had a tiny smile on his swollen, cracked lips and I knew he was giving me a hard time. Recognizing that he’d managed to find the strength and cleverness to make this comment made me indescribably happy and I half-laughed/cried at this tiny achievement.
The next slice of hope came oddly via John's speech therapist who came to the ICU to test his ability to swallow. She had a cup with ice chips and a foil-lidded cup of applesauce, the kind you pack with your grade-schooler's lunch with hopes that they'll eat some fruit. The nurses sat John's bed straight up for this test, which, if he passed, would finally allow him to have something other than the corner of a washcloth to quench his painful thirst. One ice-chip at a time, she intently watched and commanded him not to swallow it but to suck on it until it was fully melted and then try swallowing. Each time he would cough violently and I honestly thought he was going to choke, but it seemed she'd done this a thousand times and each time helped him recover and rest after the exhausting effort.
Recognizing the water was too "liquid" for him to swallow safely, she decided to test the applesauce since it was thicker and less likely to slip down his throat uncontrolled. She peeled back the foil and dipped the tip of a spoon in the cup while instructing John again that he wasn't to immediately try to swallow it. When she put the tip of the spoon in his mouth he held it there as instructed and then successfully swallowed it without choking. He looked at me and then at her and forced out the smallest whisper, "I haven't had that shit in forever!" I'm not sure who was more surprised at this reaction from someone who had just laid non-responsive for three days but we both burst out with a laugh that got us through the rest of a long day. Immediately after these humorous words John proceeded to start heaving and throwing up, but of course there was nothing in him to throw up so it was just a horribly painful episode - one of many he would have as we finally did move off the ICU and up to the fifth floor and our next home, the stroke unit.