Sitting in hospital rooms

Mother is about to move to her third room since I got here two days ago. She is mostly sleeping, and has been since a significant stroke two weeks ago. One minute she was going about her business, still re-organizing the house after losing her husband a few months ago. Two days later she was not responding to anyone. I was getting reports from my brother, who was spending virtually every waking moment in her hospital room, occasionally switching off with his wife, while the two of them talked to the parade of doctors, who each had a different story to tell. I couldn’t tell if she was recovering or dying. I made the trip across the country, and I still can’t tell.

The large cast of specialists can’t really say what is going on, or what the prognosis is. One has a very strong view that she has encephalitis, another says a stroke. One tells us she is dying and to engage hospice. Another gives her a 37% chance of a full, or nearly full recovery. Meanwhile, we signed the order to avoid extreme measures to keep her alive. This means, in this Georgia hospital, that they won’t insert a breathing tube into her lungs, and they won’t use shock or beat on her if her heart stops.

Along with all the specialists who rotate through her room, I’ve gotten to know her physician and her heart specialist, who have a longer relationship with her. Her physician actually made house calls when her husband was sick. This is The South. It has a history of graciousness and a strong set of rules about behavior. This overlay of social rules, despite its class-associated roots, does provide significant comfort through its structure. The South is friendly on the surface. And as my favorite Tanguera says, how you talk about it matters. I’m still glad I didn’t grow up here.

The situation seems more stable today. After two weeks of doctors not knowing what was going on with her, there is a bit more clarity to the course of treatment. In fact, it’s still pretty much the same as it has been: whether or not the cause of the fever is known, the treatment is antibiotics – two varieties now. She had a port into her stomach installed today (a PEG). So she will no longer suffer the tube into her stomach through her nose for nutrients. She will be back on her familiar dose of cumidin blood thinner, and off the heparin, which has been questioned by FDA for its uncertain raw materials sourcing. Her heart specialist says that area is working as it has been since the pacemaker was installed several years ago. The lung guys (a different one every day) say there’s nothing to worry about there.

So it seems to be just this brain thing. And nobody knows. While I’ve seen her awake for brief periods, and the neurologist always gets her to wake up by pinching her, she can’t communicate much. She can nod and shake her head appropriately to questions, though she hasn’t done so for me. I did have a brief time alone with her yesterday when she squeezed my hand and looked at me as though she knew who I was. She’s still sedated from the PEG procedure this morning, which happened before I got here. So I’m still looking forward to the next opportunity to communicate.

The neurologist presents the most optimistic scenario. Brain injuries can go like this: nothing for some time, then slow recovery. The statistics for recovery offer reasonable hope. I’m going with that for now.

More Random

As usual, I have too many projects going. Let's see, there's the day job, which is picking up a bit after a lull -- and needs my attention before a deadline tomorrow. There's the Greenwood Townhouse project, which could be our home someday, and is moving along slowly in the design phase. I've migrated the design tools (mostly AutoCad) to an instance of XP in a virtual PC on my main Vista machine. I'm continuing to maintain the 4 or 5 PCs in the house, with the laptop at the "stereo" cabinet in the family room, where we dance, and the PC that quit behaving after last month's Microsoft Tuesday Patch Day. There's the 1459 pieces of Tango music that is continually updated and the occasional tanda playlist to build. There's the Circe Snow clothing line to get moving. There's the support for blog entries for family (how do I scan this? Where that photo). There's taxes and business records to attend to. Oh, yes, 1099s to file. I think those were supposed to be in by Jan 30. oops. There's a financial management job I took on without realizing where the balance between research and family politics really lies. There's the really major project of selecting the right wines for the wedding in June. The hot tub has been sitting unused for nearly a year now, with us in desperate need of a soak, and my repair still pending. The access to the loft in the studio is still non-existant, waiting for me to replace the dangerous stepladder. I really want to finish the controls on the hydronic heating system in the studio. It's still being controlled based on only room temp. This causes significant swings in temperature of the wood floor. I have most of the pieces in place to control room temp with more constant floor temp, using a predictive algorithm, recognizing the time constant of the building, using outdoor temp and solar gain as influences. I just need to implement. My "life style changes" include running every day. More time away from projects, but better focus when working. And then there's Tango. It's hard to call Tango a project. But it is a major focus of my energy. It's not just the dancing. It's . . . I don't know what to call it. Anyway, did I say too many projects? I wouldn't have it any other way.