This is a snapshot of my perspective
of Lori's situation from Day 1-2. This is not an update on her current state. You may want to reread Part 1, The Arctic Sun. Sorry for the delay in posting, I've been busy!
Part 2:
I sat in the waiting room staring at the wall. My body and my mind were so numb. Staring was all I was capable of doing. Sometime later, I knew once again I would have to call my siblings and inform them of the new bad news that the attractive doctor with thick rimmed glasses delivered to us. As technologically advanced as this hospital is, you would think they would find a way to have cell service available in the ICU waiting room, but they have not. So Chris & I walked to an area where I could make the dreaded phone calls.
After informing Joey & Joann about the current state of our sister, we walked the bare-walled hallways back to sit in the waiting room. As I sat staring at the wall again, I couldn't help but wonder how many other people have sat here staring at this same wall, numb from the news of their loved one's poor condition.
I knew I couldn't just sit & stare forever. I needed to deliver news of Lori to others. I knew I couldn't talk on the phone anymore. Not because of the ICU waiting room cell phone dead zone, but because I couldn't physically or mentally complete the task. Thankfully, I can text and get the message out. Not that I wanted to, but I felt I needed to. I couldn't text my best friend Cathy. She's usually the one I would text or call first. But she was at the airport on her way to Greece. I didn't want for her to worry about Lori when she was on vacation. I typed a text to Valerie, Cathy's little sister and another one of my best friends, & I stared at my phone for a minute or so deciding if I even wanted to send it. Not that I didn't want my friends to know what was going on, but I didn't feel that I even wanted to talk about the situation at this point. I just wanted to stare at the wall. It's much more peaceful when my mind is blank than when I'm talking and thinking about what is going on with Lori. My finger found its way to the send button on my phone. Within seconds Val texted me back (she knew she couldn't call me, she's well aware of this waiting room cell phone dead zone from when her mom was a patient here). She informed Paige and let me know they would be in the waiting room with us shortly. I asked her to please not tell anyone else right now. I couldn't handle a flood of calls or texts at this point.
People are our family by blood, by marriage, by adoption, and others are bound to us as family by mere friendship. It's not just the good times that turn friends into family, but it's through our most difficult times in life that we know when a friend is truly our family. I'm fortunate to have a few friends that I call my family. They have repeatedly and consistently been there for me through my darkest hours. And I've always done my best to reciprocate. Through their family connection with me, they also feel that Lori is one of theirs' as well. So the fact that my friends dropped everything to be there for us was no surprise to me.
The four of us sat in the otherwise empty ICU waiting room together. Sharing stories and feeling encouraged that we all agree that Lori is a strong person and will pull through this. Valerie and I went in to check on Lori. No changes. Nothing new going on. It's probably best we go home now. Get some rest. It's been a long, exhausting day.
My dream of going home and crawling into my cozy, comforting bed was short lived when I remembered Lori's dog was alone at her house. He had a crazy day as well. I needed to go check on Buster.
Talk about family stepping up to the plate in times of need, my mother-in-law, Mema, is another faithful family member ready to help on a moment's notice. Mema was there to pick up the kids for us and be at the house when their tutor was there. I wanted their day to stay as routine as possible. They're too young to understand the gravity of Auntie Lori's situation. Mema stayed with the kids while Chris and I drove out to Lori's house.
Buster was happy to see humans. Nervous, and unsure of us, but happy. We let him out to potty and made sure he had food and water. I knew I couldn't take him home with us tonight. I wasn't sure how he'd react to my kids and my dogs. I couldn't handle anything else tonight. He'll be fine home alone for the night & I'll get him on the morning.
The night was, as you might suspect, sleepless. I called the hospital in the middle of the night. "We are continuing to cool her body temperature down. She's stable. No changes" stated the night nurse. This was Lori's continued state throughout the night.
I had to continue on with my busy routine, my busy life. Kids need to go to school, work needs to get done, the floors still need to get swept & mopped. Lori's world came to a halt, but mine could not. In addition to all my responsibilities, I needed to take on many of Lori's as well. She didn't need her little sister to sit around crying for her, she needed me to take care of her life while she couldn't. I've always taken my role as a patient advocate seriously in my professional life, and my personal life was no exception.
It takes time to learn a person's life. What bills need to be paid? What bank does she use? What bills are auto-drafted from her bank? Does her paycheck go thru as direct deposit? This list goes on & on & on. I think occupying my time in this process helped me deal with the situation the best I could.
So I went and picked up Buster, Lori's little fur baby, and brought him to our home. Bella, the alpha dog of our house, or I should say 'her' house, was quite curious who this short little fur ball was invading her space. Coco, afraid of anything that threatens her status as the most spoiled dog in the house, wouldn't even look in Buster's direction. But they managed to all deal with one another. Perhaps they all sensed that is what I needed them to do.
Once again, I was in the ICU to see Lori. She was still unresponsive. No eye opening. No voluntary movements. No attempts to say a word around the tube that occupied her throat. The only movement was her chest rhythmically rising and falling as the ventilator pumped air into her lungs. I became mesmerized watching this movement, looking for any breath that may be Lori's & not forced in by the ventilator.
The nurse came in and broke my concentration on Lori's ventilator breathing. She informed me they had reached the goal cooling temp of 32 degrees Celsius. She was now in a state of hypothermia. So now we just wait.
I have often heard that we spend a great deal of time in our life waiting. Waiting for a red light to change green, waiting for the cashier to ring up our purchase, waiting for our teenager to get home from a night out with friends. Sometimes it seems we are always waiting for something. Waiting for a loved one to regain consciousness is by far some of the worst waiting I have ever done. But there was nothing else I could do but wait.
Part 2:
I sat in the waiting room staring at the wall. My body and my mind were so numb. Staring was all I was capable of doing. Sometime later, I knew once again I would have to call my siblings and inform them of the new bad news that the attractive doctor with thick rimmed glasses delivered to us. As technologically advanced as this hospital is, you would think they would find a way to have cell service available in the ICU waiting room, but they have not. So Chris & I walked to an area where I could make the dreaded phone calls.
After informing Joey & Joann about the current state of our sister, we walked the bare-walled hallways back to sit in the waiting room. As I sat staring at the wall again, I couldn't help but wonder how many other people have sat here staring at this same wall, numb from the news of their loved one's poor condition.
I knew I couldn't just sit & stare forever. I needed to deliver news of Lori to others. I knew I couldn't talk on the phone anymore. Not because of the ICU waiting room cell phone dead zone, but because I couldn't physically or mentally complete the task. Thankfully, I can text and get the message out. Not that I wanted to, but I felt I needed to. I couldn't text my best friend Cathy. She's usually the one I would text or call first. But she was at the airport on her way to Greece. I didn't want for her to worry about Lori when she was on vacation. I typed a text to Valerie, Cathy's little sister and another one of my best friends, & I stared at my phone for a minute or so deciding if I even wanted to send it. Not that I didn't want my friends to know what was going on, but I didn't feel that I even wanted to talk about the situation at this point. I just wanted to stare at the wall. It's much more peaceful when my mind is blank than when I'm talking and thinking about what is going on with Lori. My finger found its way to the send button on my phone. Within seconds Val texted me back (she knew she couldn't call me, she's well aware of this waiting room cell phone dead zone from when her mom was a patient here). She informed Paige and let me know they would be in the waiting room with us shortly. I asked her to please not tell anyone else right now. I couldn't handle a flood of calls or texts at this point.
People are our family by blood, by marriage, by adoption, and others are bound to us as family by mere friendship. It's not just the good times that turn friends into family, but it's through our most difficult times in life that we know when a friend is truly our family. I'm fortunate to have a few friends that I call my family. They have repeatedly and consistently been there for me through my darkest hours. And I've always done my best to reciprocate. Through their family connection with me, they also feel that Lori is one of theirs' as well. So the fact that my friends dropped everything to be there for us was no surprise to me.
The four of us sat in the otherwise empty ICU waiting room together. Sharing stories and feeling encouraged that we all agree that Lori is a strong person and will pull through this. Valerie and I went in to check on Lori. No changes. Nothing new going on. It's probably best we go home now. Get some rest. It's been a long, exhausting day.
My dream of going home and crawling into my cozy, comforting bed was short lived when I remembered Lori's dog was alone at her house. He had a crazy day as well. I needed to go check on Buster.
Talk about family stepping up to the plate in times of need, my mother-in-law, Mema, is another faithful family member ready to help on a moment's notice. Mema was there to pick up the kids for us and be at the house when their tutor was there. I wanted their day to stay as routine as possible. They're too young to understand the gravity of Auntie Lori's situation. Mema stayed with the kids while Chris and I drove out to Lori's house.
Buster was happy to see humans. Nervous, and unsure of us, but happy. We let him out to potty and made sure he had food and water. I knew I couldn't take him home with us tonight. I wasn't sure how he'd react to my kids and my dogs. I couldn't handle anything else tonight. He'll be fine home alone for the night & I'll get him on the morning.
The night was, as you might suspect, sleepless. I called the hospital in the middle of the night. "We are continuing to cool her body temperature down. She's stable. No changes" stated the night nurse. This was Lori's continued state throughout the night.
I had to continue on with my busy routine, my busy life. Kids need to go to school, work needs to get done, the floors still need to get swept & mopped. Lori's world came to a halt, but mine could not. In addition to all my responsibilities, I needed to take on many of Lori's as well. She didn't need her little sister to sit around crying for her, she needed me to take care of her life while she couldn't. I've always taken my role as a patient advocate seriously in my professional life, and my personal life was no exception.
It takes time to learn a person's life. What bills need to be paid? What bank does she use? What bills are auto-drafted from her bank? Does her paycheck go thru as direct deposit? This list goes on & on & on. I think occupying my time in this process helped me deal with the situation the best I could.
So I went and picked up Buster, Lori's little fur baby, and brought him to our home. Bella, the alpha dog of our house, or I should say 'her' house, was quite curious who this short little fur ball was invading her space. Coco, afraid of anything that threatens her status as the most spoiled dog in the house, wouldn't even look in Buster's direction. But they managed to all deal with one another. Perhaps they all sensed that is what I needed them to do.
Once again, I was in the ICU to see Lori. She was still unresponsive. No eye opening. No voluntary movements. No attempts to say a word around the tube that occupied her throat. The only movement was her chest rhythmically rising and falling as the ventilator pumped air into her lungs. I became mesmerized watching this movement, looking for any breath that may be Lori's & not forced in by the ventilator.
The nurse came in and broke my concentration on Lori's ventilator breathing. She informed me they had reached the goal cooling temp of 32 degrees Celsius. She was now in a state of hypothermia. So now we just wait.
I have often heard that we spend a great deal of time in our life waiting. Waiting for a red light to change green, waiting for the cashier to ring up our purchase, waiting for our teenager to get home from a night out with friends. Sometimes it seems we are always waiting for something. Waiting for a loved one to regain consciousness is by far some of the worst waiting I have ever done. But there was nothing else I could do but wait.
Dr. Donna Poma Fife
