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Nov. 21st, 2003 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaSt. Francis hospital in Memphis, mercifully, has Internet access in the ICU waiting room.
Our flight got in around ten this morning. Michael had called from our connecting airport, Detroit, to tell his father he was coming, and was told that the surgery wasn't going to start on time - they were probably going to bring him down around ten a.m. We were hopeful that we might get to see him before he went in. When we got to the hospital - after a very rapid cab ride, which is apparently what happens when you arrive at the airport and tell the cabbie you need to get to the hospital right away - my father-in-law had already been taken downstairs.
We were told that families should wait in the ICU waiting room. There's a "hostess" for the waiting room who took names and phone numbers for all the family members and explained the rules for visiting in the ICU and for waiting during surgery. I thought to ask her whether Papa might still be in pre-op, and she called to ask and then said we could go back for a few minutes.
There were signs posted on the pre-op door sternly saying that only one family member could be with the patient at a time, but all of the staff ignored the rules. We got to see him and wait with him for about twenty minutes, along with his wife. Papa was scared, tearful, and very very happy to see us. We didn't have a lot to say, but we held his hands and comforted him as best as we could. Then they wheeled him away.
That was about five hours ago, and we've been waiting ever since. Friends of his, and Michael's stepmother's, have been in and out of the waiting room all afternoon. One of the pastors from his church came by and prayed with us - Unitarian-Universalist me, I was keeping one critical corner of my mind vigilant, but it turned out to be a very nice prayer. The OR nurse calls every hour to let us know how things are going. I didn't know that they do that - I've always been on the other side of the whole surgery experience. It's really helpful.
He'll probably be in the ICU for at least two days, and we'll be allowed to visit five or six times a day. (They don't do the five-minutes-per-hour rule here - there are longer visiting periods, but they don't come every hour.) I expect that I'll be getting to know this waiting room really, really well.
I'm trying to make myself useful, taking care of Michael - I managed to get him to take a nap for an hour or so, and I'm reminding him to stay hydrated, and holding his hand. I've also been taking turns with people from other families, answering the constantly-ringing pay phones in the hallway. The constant demand to make polite small talk with their friends is getting wearing - I'd rather just read quietly, and wait, but there's only so much of that I can do without feeling churlish. That may just be my fatigue talking, though.
Any minute now they should be coming out to tell us the surgery is over. It's already gone on longer than we'd expected - we'd been told three hours. But I'm sure everything will be okay.
Thank you all again.
Our flight got in around ten this morning. Michael had called from our connecting airport, Detroit, to tell his father he was coming, and was told that the surgery wasn't going to start on time - they were probably going to bring him down around ten a.m. We were hopeful that we might get to see him before he went in. When we got to the hospital - after a very rapid cab ride, which is apparently what happens when you arrive at the airport and tell the cabbie you need to get to the hospital right away - my father-in-law had already been taken downstairs.
We were told that families should wait in the ICU waiting room. There's a "hostess" for the waiting room who took names and phone numbers for all the family members and explained the rules for visiting in the ICU and for waiting during surgery. I thought to ask her whether Papa might still be in pre-op, and she called to ask and then said we could go back for a few minutes.
There were signs posted on the pre-op door sternly saying that only one family member could be with the patient at a time, but all of the staff ignored the rules. We got to see him and wait with him for about twenty minutes, along with his wife. Papa was scared, tearful, and very very happy to see us. We didn't have a lot to say, but we held his hands and comforted him as best as we could. Then they wheeled him away.
That was about five hours ago, and we've been waiting ever since. Friends of his, and Michael's stepmother's, have been in and out of the waiting room all afternoon. One of the pastors from his church came by and prayed with us - Unitarian-Universalist me, I was keeping one critical corner of my mind vigilant, but it turned out to be a very nice prayer. The OR nurse calls every hour to let us know how things are going. I didn't know that they do that - I've always been on the other side of the whole surgery experience. It's really helpful.
He'll probably be in the ICU for at least two days, and we'll be allowed to visit five or six times a day. (They don't do the five-minutes-per-hour rule here - there are longer visiting periods, but they don't come every hour.) I expect that I'll be getting to know this waiting room really, really well.
I'm trying to make myself useful, taking care of Michael - I managed to get him to take a nap for an hour or so, and I'm reminding him to stay hydrated, and holding his hand. I've also been taking turns with people from other families, answering the constantly-ringing pay phones in the hallway. The constant demand to make polite small talk with their friends is getting wearing - I'd rather just read quietly, and wait, but there's only so much of that I can do without feeling churlish. That may just be my fatigue talking, though.
Any minute now they should be coming out to tell us the surgery is over. It's already gone on longer than we'd expected - we'd been told three hours. But I'm sure everything will be okay.
Thank you all again.
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:10 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you're there. It's stressful and boring and all that, but you are doing good work.
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Date: 2003-11-21 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:42 pm (UTC)n.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 02:44 pm (UTC)It sounds like you've got a keen grasp of what's needed: not a lot to do other than making sure everyone eats, drinks, and sleeps as close to normally as possible. (Now is the time to start a crochet, knitting, or embroidery project... or a nice comforting book, perhaps Madeleine L'Engle? Her characters always go through hard times, and pull themselves out).
Stay as sane as you can, and be good to yourself, as well as to Michael and family.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 03:15 pm (UTC)May the waiting be as productive as possible for you all, I'm thinking of you.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 04:32 pm (UTC)-J
no subject
Date: 2003-11-21 04:54 pm (UTC)Just sayin'.
no subject
Date: 2003-11-22 09:53 am (UTC)Mercifully, there are only two TVs in the whole (very large) place, and we were able to turn off the one where we're sitting.
I brought my embroidery, but yesterday I couldn't concentrate on it very well. Maybe today will be easier. It's quieter here today - there hasn't been a constant parade of visitors. I'm really glad, because I'm working on a killer headache.