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1197 words. Life presented a story that I wanted to tell while it was fresh.
Journaling:
Jan 17 - Dad is having trouble forming sentences and his doctors recommend we take him to the ER. They think it is likely an infection, perhaps a UTI, but only tests can confirm.
3pm - we arrive at Christiana Care Emergency Room and get a wheelchair for him. We’re checked in right away and taken to a triage room. After 20-30 minutes, they take his vitals, a basic medical history and why we are there. He is moved to a gurney in the hallway and we wait for a treatment room to open up.
5pm - Dad says he really needs to use a bathroom; luckily a treatment room opens up about 15 minutes later. He is able to relieve himself and they collect a urine sample to check for a UTI.
5:45pm - by now, he has had nothing to eat or drink since morning and has not been interested either. They hook him up to monitor his vital signs and his nurse, Amy, checks for stroke, something done at each nursing shift change. He has some low back pain which makes sense since he hasn’t had any acetaminophen since this morning. I am surprised he isn’t in more pain. Amy is very nice and gentle with him. I sit in the chair and stay out of the way, with my laptop, iPad and charger. I know we will be there for a while.
7pm - a technician comes in to get insurance information. Dad can only answer some of the questions. When asked if he was married, single or widowed, Dad answers single. I laugh and the tech says, maybe he wants to meet women. I point out that I was a product of his marriage and that he is now widowed. It’s a nice light-hearted moment. Dad is restless but dozes at times. This regularly sets off one alarm or another. No one comes to check and I eventually figure how to pause them. When Amy comes back, she silences the alarms. The nurses can see it is nothing serious through their monitors. Still, the sound was annoying. I’m glad she turned them off.
8pm - they finally take blood; his urine comes back clean. They also put in an IV port for potential later use.
10pm - they order a chest X-ray. This means unplugging him from all of the monitors. Less than 30 minutes after getting back from the X-ray, they take him to CT, to rule out brain bleeds or other things that could be causing his confusion. His blood work comes back with very low sodium - 124mg; he already has been dealing with low sodium at 130 mg. Clearly, it’s going in the wrong direction. Surprisingly, his potassium, which has been high for months, ever since his last hospitalization in October, is normal. We are told it could take an hour for the CT results to come back. Time to wait. Dad sleeps and I sit in a chair, trying to scrapbook.
11pm - A shift change. Megan is now his nurse. Like Amy, she is very kind and gentle with Dad. She checks his vitals, does the stroke tests and gets him another blanket as he is chilled. I find the thermostat and turn it up. We’re both more comfortable.
Jan 18
3am - Megan comes in to administer two antibiotics - an injection and an IV. I’m surprised, as no one has mentioned anything. She tells me a chest CT showed a plural effusion. They believe he has pneumonia. I ask to talk with the doctor before administering these. She puts in the request. It will be another hour before we see him. We talk and I agreed with the course of action. Later, an emergency room doctor comes in to talk about admitting him. He talked with Dad who was rather confused - when asked where he was from answered Dallas, completely forgetting the last 50 years in Virginia. The doctor shows me how dehydrated my father is; the bottom of his tongue is quite shriveled. No wonder Dad’s complaining about things being too salty or sweet. His taste buds are sitting on top of each other. The doctor wants to get the fluid out of his lungs and bring his sodium up, but slowly. Now to find a room. The hospital is close to capacity, with many COVID patients. Someone will have to get discharged for Dad to be admitted. Until then we wait in the ER and continue treatment and tests there.
7am - Another shift change and another fabulous nurse, Macy. Again, a vitals reading and stroke tests, now done by each incoming medical professional. Macy wants to confirm with me Dad’s morning meds. Again, I’m surprised with the orders; no one has checked with me and I thought they could not access his medical records. Apparently, prescriptions are shared through a common system. They had his regular meds, baby aspirin, Pepcid, and vitamin D, but had also included Gabapentin, for pain, that he had just weaned off of and Metoprolol, which his cardiologist had just stopped. I point this out. Macy stops the Gabapentin and puts a hold on the Metoprolol until we talk with the doctor. They also give him a blood thinner, standard practice for patients in the hospital, as lack of movement can cause clots. I’m concerned, but opt to err on the side of caution. The attending doctor, different than who we started with, comes and tells me their plans for admitting him. They want an echocardiogram of his heart to make sure his new aortic valve isn’t leaking, a non invasive and fairly simple procedure. I ask that they consult with his cardiologist in Virginia. The first doctor seems reluctant but the second has no problem. Dad will be evaluated by a cardiologist at the hospital. I’m able to share info about recent tests Dad had regarding his heart and related to his amyloidosis. Now to access the results in Virginia and share them with Delaware. These fancy electronic medical records don’t speak to each other.
8:30am - breakfast -eggs and pancakes - arrive. I feed it to him. He complains about how dry it is, so I encourage him to sip water as his mouth is so dry. It really makes eating a chore for him.
10 am - they hang a bag of saline, hoping to increase hydration and bring up his sodium levels. We are still waiting on a room to open up.
Noon - A friend brings me a Chick-Fil A salad around noon, my first meal in 36 hours. I am surprised I’m not hungrier. Shortly after, I hear the nurse giving Dad’s info to someone and realize he is getting a room. I quickly pack up my stuff and let Dad know he was being moved. I am not sure he understands. I take a quick selfie with him. Right before he leaves, we get a chance to FaceTime with Ashley and Graham. He recognizes Graham right away, but needs to be told it’s Ashley. He brightens up and is happy to talk.
12:55 pm - I walk out of the room, 22 hours after we walked into the ER.
