Life in the ICU

Posted on July 2, 2022 by Margaret

Intensive Care Units are places of action and, as the name indicates, intensity. The centerpiece in each room is a very sick patient who is laced with wires, tubes and lines. This needy person is tended to by multiple medical personnel, each doing a different job.

The rule says only two visitors per day, and those must be on a pre-registered list with „gatekeepers“ at the main hospital entrance. This list maxes out at five people. Nelson has six siblings, a wife, and a mom who all wanted to see him, but rules are rules.

Thankfully, Mayo Clinic was willing to flex on its rules for Nelson’s family. Many of us got to sit next to our patient today, two-by-two, for just a few minutes. Others will do so tomorrow. What we observed made us all appreciate that Nelson is there.

Nurse Kate bustled about the room efficiently without stopping once, even while answering our questions. Behind Nelson’s bed was his IV pole (laden with six different bags of liquid) and multiple TV screens flickering with a rainbow array of numbers. Kate was watching Nelson’s stats on multiple monitors, checking every beep, buzz and bell.

As we chatted with Nelson, the doctor came in and gave us a chance to ask questions. He commented on how well Nelson looked compared to when he came in the day before. He said, „When you first came in, well, let’s just say….whew!“ He said it as he pretended to wipe sweat off his brow. We understood.

Then Nelson said, „How many more days before I can leave the ICU and go to a regular hospital room?“

The doctor said, „You’re still here for two reasons: 1) That IV going into your neck goes straight to your heart and 2) The humidified, warm, high-dose oxygen you’re getting is keeping your O2 level from falling again. In a regular hospital room they can’t do those two things for you.“ Nelson nodded and accepted his fate. But he leaned over and said, „Can you believe I’ve been sitting in this same spot for two straight days?“

By the end of this day, we’d heard four pieces of happy information: 1) The fluid they’d withdrawn from around Nelson’s heart had no trace of cancer in it. 2) Nelson’s oxygen levels have been so consistently good that they removed the bulky, uncomfortable cannula and are now trying a much smaller one, the kind regular hospital rooms use. 3) Tomorrow they’ll no longer need to put medications through the line going into his heart, a step closer to removing it. 4) Tomorrow he’ll get to stand up for a few minutes, thus getting out of the bed as he’s so wanted to do. 5) And best of all, the doctor said, at 11:00 PM tonight, that it’s possible Nelson will leave the ICU for a regular hospital room tomorrow!

We give all the credit to God.

„People were overwhelmed with amazement. ‚He has done everything well,‘ they said.”(Mark 7:37)

And we thought yesterday was busy…

Posted on July 2, 2022 by Margaret

Today began shortly after midnight when Nelson woke to visit the bathroom. His comments to Ann Sophie didn’t make sense, and though the apartment was very warm, he was shivering. He asked for one blanket and then two. When she felt him, he was burning up–never a good sign.

He was also struggling to breathe, even after the left lung had been drained yesterday afternoon. Ann Sophie said he was doing rapid panting in a strange way and was unsure of himself.

Ann Sophie called 911, and within 5 minutes the EMTs were at the apartment door. Baby Will awoke with all the confusion, and in this panicky moment, Ann Sophie knew she couldn’t go with Nelson to the hospital. decided to call an ambulance. The EMTs took over with confidence, and tending to Nelson’s needs. His oxygen level was at 80 and heartbeat dangerously slow. He’d been using Luke’s oxygen at 3.0 with no help, so they put it at 5.0. Nelson willingly went with them.

At the ER, they worked to stabilize him but all the new developments were overwhelming him faster than they could counteract them. After several tests and more blood work, they suspected a blood clot in the lung.

Time went by and when they were unable to determine the main problem, they admitted him to the hospital–for the third time. His swelling, which seemed to be lessening just the day before, seemed much worse. It was in his face, arms, chest, back, legs, feet, all of it. He was still panting, quickly becoming unnerved and anxious by his effort to breathe.

Unwilling to give him anything to ease his stress because it would suppress his heart further, they did more tests. What they found was a full left lung, the one that had been drained just hours beforehand. They removed another two+ liters of fluid to relieve his breathing stress, but that didn’t seem to help. The cancer was producing fluid at a much faster rate than before, and in addition to the lung fluid had begun filling the area around his heart, a matter of grave concern.

His blood pressure was extremely low, and they couldn’t get it up. They began considering a risky surgery to drain fluid from around the heart.

By this time Ann Sophie, who had been up through most of the night, wanted desperately to be with her husband, but who would watch baby Will? I had gone back to Michigan to receive our British relatives, son Hans and his family of eight. They were coming to the USA for the first time in four years to join the rest of us on a family vacation. So there was no extra pair of hands to help in Minnesota.

That’s when the guy who has been our saving grace again and again in these last weeks suddenly appeared saying, “I’ll take care of the baby. You go see Nelson.”

Luke worked his magic once more, and he stayed throughout the day, working hard to win Will’s approval, which was no small struggle. As Ann Sophie sat next to Nelson in the ICU holding his hand, she sent back a message that there were15 people in his room at once, working to save his life. For us, that confirmed he was in the best place he could possibly be.

Nelson’s blood pressure was dangerously low, breathing was still labored, and their next step would be to intubate him. We prayed against that, a prayer God chose to answer

Throughout this day there have been ups and downs. They thought it was a blood clot in the lungs but then disproved that. Then they made the decision to drain some of the fluid from around his heart. We were overjoyed when the report came
back that the procedure was successful and his labored breathing had finally eased. A shunt was left in, in case future draining is necessary.

We are well aware that Nelson could have died last night. Since he is still very much alive, we’re singing praises to the Lord, who chose once again to let him live.

„The Son gives life to whom he will…“ (John 5:21)

Commentary from Nelson on a tiring day

Posted on June 30, 2022 by Margaret

We have received some good help today. As I’m writing this, I’m sitting on a bed in a small room like any other hospital room. There’s a TV and snacks and a little table with the IV drip stand like usual, only this time it’s for chemotherapy and immunotherapy.

Picture this. I come to the hospital at 6:45 in the morning for a blood draw for them to continue testing things. Then I go into another room to talk to a doctor for a while about medications, making sure we should move forward with the chemotherapy.

After that, at about 9:30 AM, I come to this room. Today it took two nurses and one doctor five different attempts to find a functioning vein in one of my arms so they could run the IV. I guess I’ve been stuck enough times to make it difficult to find success.

Once they get that squared away, they begin emptying one bag of liquid into me after another. The amazing thing is that the contents of the bags are poison in one sense. After this, I’m not supposed to kiss my wife, and when I go to the bathroom, I’m supposed to flush the toilet two times after sitting down to pee, because the fluid is so radioactive. But apparently this stuff is death to cancer.

It’s not cheap, though. I’m told that the bag containing immunotherapy costs more than $30,000. Can you imagine spilling it by mistake?

I have five of these chemo/immuno infusions scheduled over the next many weeks, each one with a CAT scan in between to monitor progress going forward. Today I’m receiving the second of the five. In three weeks I’ll get the next one.

All the testing, scans, appointments, consultations, studies, and everything else comes down to me sitting here in this hospital bed with that clear liquid going into my blood. And that’s the cancer-killer. Isn’t that weird?

After the three hour infusion was over today, I was scheduled for another draining of my lung called a thoracentesis. This time it was the left side instead of the right. In the four months since this medical drama began, I’ve only had the left lung drained once, and there wasn’t much extra fluid there then. Today they pulled out 2.2 liters—breaking my old record for biggest draw ever, which was 1.6 liters. No wonder I needed oxygen all the time. There will be pain for a few days every time I take a breath, but that will gradually subside. And meanwhile, I’m able to get more air.