TIMBER!!!!

Excuse the title - but, all I could thing of is a mighty oak falling in the forest when Ted got so sick.  I wasn't sure what his outcome would be.  I decided to kind of journal his journey through this little setback called pneumonia.  I can tell you that I've cried every day - for one reason or another.  It's been a battle.  Other than people who were terminally ill, I have never known someone who was this sick - even my little KayeLynnie when she was battling leukemia.  Though my mother was in ICU just this last winter with pneumonia after heart surgery, there are parts of me that thinks Ted actually was sicker than her.  I feel that if my mother had been in Ted's shoes, we would have buried her.  Had Ted waited even two or even one more day, we may have had to bury him.  It was a rough few days.

Saturday - December 29.  Ted has been coughing since around Thanksgiving.  It seems like the last week or so, he had been coughing a little worse.  Beyond that, he is going up and down the stairs as normal, installing a couple of televisions in the house.  We got a new one for the bedroom and he was putting the old one up in the guest bedroom.  He and I are climbing stairs, climbing ladders, he is drilling and installing.  We go to a couple of stores and we get a new electric blanket - as ours wasn't working correctly.  That evening, he starts getting feverish and acting ill.

Sunday - December 30.  Ted is pretty sick.  Running a fever, chills, coughing.  He has a sweatshirt on, sweat pants, wraps himself up in two blankets and he turns my heat up to 75 degrees.  My Igloo Man is freezing and I am sweating.  I know he is really sick when he looks at me and says, "if I'm not feeling better tomorrow, you can take me somewhere".  Coming from Ted, that was pretty frightening.  He doesn't sleep that night - he can't get comfortable sitting back.  He keeps dozing off on the couch sitting on the edge - and I am terrified he is going to fall.  Every time I gasp, he wakes up.  Every time I grab him, he wakes up.  I finally tell him I am going to bed because I am getting nauseous watching him almost fall off the couch.

Ambulance ride to the new hospital

Monday - December 31.  TED IS SICK.  We head up the VA Hospital.  They are constructing a parking garage.  We drive around and around until we find a parking place.  It's been snowing, the temperature is around 15 degrees.  The hike to the hospital is about a quarter mile.  We are looking at the walk and I tell him had I known it was going to be like that, I would have taken him to another hospital - somewhere we could get in.  His response, "go get the car".  At that point, I am afraid he is dying on me.  I take him to Pioneer Valley Hospital - it's close the house.  I drop him of at the door and he walks in while I park - when I get back, he's filled out the paper and is waiting.  Another woman has dropped someone else off - Ted looks at him and says the guy has a kidney stone, he can tell by the grimace on his face.  The clerk at the desk asks if anyone has helped us and I say no, she asks what the problem is and I use the magical words, "difficulty breathing", knowing that will get attention.  She calls for someone to come get him.  The woman who brought in Mr. Kidney Stone is trying to get her guy attention first and the nurse still takes Ted and takes him back.  He gets a little teary and I can tell he is a bit freaked out.  Ted doesn't get sick.  Ted is a work horse, he doesn't get sick.  She tells him to take his clothes off and put the gown on.  She puts the oxygen saturation monitor on him and suddenly gets a panic stricken look on her face and tells him to get back in the chair - his oxygen level is too low for him to be in that room and she drags him down the hall to a cardiac trauma type room and instantly puts oxygen on him.  He has not been without oxygen tubing since that moment.  His oxygen level was 78.  Obviously there is a problem.  The doctor orders a chest x-ray and tells Ted that the result is that he failed his x-ray test.  The doctor tells him that he will be staying in the hospital, he will be having the fluid in his chest drained and that he will be there a few days.  Ted is pretty overwhelmed - so am I.  I have kept all the kids updated with the information and they are all pretty worried about Papa Ted.

Tuesday - January 1.   HAPPY NEW YEAR.  Our tradition of going to the dollar theater for a movie marathon is now broken with Ted in the hospital.  He was told last night that he will need to go to a different hospital.  The fluid in his lung was infected and he will need a surgery to have the lung cleaned out.  He will be transported by ambulance to Jordan Valley Hospital and have surgery the next day.  Ted wants to know why I can't just drive him there.  Overwhelmed again after the transport, I find him a little misty again because he is now smack dab in the CVICU, room 23, at Jordan Valley.  The ICU part is where he freaked out.  It was explained that he was actually not being treated as an ICU patient at this time, but, since rooms were rare and that is where he would go after surgery, they put him there.  The surgeon comes in, I am instantly struck by the ego, and he says Ted will not have surgery the next day - there are more tests he wants run before he decides how to proceed.  They tell Ted after a chest x-ray that his lungs are filling up again with fluid.  Ted is on so many high dose antibiotics, I have no idea how anything could be infected in his body.

Waiting for surgery.  Happy to have
his little computer.  Completely
bearded - was going to shave and
get a haircut on January 1.

Wednesday - January 2.  Ted has been told not to eat or drink, just in case he has surgery.  Around 2:00, they come in and tell him that he can eat, surgery tomorrow, surgeon will be in later to talk to you.  You can see that he is getting sicker and weaker again.  He is having trouble getting comfortable.  Trouble sitting back.  He keeps telling me where I can find stuff, how to get into the safe, how to get into this or that - more than once I have to tell him to stop talking to me like he is going to die - but, he says he has to plan on what happens if he isn't around.  Around 5:00, the most awesome nurse, Sandy, comes in and tells us that the surgeon just called and will be here in a couple of hours.  He shows up at 10:30 that night, I didn't want to leave until we saw him.  I am having a lot of trouble with this ego.

Monopoly anyone?  While we wait.

Thursday - January 3.  The surgeon the night before tells us that his surgery will be around 1:00 or 2:00.  He will be doing a surgery at Salt Lake Regional and then will be coming to do Ted's. When I get there in the morning, we are told he is scheduled for 3:30.  At 2:30, they came in to get him and take him to pre-op.  When we get there, everyone leaves.  I mean everyone.  The place is empty.  I honestly thought we were looking at dying at the hands of a crazy slasher, that he had already killed everyone else first.  About an hour later, they come back and say they are taking him back to his room - that the surgeon isn't there, they don't have an operating room now as the one he was reserved for has been given away to a perforated bowl.  I throw my first temper tantrum - unfortunately, the innocents are the targets.  We get Ted settled back in his room, he is so sick now, he can't get comfortable at all, he can't walk without the aid of a chair because his knee is now swelling up from fluid, he is thirsty, he is hungry.  The anesthesiologist allows him to have a swallow or a cup of water; because he says it's going to be a couple of hours if they do surgery at all.  I ask the awesome nurse Sandy what is going on, she is trying to find out the best she can - I throw my second temper tantrum and awesome nurse Sandy is the victim - she is so sweet and understanding.  There is still no sign of the surgeon.  At 7:00, we are told he is on his way.  When he gets there, I express my irritation - but, not as succinctly as I would like; I don't want to piss off the guy with the knife in my husband's lung.  Around 7:45 he comes in and says that he just got done with his one surgery at the other hospital, but he is still going to do the surgery, unfortunately, there is no operating room so we have to wait.  At 8:45, they come get Ted - at 9:30, he's on his way to the operating room and Crystal and I are sent the waiting room.  She refuses to leave, even though we are told the operation can take up to ten hours.  I appreciate so much that she felt she had to be there.  She won the stubborn contest. We get snacks from the vending machines and sit and wait - reading, playing on the computer.  Crystal then tells me her BFF LaDayna and Andrew are at the hospital with food and a board game to sit with us while we wait.  Tacos, nachos and British Monopoly are the plan while we wait.  Around 2:00, we are told that the surgery is over and Ted did well.  They had to cut him open, split his ribs open to get out the disgusting gunk that was filling his lungs.  At 2:30 he is in his ICU room to recover, he'll be on a ventilator for one to two days.  He needs the air of the ventilator to continue filling his lungs so they don't collapse on him.  I choose to leave and go home and return after some sleep - of course this is all after we let Andrew win at Monopoly.

Lots of medicine
to make my guy
better

I found Ted's underwear in this bag
after his surgery - found it humorous.

Friday - January 4.  Ted is in his ICU room,
hooked to a ventilator.  When I get in there, he is on 70% oxygen - five hours later, they say he is at 40% - he is mostly breathing on his own.  Such a strong oak tree, he is building himself back up.  I am astonished, as even though he is on the ventilator, he has three chest tubes draining the gunk from his lungs, IV's galore with crazy strong antibiotics and fluids draining into him - when I look at him, I can see he is healthier than yesterday.  He looks better than he did the day before.  He is sleeping.  The poor man was exhausted from not really sleeping since Saturday.  He is looking like he is recovering.  I am amazed by this strong man.  He never really complained.  He let me throw my temper tantrums.  He never whined.  He got teary a couple of times, but you could see that was from fear of not knowing what was going on.  I hold his hand, I tell him that I love him.  He squeezes my hand - he lets me know he is there.  I tell him that his daughter's send their love - he wriggles his toes.  I hate watching him coughing or spasming from the coughs, it looks painful.  I hate watching them cleaning his tube, as you can see it distresses him.  But, even through it all, when asked if he wants pain medication, he says no.  I am amazed.  The hardest part of my day - only because I knew Ted was all right - was canceling our annual honeymoon, a cruise in the Caribbean, because Ted will not be well enough to go.

How I spend my waiting time in ICU.

Saturday - January 5.  The temperature has not been above 18 degrees every day since Ted went to the hospital.  It's freaking freezing Mr. Bigglesworth!!!  I was very excited when I left to go home and the temperature actually said 21 degrees - by the time I got home, it was back down to 18.  Ted is holding his own and doing well.  The doctor said he would be keeping his ventilator on another day.  Ted has been trying to ask questions and does so by writing on a paper or trying to write letters into my hand.  He wanted to know if he had been operated on.  I left him after he asked for more sedation - I want him to rest and get as much healing done as possible.

On the respirator.  Horrible thing to watch.  I am
amazed at the patience shown by him during conscious
moments

Sunday - January 6.  I didn't sleep much last night.  I had a fall on the ice and messed up my knee - about 2:00 in the morning, it started to ache and I was awake.  I got up and played on the computer for about an hour and a half. Then back to bed.  I slept in a bit and got to the hospital later than I ever had.  Of course, what does that mean?  The surgeon came in before I got there.  Ted was breathing on his own.  But still on the respirator.  He is communicating by writing on a piece of paper with his restrained hand.  One letter at a time.  When Ted sends me texts, he has a tendency to end the conversation with XOXOX.  He writes that on the paper and we both get weepy.  Anyway, they wanted to watch and see how his breathing did - they didn't want to take him off the respirator and have him have problems without it and have to put it back in.  So, they watched him.  Around 3:00, the surgeon decided he was stable enough to take off the respirator.  That half hour before they took it out was miserable for him - he kept wanting to write stuff down.  Even knowing he was going to be free of the respirator.  He is trying to write a word out.  I can't figure it out - because I get stuck on ANTI.  He finally, slowly, writes out C-A-R-L-Y-S-I-M-O-N-H-E-I-N-Z-K-E-T-C-H-U-P.   I still don't get it - so he writes G-O-O-G-L-E.  Ah, old Heinz ketchup commercial.  Carly Simon singing Anticipation.   I find the YouTube video and play it for him.  Within the half hour, ventilator is gone - Ted is sitting up on in the bed.  Within a half hour of that, he has the television on and watching football playoffs.  Though his voice is raspy from the tubes and he is having trouble with ice chips, he is happy as can be.  He is free.

Communication.  One letter at a time.

Walking

Monday - January 7.  Today was a good day.  Though still weak as a kitten, I find an extremely driven and focused man.  He wants to get better.  He doesn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than absolutely necessary.  When I get there, he's in the chair - up from the bed.  He's still on oxygen.  He starts out at six liters and by the time I go home, he's at three. His oxygen saturation staying around 95%. They get  him up to walk and he's able to make it to the nurses station.  A few hours later, they get him up to walk again.  He gets moving and he's singing cadence songs.  He refuses to stop at the end of the nurses station and goes all the way down the hall - and then back.  I keep watching him and am absolutely shocked at his drive and ambition - I start to cry.  He wants to show off and pushes the walker a bit and walks without it - freaks his nurses out a bit.  He's had a lot of emotion today.  He gets misty a few times - and it all has to do with me.  He is trying to eat his very light diet of food - a way to reintroduce him to eating and he wants to hold my hand.  You see, Ted always makes a point of holding my hand at some point when we eat a meal together.  It makes him a little weepy.  He gets weepy again after his walk - I think some of it had to do with adrenaline - when he tells me how much he loves me and that he loves that I care about him so much.  I've never known a man who loves to be loved as much as Ted does.  Not just by me, but by everybody.  He just appreciates being loved.

We're on the upswing.  I'm confident by Ted's desire to be well, that he is going to work his ass off to get there.  Though still weak, I see a man that is pushing with everything in his body and soul to get back on top of this.  I admire his drive.  I admire his ambition.  This has been a crazy journey, a journey that is not complete yet.  I am so confident in him, I am going back to work tomorrow.  I would rather be off when he makes his way home.  At this point, I know he is cared for and taken care of.  So, tomorrow, I go back to work.  I can hardly wait to see what surprises are handed to me when I get there tomorrow evening - I wouldn't be surprised to see him jogging around the hospital.