Passover was around the corner. I had already missed Purim. I was still in Columbia Presbyterian then, and Feige and Yehuda and the kids had come to visit me. They looked at their grandfather in bed with a tube sticking out of a hole in his neck and a long blue corregated tube with one end connected to the wall and the other end supplying oxygen through the aforementioned hole. It must have been pretty scary for them, because it quickly became quite apparent that they didn't want any part of me. They just steered clear of my bed and watched Spongebob on TV. Thank G-d for Spongebob! So Purim was pretty much a bust. I was hoping that since I obviously wasn't going to be home for Passover, the fact that I was in a Jewish facility would at least afford me the opportunity to attend a Seder and have food that was kosher for Passover without jumping through hoops. No such luck. They had started trying to wean me off the trach. First they capped it with a little red button that snapped into place on the cannula. Then they had me breath nothing but room air first for just a few hours, then eight hours, then twelve. I was handling it pretty well: my sats weren't great but they were still within acceptable parameters. It was the first time I was breathing on my own since before I got sick. I was elated! I had a rough night the Saturday before Passover. My breathing was labored and I felt very congested. I had a nebulizer treatment and had a nurse suction out some sputum. I felt a little better and I was able to fall asleep. Next morning a nurse wandered into my room and didn't like the way I looked. I was really short of breath now. She left the room and when she returned she had Eliot, the Director of Respiratory Therapy in tow, along with a few more nurses. One of them, Keisha, was one of my favorites. I'll never forget the look of concern on her face. I asked her what was going on and she leaned in close and whispered, "your lips are blue, babe". Uh-oh. That can't be good. They wheeled in a massive oxygen tank and hooked me up. I had been on only about 2 liters of oxygen through R2D2; they set the gauge on the tank at 5 liters, the maximum. I looked at Eliot hopefully and asked what the plan was. He said they were sending me to Richmond University Medical Center, a local hospital in Staten Island; same place they'd sent Joe. I couldn't believe it, and I tried to protest, but that's quite difficult to do when you can barely breathe. Suffice it to say, I lost. Kalman happened to call during this crisis and I told him what was going on. Without hesitation ( and without me asking) he said he'd meet me in the emergency room. I have great kids.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Bump in the Road #2
Passover was around the corner. I had already missed Purim. I was still in Columbia Presbyterian then, and Feige and Yehuda and the kids had come to visit me. They looked at their grandfather in bed with a tube sticking out of a hole in his neck and a long blue corregated tube with one end connected to the wall and the other end supplying oxygen through the aforementioned hole. It must have been pretty scary for them, because it quickly became quite apparent that they didn't want any part of me. They just steered clear of my bed and watched Spongebob on TV. Thank G-d for Spongebob! So Purim was pretty much a bust. I was hoping that since I obviously wasn't going to be home for Passover, the fact that I was in a Jewish facility would at least afford me the opportunity to attend a Seder and have food that was kosher for Passover without jumping through hoops. No such luck. They had started trying to wean me off the trach. First they capped it with a little red button that snapped into place on the cannula. Then they had me breath nothing but room air first for just a few hours, then eight hours, then twelve. I was handling it pretty well: my sats weren't great but they were still within acceptable parameters. It was the first time I was breathing on my own since before I got sick. I was elated! I had a rough night the Saturday before Passover. My breathing was labored and I felt very congested. I had a nebulizer treatment and had a nurse suction out some sputum. I felt a little better and I was able to fall asleep. Next morning a nurse wandered into my room and didn't like the way I looked. I was really short of breath now. She left the room and when she returned she had Eliot, the Director of Respiratory Therapy in tow, along with a few more nurses. One of them, Keisha, was one of my favorites. I'll never forget the look of concern on her face. I asked her what was going on and she leaned in close and whispered, "your lips are blue, babe". Uh-oh. That can't be good. They wheeled in a massive oxygen tank and hooked me up. I had been on only about 2 liters of oxygen through R2D2; they set the gauge on the tank at 5 liters, the maximum. I looked at Eliot hopefully and asked what the plan was. He said they were sending me to Richmond University Medical Center, a local hospital in Staten Island; same place they'd sent Joe. I couldn't believe it, and I tried to protest, but that's quite difficult to do when you can barely breathe. Suffice it to say, I lost. Kalman happened to call during this crisis and I told him what was going on. Without hesitation ( and without me asking) he said he'd meet me in the emergency room. I have great kids.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
yup that you do!
ReplyDelete