A lot happened today. Lauren and her Mom came to visit bearing delicious french baked goods, a bouquet of tulips and homemade quiche lorraine, made by Michael, no less. I felt very spoiled.
My parents brought Gunnar and Finn down to have a play day with their Dad...much needed by all. Roger took them to the zoo, then out to see Miss Ada at my aunt and uncle's house. Then it was back to the city to go to Gameworks for pizza and games. Needless to say, it was a full day for them. It was so good to see them, I can't even tell you. They look so different every time.
I worry about them a lot, how this is affecting them, whether we're handling it all the right way. Mostly when they're here, I just want to breath them in, every little bit of them. I try to appear as upbeat as I can, but I have a little breakdown when they leave. I feel tested every time. But I wouldn't trade seeing them for anything, however painful it is to say good-bye. They will come back tomorrow, so I have that to look forward to as well. Finn is pretty funny--he doesn't want to gown up when he comes in my room "I don't want to be a doctor!" he says, fighting the blue plastic tarp and gloves. Luckily one of the nurses found a pediatric
gown that he likes much better. Stubborn little man he is!
My parents stayed with me to relieve Roger. It was nice to have their company,and my Dad came with me to have the wound vac installed, which I was very nervous about. It was very sweet because my Dad behaved very much the same as Roger does as my caretaker, holding my hand, anticipating my needs. I am so grateful he was there for me, and that Roger could have his day with the boys.
So,the wound vac went on successfully, although it has been painful all day, so that's a bummer. The surgeon who put it on gave me a little pep-talk about my desire to go home. She said i need to be really patient,that it's better for me to get wound care here rather than rush home, have it done wrong, and end up right back here. I understand what she is saying, but it's very hard for me to make peace with that.
So, for now, i just wait, go through the motions and hope that each day, each wound care brings me closer to going home and reuniting with my family. Any words of wisdom and encouragement are very much appreciated, my friends. Seriously. Night night to all of you.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Gray Day
Today has been a gray day. By gray I mean a little bit of black, and a little bit of white too. Sunshine and rain, you get my drift, yes? I woke up feeling wayyyyy discouraged. Just blah. Even Roger was in that realm too. A big part of it is that we are just so very done with being in the hospital. The other part is that we really felt at a loss for a clear idea of what is going to get us on the road home.
At the height of this mental muck, it came time to shuttle me up to the Hubbard. The Hubbard is a big bathing room, sort of a hospital "spa" where they bathe you with nice warm water and sweet-smelling, yummy bath products. They also combine this with wound care, but the spa part makes it so much more bearable. I cry almost every time they bathe me. It is ultimately humbling and humanizing to be washed in this way, to be cared for at such a basic and primal level. Every time I leave the Hubbard, I feel hope. No kidding. Plus, I got there in a wheel chair, rather than a stretcher, an entirely different experience. My body is getting stronger. I don't need as much help with every single movement. I am glad for this. I need some more independence.
Even with all this new strength and independence, what will get me out of the hospital and on the road home? It all has to do with this wound. The WOUND. It's like it's a person, an entity in and of itself. A National Monument. We really should give it a name. Any suggestions? In any case, it all hinges on getting the wound healed, and this is no simple task, as it is large and deep. It cannot simply be closed up and sent on its way...they have to stimulate "granulation" from within the depths of the wound and get it to fill itself in from the bottom up. then they have to figure out how best to close things up, and this very likely means skin grafting (yay). Tomorrow, the surgical team will try to put something on my wound called a wound vac. If this is successful, it will promote a lot faster and better healing/granulation, and it will only have to get changed every three days. More importantly, it will mean I can go home a lot sooner. Much sooner. So, I am requesting from you, my dear friends and family, that you pray for the success of the wound vac tomorrow, and continued success over the coming week that will lead the docs to send me home. In that case, a home health nurse would come every three days to change it, and I will probably have to make weekly visits down here.
The secondary piece to all this, if indeed it works, is that I'll have to be able to endure all this with a lot less pain meds than I am getting currently. No IV meds, all oral. So I am requesting that you pray for that as well if you are so inclined.
Everyone keeps telling me about the "long road ahead"....another potentially named piece of my recovery? I know I am lucky. I have only to walk down the halls of this hospital to know that. I have so much on my side. But I have to say, each day is a very volatile game of emotional tug of war for me, especially being away from my children. It goes against all of my being to have them away. Fortunately, Miss Ada Pearl will be visiting today, and Gunnar and Finn will be tomorrow, before going out for a play day with their Dad. I think Roger needs it as much as they do. I have only to trust that though we are apart, we are united through bonds much bigger than I can speak of here, and that at the end of this crazy awfulness, it will be those bonds that prevail.
I thank you all for your thoughts, your words, your prayers, love and all the myriad of things you have done and given to support us during this time. It is all so very needed. I even had a group of women inside the nooks and crannies of my house on Orcas Island cleaning it from top to bottom yesterday! How embarrassing, and yet what an amazing gift--not just the cleaning but to have that group of women blessing the space to which we long to return, free from MRSA and the nightmare it brought with it.
Feeling hopeful, feeling the possibility of encouragement.
At the height of this mental muck, it came time to shuttle me up to the Hubbard. The Hubbard is a big bathing room, sort of a hospital "spa" where they bathe you with nice warm water and sweet-smelling, yummy bath products. They also combine this with wound care, but the spa part makes it so much more bearable. I cry almost every time they bathe me. It is ultimately humbling and humanizing to be washed in this way, to be cared for at such a basic and primal level. Every time I leave the Hubbard, I feel hope. No kidding. Plus, I got there in a wheel chair, rather than a stretcher, an entirely different experience. My body is getting stronger. I don't need as much help with every single movement. I am glad for this. I need some more independence.
Even with all this new strength and independence, what will get me out of the hospital and on the road home? It all has to do with this wound. The WOUND. It's like it's a person, an entity in and of itself. A National Monument. We really should give it a name. Any suggestions? In any case, it all hinges on getting the wound healed, and this is no simple task, as it is large and deep. It cannot simply be closed up and sent on its way...they have to stimulate "granulation" from within the depths of the wound and get it to fill itself in from the bottom up. then they have to figure out how best to close things up, and this very likely means skin grafting (yay). Tomorrow, the surgical team will try to put something on my wound called a wound vac. If this is successful, it will promote a lot faster and better healing/granulation, and it will only have to get changed every three days. More importantly, it will mean I can go home a lot sooner. Much sooner. So, I am requesting from you, my dear friends and family, that you pray for the success of the wound vac tomorrow, and continued success over the coming week that will lead the docs to send me home. In that case, a home health nurse would come every three days to change it, and I will probably have to make weekly visits down here.
The secondary piece to all this, if indeed it works, is that I'll have to be able to endure all this with a lot less pain meds than I am getting currently. No IV meds, all oral. So I am requesting that you pray for that as well if you are so inclined.
Everyone keeps telling me about the "long road ahead"....another potentially named piece of my recovery? I know I am lucky. I have only to walk down the halls of this hospital to know that. I have so much on my side. But I have to say, each day is a very volatile game of emotional tug of war for me, especially being away from my children. It goes against all of my being to have them away. Fortunately, Miss Ada Pearl will be visiting today, and Gunnar and Finn will be tomorrow, before going out for a play day with their Dad. I think Roger needs it as much as they do. I have only to trust that though we are apart, we are united through bonds much bigger than I can speak of here, and that at the end of this crazy awfulness, it will be those bonds that prevail.
I thank you all for your thoughts, your words, your prayers, love and all the myriad of things you have done and given to support us during this time. It is all so very needed. I even had a group of women inside the nooks and crannies of my house on Orcas Island cleaning it from top to bottom yesterday! How embarrassing, and yet what an amazing gift--not just the cleaning but to have that group of women blessing the space to which we long to return, free from MRSA and the nightmare it brought with it.
Feeling hopeful, feeling the possibility of encouragement.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Right now
as i said before, there is so much to say about how I got to where I am now, and I will go there to be sure, as it has been the most horrific, terrifying and painful experience I have had. But in the interest of getting you to the here and now, I'll begin here.
I sit here in my hospital room using the iPad my loving friend, Amanda lent me. It is a most yummy little gadget and makes my life so much more bearable being here.
Not long ago I finished my twice daily "wound care". My wound is large, though purposely I have never viewed it myself. It goes from my upper hip down to my knee, where there is an 8 inch, crossways incision across my leg above my knee. It is an open wound, one that they pack with different materials and dressings. It gets washed out daily with a motorized water pic as well. Not fun. Wound care, puts me in a mental, emotional and physical space that is much different than labor. It's that caged animal, ready for electrocution feeling. I rely heavily on the nurses who prepare me prior to each experience, who anticipate my needs and go as gently and lovingly as they can. Yes, I am here to say that love and compassion can still be found quite alive and well in traditional Western medicine.
They prep me with a lot of meds to enable me to bear my wound care. Roger acts right alongside they nurses. He is amazing. When it's time to start the actual care, he takes his spot right next to me holding my hand and maintaining my eye contact, my sanity. He tells me when to breath, how to come back when I'm feeling I might be truly losing it. He tells me stories, mostly of he things we'll all do when I get to go home, or even this summer. We talk about our babies, things we miss about them, even the naughty things.
He tells me I am brave and strong, which I don't feel, but it helps me to pretend.
Most of all, I breathe. There is no other choice, really, than the breath.
I don't speak often and especially not via social media about spirituality, but I truly have to say without question that God has been near to me this entire time. Some of you may have read Anne LaMott talk about her experience of Jesus being like a kitty in the room, just watching over her. I relate. In my breathing, I feel God's warm presence, and sometimes my breath becomes like prayer. Nothing fancy. Just please. Thank you. Please. Thank you. Please oh please.
Doctors come and go to check my progress, my stats. The best news came today when my white blood cell count dropped into the normal territory. This is monumental. It is one of the major factors that will get me home, which appears still to be weeks away. Months upon months away is a more full recovery. Everyone keeps telling me of the long road ahead, even given how well things have gone for me relative to the cards I was dealt. I will most likely need skin grafting. In fact, the "the Plastics Surgery Team" may become my primary medical folks as of tomorrow. I don't fully understand what that means. I just hope it's good.
I have overflowing gratitude to my friends and family who have been helping me through all of this. Erin has dropped everything for me to do everything for me, for us. Pete and his family have been holding down the fort at home, doing all the work I don't see, and they have brought my little Ada Pearl into their homes on many a night, even with their own little lovey girl at home. And that's just a little slice of what they've done. They are angels beyond measure.
Angle and Johannes, Wolfie and Luz,Colin,Amanda & John, Nia----all the best aunts and uncles who have been here, been here, been here. My sweet Ada is with Wolfie and Luz right now, and will continue to be for a while. It is so good to see her with them and feel completely at ease and even in awe of how she is cared for with them.
Boppa Rog and Grandma Sha Sha have had the boys since the beginning. If you know them at all, you know what an undertaking it is for them, and you also know how lucky my boys are.
Which a brings me to My Babies. My heart is in a constant state of ache for them. It is put at much ease knowing they are with those who have extended their hearts and homes to them, but still, I ache. I ache for their little faces, breathing next to mine, their voices, their hands, their everything. They are what keep me going here, so that I can get back to them, just to be with them,the way I should be. Please pray for them, that they feel our love from afar.
It is late, and I am rambling, but I want you to know that I feel your love here. I do. And I am using it to fight my way out of this awful mess that I haven't even begun to understand.
In leaving tonight I want to leave you with a little raw honesty too. I have also felt the fires of intense anger as I have never before. They arise quickly and make their rage known. The odd thing is that rage is often followed by gratitude for something I've been able to experience here via this infection. It almost makes me mad to think those thoughts too, as this all feels so exceedingly wrong, but I think it will all become much clearer as time goes on. xoxo
More tomorrow from the trenches. Irregularly early wound care in the morning. Wish me luck!
I sit here in my hospital room using the iPad my loving friend, Amanda lent me. It is a most yummy little gadget and makes my life so much more bearable being here.
Not long ago I finished my twice daily "wound care". My wound is large, though purposely I have never viewed it myself. It goes from my upper hip down to my knee, where there is an 8 inch, crossways incision across my leg above my knee. It is an open wound, one that they pack with different materials and dressings. It gets washed out daily with a motorized water pic as well. Not fun. Wound care, puts me in a mental, emotional and physical space that is much different than labor. It's that caged animal, ready for electrocution feeling. I rely heavily on the nurses who prepare me prior to each experience, who anticipate my needs and go as gently and lovingly as they can. Yes, I am here to say that love and compassion can still be found quite alive and well in traditional Western medicine.
They prep me with a lot of meds to enable me to bear my wound care. Roger acts right alongside they nurses. He is amazing. When it's time to start the actual care, he takes his spot right next to me holding my hand and maintaining my eye contact, my sanity. He tells me when to breath, how to come back when I'm feeling I might be truly losing it. He tells me stories, mostly of he things we'll all do when I get to go home, or even this summer. We talk about our babies, things we miss about them, even the naughty things.
He tells me I am brave and strong, which I don't feel, but it helps me to pretend.
Most of all, I breathe. There is no other choice, really, than the breath.
I don't speak often and especially not via social media about spirituality, but I truly have to say without question that God has been near to me this entire time. Some of you may have read Anne LaMott talk about her experience of Jesus being like a kitty in the room, just watching over her. I relate. In my breathing, I feel God's warm presence, and sometimes my breath becomes like prayer. Nothing fancy. Just please. Thank you. Please. Thank you. Please oh please.
Doctors come and go to check my progress, my stats. The best news came today when my white blood cell count dropped into the normal territory. This is monumental. It is one of the major factors that will get me home, which appears still to be weeks away. Months upon months away is a more full recovery. Everyone keeps telling me of the long road ahead, even given how well things have gone for me relative to the cards I was dealt. I will most likely need skin grafting. In fact, the "the Plastics Surgery Team" may become my primary medical folks as of tomorrow. I don't fully understand what that means. I just hope it's good.
I have overflowing gratitude to my friends and family who have been helping me through all of this. Erin has dropped everything for me to do everything for me, for us. Pete and his family have been holding down the fort at home, doing all the work I don't see, and they have brought my little Ada Pearl into their homes on many a night, even with their own little lovey girl at home. And that's just a little slice of what they've done. They are angels beyond measure.
Angle and Johannes, Wolfie and Luz,Colin,Amanda & John, Nia----all the best aunts and uncles who have been here, been here, been here. My sweet Ada is with Wolfie and Luz right now, and will continue to be for a while. It is so good to see her with them and feel completely at ease and even in awe of how she is cared for with them.
Boppa Rog and Grandma Sha Sha have had the boys since the beginning. If you know them at all, you know what an undertaking it is for them, and you also know how lucky my boys are.
Which a brings me to My Babies. My heart is in a constant state of ache for them. It is put at much ease knowing they are with those who have extended their hearts and homes to them, but still, I ache. I ache for their little faces, breathing next to mine, their voices, their hands, their everything. They are what keep me going here, so that I can get back to them, just to be with them,the way I should be. Please pray for them, that they feel our love from afar.
It is late, and I am rambling, but I want you to know that I feel your love here. I do. And I am using it to fight my way out of this awful mess that I haven't even begun to understand.
In leaving tonight I want to leave you with a little raw honesty too. I have also felt the fires of intense anger as I have never before. They arise quickly and make their rage known. The odd thing is that rage is often followed by gratitude for something I've been able to experience here via this infection. It almost makes me mad to think those thoughts too, as this all feels so exceedingly wrong, but I think it will all become much clearer as time goes on. xoxo
More tomorrow from the trenches. Irregularly early wound care in the morning. Wish me luck!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
I. Am. Here.
Hello all of you near and far. All of you wondering and wandering about our little family Sandwith. Though my heart and mind yearns to tell you of the events of the last month, it would be impossible due to many things---my lack of techno savvy, and most importantly, a little thing I like to call *recovery*."
Though my attempt to hold time in any sort of solid form is shotty at best, I can tell you that during this last month I have taken that one last glance at those little people I might not see "for a while???" And i have deciphered the desperate but muffled tears and shudderings of a man who is carrying me through this turmoil with strong loving arms...oh how I love that man, those hands.
It is morning now...more later.
Though my attempt to hold time in any sort of solid form is shotty at best, I can tell you that during this last month I have taken that one last glance at those little people I might not see "for a while???" And i have deciphered the desperate but muffled tears and shudderings of a man who is carrying me through this turmoil with strong loving arms...oh how I love that man, those hands.
It is morning now...more later.
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