Wrecked, But Not Totaled: March 2008

Did I Mention

This happened on the Ides of March?

Et tu, Brute?

Tip For Everyone: Don't Smoke

Shitty childhood + knowing it all as a teenager x bad decisions in young adulthood = you do not have the luxury of a midlife crisis. You have nothing and will be lucky to survive without your mommy. People die. So will your mommy.

Earlier that same day . . .

I was so happy this morning at 5:00 a.m., while I was waking up from yet another horrible nightmare and realized that this imagined reality was only a dream and I did not have to go to work, because, praise be, it was Saturday.

Allen. Coffee. Kitty cats. So. Happy.

11:23 a.m. Phone rings.

Mom crying: Are you at home?

Me: (heart racing) Yes.

Mom: Do you want to take me to the hospital?

My thought bubble: There is nothing that I’d rather do on this, Praise Be, Saturday, than take you to the hospital.

Me: Is Brother there? Should I call an ambulance?

Mom: No. No ambulance. It’s been going on since last night.

Me: I’ll get dressed and be there.

Can someone shoot me now?

I get to her house and she’s leaning on the bathroom counter panting like a dog. Do you know why? Just like a dog, she does not sweat (another post), but she seriously needs some oxygen. However, she has smoked heavily for 45 years and her lungs are hard pressed to perform their function.

Sum: Her brain and organs HAVE NO OXYGEN.

I learned about oxygen deprivation today. Or, rather, I learned about carbon dioxide. WTF ever. Here’s what I learned: Your respiratory system exchanges carbon dioxide for oxygen. Or not. And, if not, you begin hallucinating. This was all news to me. I just thought my mother was crazy when she told me about her “sensations.” I was sure she was asleep and dreaming. Now I know that she is crazy, but yet, hallucinating because of carbon dioxide poisoning. Such fun. And, so enlightening.

Can I get that drink now?

No?

Watching my mother gasp for the breath that she can’t attain, and babbling about stupid e-mails while watching her blood pressure reach some god-awful number over 200 on the top over some god-awful number over 100 on the bottom. Um, yeah.

Then, there were a million people in the room with all kinds of equipment.

ER Doc to me: Does she seem confused?

Me: Yes.

Meanwhile, Mike, the respiratory therapist, is circling his index finger around his temple while looking at me.

Mom: I really need to go to the bathroom.

Nurse: You can’t move right now. We need to put a catheter in.

Doc to Mom: We really need to intubate.

Mom: NO!

Doc to me: I really don’t like to intubate because sometimes the lungs can’t take back over. She was confused but she was very clear about not wanting to be intubated. We will take another gas blood reading and then we’ll address the situation again.

Me: Is there anything else going on that I need to know about?

Doc: Intubation may need to happen. If her blood gas level does not improve, we’ll need to intubate. What brought her to the emergency room?

Me: What really makes her take action is her heart. She feels like it is in A-fib and not beating right and that’s what brought her here.

Doc: Well, her heart is in rhythm and is doing okay now, but I’m sure it was probably out of synch.

Meanwhile: My sister, the nursing student, arrives; I talk to all of my siblings and my mom’s only sibling, a sister. Of course they all call me when we’re in mid-hallucinatory crisis and there are five hospital personnel who appirated out of nowhere and who are all looking to me for guidance while my Mom is still bitching that she really has to go potty. And my cell phone is ringing—again. And I want to kill everyone who has ever thought about calling me. And Mom is still bitching that she has to pee; there’s going to be a wet bed if she doesn’t get to go. She doesn’t want a catheter. Ten eyes staring me down; tears streaming down my face.

Me: Do it.

Two nurses begin the catheterization process and I, in my infinite wisdom, tell Mom I have to go the bathroom. I just wanted to call my brother back and tell him that Mom was better and to quit fucking calling me. I really didn’t have to piss. But the nurses said she’s just torturing you, isn’t she? What an ass I am.

They give her some morphine, catheterize her and she seems to be doing a little better.

The blood gases have not improved. They are going to move her upstairs. I ask if "upstairs" means a regular room. The Doc tells me no, it does not; she's going into ICU. Apparently, people who cannot breathe and are hallucinating need special intensive care.

They get her into ICU and Mom is feeling so much better, because, now, she’s wasted on morphine. (Praise be.) They take the blood gasses again. Still—no good. The ICU doc says that the reading is worse and they will wait 15 more minutes and take them again—one hour from the last reading. If they are still bad, she needs to make a decision. Does she or does she not want to be intubated?

Q: How many non-smoking patients does the respiratory therapist have?

Answer: 0

Carbon dioxide blood number in normal person: 35 max.

Mom’s carbon dioxide number: 115.

115 is the maximum reading. The lab didn’t believe it, and retested. Again. And again. Really? Is this person still alive? No shit?!! Incredible. Is there an award for highest carbon dioxide reading? The Dioxy, per chance? No? Well, now there is and my Mom just won it.

This was also news to Mike, who, again, has zero non-smoking patients. He didn’t know that the maximum measurement was 115. It just doesn’t measure any higher. He’d never encountered it before. As he's telling me this he holds up three fingers meaning Mom hit it three times! She's a trooper.

ICU Doc: Your numbers are not improving. We need to get the air moving. You need to give us permission to intubate.

My sister and I look at each other across our mother.

Me: Mom, what they’re asking you is: Do you want to be intubated or would you rather them let you die?

Mom: I know what they’re asking.

Me: Then you need to make a decision and tell them.

Mom to Doc: Is it that bad?

Doc: Yes.

Mom: I don’t feel that bad.

Doc: If we don’t intubate, you will go to sleep and you won’t wake up.

Mom to me: Doesn’t seem like such a bad way to go.

I give her an honest look and a shrug.

Mom: Okay.

Mom to me: I’m so sleepy. I could just fall asleep.

My thought bubble: It’s because your brain is dying and it can’t stay awake because it has no oxygen. Want a smoke?

My sister (who has just taken a nursing exam on the respiratory system--the workhorse of the body as she called it--the day before): Mom, it’s just like being in a house fire. If you can’t get oxygen, you just fall asleep and your organs fail and you die.

Mom: I never thought that you could be dying and not feel it. I feel fine.

My thought bubble: That’s why people go into the garage and start their cars. So tie-tie. So nice. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ And FINAL.

Mom to Mike: In your opinion, if I don’t get intubated, I will die?

Mike: I don’t know how long it would take, but I would guess within the next two to three days.

Mom: Really?

Mike: Yes.

Mom: Okay.

Now, they can’t intubate fast enough. Now she’s scared.

I, however, am putting on the big brave face, asking her what she wants from home. Is there anything she needs? Is there anything I can do? I love you, Mom.

They begin the sedation drugs. They are not working. She is still awake. Mike calls for the Doc. We need to up the drugs. I tell him our family has a high drug tolerance. He tells the nurse to get the doctor in here—now. We need to up it. She should have been asleep by now. I get kicked out.

I go to her house and get what she asked for.

I get back to her room and she tries to regurgitate the tube. She can’t.

Her blood pressure is finally going down. So is her carbon dioxide.

I thank the staff.

I call Allen and tell him I really need a drink. What I don’t need is a cigarette. And neither do you.

Tip For Teens: Major In Business

Because that's where all the money is. Have you checked out CEO salaries lately?

Have you checked out social worker salaries lately? Secretary salaries? Not like CEO salaries.

Praise be, someone actually applied to rent my apartment last night. So, I run the credit check. I'm pretty sure she can't afford the $625 monthly rent on her college-educated, social worker salary of $12.01 an hour. How is a single mother with a toddler paying rent, utilities, gas and daycare supposed to live on $12.01 an hour? How the fuck is ANYONE supposed to live on $12.01 an hour?

I try to stay away from deep thinking because if I thought about this any harder, I would be REALLY pissed off.

Coming Out

I've wanted to do something different with this web log for a while and thanks to tmhcreations, I can now post photos. And post photos I will. So, without further ado . . .

This is me and the love of my life, Allen. This was taken at Mr. S's 100th birthday party last year.