After he ate, in that it's possible that PT may not make it up today for letting him sit in a chair, the nurses got him up and let him sit on the side of the bed, which he did for a couple of minutes. Dessert? A bit of morphine before the afternoon siesta, which he is enjoying now. And for the record, it must be good sleep ... if the snoring is any indication!
Monday, September 3, 2007
Day 10: Afternoon
Well I spoke too soon ... Dad just had some lunch, and lo and behold it included steak and gravy! (Pureed, of course.). It also included mashed potatoes, pureed broccoli, tea and a strawberry "shake." We put his glasses on, but could not determine how his hearing aids fit! He actually tried himself, but we just decided to forego the hearing aids for now.
Day 10: Lunchtime
Technology is a wonderful thing ... We are actually blogging "live" from Dad's room this morning by using my BlackBerry device to email my entry directly to the blog!
But enough about technology ... back to Dad! He continues to show excellent progress. The charge nurse brushed his teeth this morning, and he was able to swish and spit on command. She thought it was enough of a sign to let him have a little applesauce, which he did fine with on swallowing. The speech consultation has cleared him for the initial reentry into the world of food. No steak just yet, but in due time!
When we arrived, the nurse told Dad to shake my hand. He slowly raised his left hand and shook mine (even after having a little morphine for the pain). And when she came in to check his blood sugar, she said, "I'm going to stick your finger. Is that OK?" And he actually gave a muffled "uh-huh" in his throat. She said, "Did you say 'uh-huh'??" And he nodded his head. PROGRESS!!
They may try to have the physical therapy folks come up later today and let him sit up in a chair! Praise God!
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Day 9: P.M.
For those of you checking in late ... be sure to read the other two posts of the day!
In short, Dad is now off the ventilator. As evidenced yesterday, Dad was doing better at breathing on his own and not letting the ventilator do all the work. So apparently this morning before we got there, they went through some weaning mechanism procedures to see how he would react if the ventilator was turned off, and he showed signs of being able to handle it. So they dropped his sedation, gave him one final pressurized test to be sure he was ready, and off the ventilator he came! It's so nice to see him without tubes coming out of his mouth.
And as well, since he is now off the sedative, he's much more alert than before. He will react to people coming in the room talking, and turn in their direction. He opens his eyes wide and they look much stronger. On the downside, it's apparent his head hurts and he's feeling it more! He will constantly put his left hand on his forehead and rub it from the eyebrows back through his hair, and let out somewhat of a moan. But it's nothing a little morphine hasn't been able to handle.
At other times, when his eyes are open and his head doesn't hurt as much, he looks around as if he's trying to get his bearings again and understand what's going on. We talk to him plenty, and he shows signs of response with raising his hand to take ours, and clenching it. About half an hour into our visit this morning, I was standing next to his bed saying, "Hey Dad ... it's OK. They are taking good care of you. You're doing great." He just stared at me for a moment, so I was sure to smile at him. My heart sank when he smiled back at me. While not necessarily a photo studio smile, it was most certainly an effort that took me by such great surprise that it choked me up pretty good. I'm sure that confused him.
Left side continues to be strong. Right side appears to be waking up slightly, with some movement of his right leg on his own. He also does other "Dad things" that you'd really have to have known him for a while to recognize, such as the face he makes when he's scratching his nose. He will raise up his left arm into the air, flex his fingers a bit, then drop it down on the bed as if to say, "Yep, it's still there." So for him, this is a period of awakening and reorienting, and I'm sure it's somewhat frustrating. He's not talking yet, but after a week of being on a ventilator, who would? But he is making sounds with his throat.
The pulmonary physicians' assistant stopped by and checked Dad's lungs, and said they sounded good and clear. The doctor making rounds also stopped by, asking if Dad had been tested for swallowing. We're waiting on a speech consult first, which we guess will determine his ability to swallow, so the doctor put Dad back on a saline drip to keep his fluids up. We were relieved to see that.
All in all, it was a befitting end to a wonderful day in the Bush family. We continue to covet your prayers ... for now, that's all we really need. We are all doing very well and continue to see God answering our prayers. We will continue to keep you posted ... so keep checking back often!
In short, Dad is now off the ventilator. As evidenced yesterday, Dad was doing better at breathing on his own and not letting the ventilator do all the work. So apparently this morning before we got there, they went through some weaning mechanism procedures to see how he would react if the ventilator was turned off, and he showed signs of being able to handle it. So they dropped his sedation, gave him one final pressurized test to be sure he was ready, and off the ventilator he came! It's so nice to see him without tubes coming out of his mouth.
And as well, since he is now off the sedative, he's much more alert than before. He will react to people coming in the room talking, and turn in their direction. He opens his eyes wide and they look much stronger. On the downside, it's apparent his head hurts and he's feeling it more! He will constantly put his left hand on his forehead and rub it from the eyebrows back through his hair, and let out somewhat of a moan. But it's nothing a little morphine hasn't been able to handle.
At other times, when his eyes are open and his head doesn't hurt as much, he looks around as if he's trying to get his bearings again and understand what's going on. We talk to him plenty, and he shows signs of response with raising his hand to take ours, and clenching it. About half an hour into our visit this morning, I was standing next to his bed saying, "Hey Dad ... it's OK. They are taking good care of you. You're doing great." He just stared at me for a moment, so I was sure to smile at him. My heart sank when he smiled back at me. While not necessarily a photo studio smile, it was most certainly an effort that took me by such great surprise that it choked me up pretty good. I'm sure that confused him.
Left side continues to be strong. Right side appears to be waking up slightly, with some movement of his right leg on his own. He also does other "Dad things" that you'd really have to have known him for a while to recognize, such as the face he makes when he's scratching his nose. He will raise up his left arm into the air, flex his fingers a bit, then drop it down on the bed as if to say, "Yep, it's still there." So for him, this is a period of awakening and reorienting, and I'm sure it's somewhat frustrating. He's not talking yet, but after a week of being on a ventilator, who would? But he is making sounds with his throat.
The pulmonary physicians' assistant stopped by and checked Dad's lungs, and said they sounded good and clear. The doctor making rounds also stopped by, asking if Dad had been tested for swallowing. We're waiting on a speech consult first, which we guess will determine his ability to swallow, so the doctor put Dad back on a saline drip to keep his fluids up. We were relieved to see that.
All in all, it was a befitting end to a wonderful day in the Bush family. We continue to covet your prayers ... for now, that's all we really need. We are all doing very well and continue to see God answering our prayers. We will continue to keep you posted ... so keep checking back often!
Day 9: WE'RE OFF THE VENTILATOR!
Here is PROOF that God hears and answers prayers.
The news from the hospital this morning is that Dad is off the ventilator, alert and responding to simple commands such as “Hold up two fingers.” Praise God! We're on our way to the hospital now and will have more details later this evening.
It's truly a "George Bush Sunday" for our family. The DAWGS won, Dad's story has hit the media with coverage in the Athens Banner-Herald (see the next posting), and we're off the ventilator! You'll recall that our very last post indicated that the doctor felt Dad would be on the ventilator through the weekend, but God decided to step things up a bit, and we thank Him for His grace and mercy to get us through to this milestone in Dad's recovery!
More to come medically speaking later this evening, but read on to the next post regarding the "media coverage" and a note directly from Mom.
Continue to pray!
The news from the hospital this morning is that Dad is off the ventilator, alert and responding to simple commands such as “Hold up two fingers.” Praise God! We're on our way to the hospital now and will have more details later this evening.
It's truly a "George Bush Sunday" for our family. The DAWGS won, Dad's story has hit the media with coverage in the Athens Banner-Herald (see the next posting), and we're off the ventilator! You'll recall that our very last post indicated that the doctor felt Dad would be on the ventilator through the weekend, but God decided to step things up a bit, and we thank Him for His grace and mercy to get us through to this milestone in Dad's recovery!
More to come medically speaking later this evening, but read on to the next post regarding the "media coverage" and a note directly from Mom.
Continue to pray!
Day 9: Athens Banner-Herald first to "break" the story
Dear Family and Friends,
This morning I (Helen) will give Chip a short break while I send you the following.
I have been thinking about the many people – some that I know and some that I don’t – who are following along with us. God bless you all. It occurs to me that some who don’t know George and me personally, but are friends of Skeeter and Chip and their families, may be confused at two different names you’re seeing – “George” and “Irvin.” They are one and the same. When growing up he was called by his middle name “Irvin” and when he went in the army they required that soldiers go by their first name, so everyone who has met him since that time know him as “George.”
Sunday morning in the Bush household always begins with coffee, cereal for George, an apple fritter for Helen, and reading Darrell Huckaby’s column in the Athens Banner-Herald before getting ready for church. This morning I was the only one following the usual schedule as I got ready to go to the hospital to see my “other half.”
Darrell is the author of a bunch of books, and the Bush household has a well-read copy of each. Two are hilarious novels involving UGA football, two are non-fiction, and several are collections of his columns. His writing will remind you of the late Lewis Grizzard – from humorous to heart-warming and everywhere in between.
Pardon us for thinking that today’s column is Darrell’s finest! When George can read it for himself, he will truly appreciate these words from someone whose friendship we treasure. For those of you who don’t live in the Athens Banner-Herald’s coverage area, here is the column for you to enjoy.
* * *
Being Friends With the Bush Family Has Plenty of Benefits
By Darrell Huckaby
I will admit it. I screen my calls.
You see, I have an aversion to talking on the telephone. I don't know when this developed because as a teenager – and as a young man – I suffered from black cord fever. I spent exorbitant amounts of time with a telephone receiver held to my ear and the receiver was, of course, attached to the phone itself by a black cord.
If you are younger than 40, get someone to explain why.
Not now, though. Now I answer the phone begrudgingly, if at all. When it rings, I look at the little machine to see who is calling. If it's not Barbara Dooley or Ed McMahon, there is a good chance that I will let the machine get it.
I'm not a snob. I just have this thing about talking on the phone.
One day, here a while back (which is Southern for it might have been a few months or a few years ago), the phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID. George Bush was calling. Said so right there on the little printout. I answered the phone.
As it turns out, it wasn't George Bush at all. It was his wife. No. Not Laura. Helen. She was inviting me to speak to her Sunday school class at Mars Hill Baptist Church over in Watkinsville. I was, of course, happy for the invitation and more than willing to comply. Things must have gone well because I have been invited back many times. Once I even got to go to the Bush's basement – which resembles the sunken level of the Butts-Mehre building, by the way – to help celebrate one of George's milestone birthdays.
I had a lot of fun telling people that I was invited to entertain at George Bush's birthday bash. If any of them thought I was talking about the president, well – that was their error.
The bottom line is that I have come to count the Bushes and other good people of mars Hill as my very good friends – even if they have heard all my stories and don't invite me to speak there anymore. This is why I was so distressed last week when I got an e-mail from Helen telling me that George had fallen, while working in the yard, and suffered an injury to his brain.
He is still in pretty bad shape and is in, as I understand it, the critical care unit at St. Mary's Hospital here in Athens. He cannot have visitors, but he can have prayers and his family and his lint-head friend – that would be me – covet yours on his behalf. So if you believe in prayer, please keep George Bush in yours. And if you don't do that sort of thing, keep him and his family in your thoughts.
George is bound and determined to achieve a full recovery, and I am happy to report that neither he nor his family has lost a sense of humor throughout his current ordeal. When the EMTs came to his house after George fell, his son warned the paramedics that "if he tells you his name is George Bush, he is not delusional. It really is."
One of his son's co-workers at the Coca-Cola Co. – a Mr. Jimmy Carter – created quite a stir when he attempted to organize a prayer service at a local church. I can hear the secretary now, covering up the mouthpiece and saying, "Some nut claiming to be Jimmy Carter wants to arrange a service for George Bush."
And they tell me that the hospital staff has been after both his sons – whom they have dubbed the Bush Brothers – to bring in the secret family recipe for baked beans.
According to Reader's Digest, laughter is the best medicine, so it couldn't hurt. Nor could those prayers I solicited earlier.
And to George and his family – when you overcome this thing, I'll help lead the celebration – and when you call to tell me, I promise I will answer the phone.
(Ed. Note ... if you would like to visit the column online at the Athens Banner-Herald, the link is http://onlineathens.com/stories/090207/news_20070902040.shtml)
This morning I (Helen) will give Chip a short break while I send you the following.
I have been thinking about the many people – some that I know and some that I don’t – who are following along with us. God bless you all. It occurs to me that some who don’t know George and me personally, but are friends of Skeeter and Chip and their families, may be confused at two different names you’re seeing – “George” and “Irvin.” They are one and the same. When growing up he was called by his middle name “Irvin” and when he went in the army they required that soldiers go by their first name, so everyone who has met him since that time know him as “George.”
Sunday morning in the Bush household always begins with coffee, cereal for George, an apple fritter for Helen, and reading Darrell Huckaby’s column in the Athens Banner-Herald before getting ready for church. This morning I was the only one following the usual schedule as I got ready to go to the hospital to see my “other half.”
Darrell is the author of a bunch of books, and the Bush household has a well-read copy of each. Two are hilarious novels involving UGA football, two are non-fiction, and several are collections of his columns. His writing will remind you of the late Lewis Grizzard – from humorous to heart-warming and everywhere in between.
Pardon us for thinking that today’s column is Darrell’s finest! When George can read it for himself, he will truly appreciate these words from someone whose friendship we treasure. For those of you who don’t live in the Athens Banner-Herald’s coverage area, here is the column for you to enjoy.
* * *
Being Friends With the Bush Family Has Plenty of Benefits
By Darrell Huckaby
I will admit it. I screen my calls.
You see, I have an aversion to talking on the telephone. I don't know when this developed because as a teenager – and as a young man – I suffered from black cord fever. I spent exorbitant amounts of time with a telephone receiver held to my ear and the receiver was, of course, attached to the phone itself by a black cord.
If you are younger than 40, get someone to explain why.
Not now, though. Now I answer the phone begrudgingly, if at all. When it rings, I look at the little machine to see who is calling. If it's not Barbara Dooley or Ed McMahon, there is a good chance that I will let the machine get it.
I'm not a snob. I just have this thing about talking on the phone.
One day, here a while back (which is Southern for it might have been a few months or a few years ago), the phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID. George Bush was calling. Said so right there on the little printout. I answered the phone.
As it turns out, it wasn't George Bush at all. It was his wife. No. Not Laura. Helen. She was inviting me to speak to her Sunday school class at Mars Hill Baptist Church over in Watkinsville. I was, of course, happy for the invitation and more than willing to comply. Things must have gone well because I have been invited back many times. Once I even got to go to the Bush's basement – which resembles the sunken level of the Butts-Mehre building, by the way – to help celebrate one of George's milestone birthdays.
I had a lot of fun telling people that I was invited to entertain at George Bush's birthday bash. If any of them thought I was talking about the president, well – that was their error.
The bottom line is that I have come to count the Bushes and other good people of mars Hill as my very good friends – even if they have heard all my stories and don't invite me to speak there anymore. This is why I was so distressed last week when I got an e-mail from Helen telling me that George had fallen, while working in the yard, and suffered an injury to his brain.
He is still in pretty bad shape and is in, as I understand it, the critical care unit at St. Mary's Hospital here in Athens. He cannot have visitors, but he can have prayers and his family and his lint-head friend – that would be me – covet yours on his behalf. So if you believe in prayer, please keep George Bush in yours. And if you don't do that sort of thing, keep him and his family in your thoughts.
George is bound and determined to achieve a full recovery, and I am happy to report that neither he nor his family has lost a sense of humor throughout his current ordeal. When the EMTs came to his house after George fell, his son warned the paramedics that "if he tells you his name is George Bush, he is not delusional. It really is."
One of his son's co-workers at the Coca-Cola Co. – a Mr. Jimmy Carter – created quite a stir when he attempted to organize a prayer service at a local church. I can hear the secretary now, covering up the mouthpiece and saying, "Some nut claiming to be Jimmy Carter wants to arrange a service for George Bush."
And they tell me that the hospital staff has been after both his sons – whom they have dubbed the Bush Brothers – to bring in the secret family recipe for baked beans.
According to Reader's Digest, laughter is the best medicine, so it couldn't hurt. Nor could those prayers I solicited earlier.
And to George and his family – when you overcome this thing, I'll help lead the celebration – and when you call to tell me, I promise I will answer the phone.
(Ed. Note ... if you would like to visit the column online at the Athens Banner-Herald, the link is http://onlineathens.com/stories/090207/news_20070902040.shtml)
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Day 8: P.M.
Today continued to be a day of "baby steps" toward Dad's recovery.
Dad appeared to be slightly more alert today (when he's not sedated for getting some solid rest.) Even when he's been sedated, I think they are keeping it a bit lighter than in days past.
He continues to raise his left hand, and even rolls his fingers like you would if you were tapping them on a table. He will flex his left wrist against the wrist restraint, like he's stretching his forearm. He will turn his head, raise his eyebrows, open his eyes (more open than in the past, where he was peeping out), then he would close his eyes and scowl like he was frustrated. Mom said it was as if he went from bewildered to confused over the course of the past couple of days. It does appear that he will look in the direction of someone speaking next to his bed.
He has a coughing "spell" every now and then, which is helping keep his lungs clear ... another good thing for him to be doing. During one spell, I was holding his hand and saying, "Dad, it's OK. You're doing great." He opened both eyes as big as I've seen them since the surgery and looked toward my face for a bit before closing them again and making his frowny face as if to say, "Is this tube still in my throat?"
His right side is still somewhat "dormant" as he has not been moving it as much as he had in the past. That may be the result of shifting pressures in the head and may indeed resolve itself in due course. Again, we're being graced with the patience from God to take it one day at a time. It sounds cliche, but it's so very true.
The respiratory therapist dropped in a few times, and late this afternoon indicated that Dad is continuing to improve slightly toward breathing on his own. She explained how the machine is set to do a certain amount of work, and that Dad has to create enough pressure on his own to breathe. However, when he's heavily sedated, the machine does all the work, which she called "riding the vent."
The third neurosurgeon from the practice stopped by today as well, and indicated that Dad appears stable at the moment. He felt that Dad would not be coming off the respirator this weekend, but we'll continue to take the baby steps as they come.
Dad appeared to be slightly more alert today (when he's not sedated for getting some solid rest.) Even when he's been sedated, I think they are keeping it a bit lighter than in days past.
He continues to raise his left hand, and even rolls his fingers like you would if you were tapping them on a table. He will flex his left wrist against the wrist restraint, like he's stretching his forearm. He will turn his head, raise his eyebrows, open his eyes (more open than in the past, where he was peeping out), then he would close his eyes and scowl like he was frustrated. Mom said it was as if he went from bewildered to confused over the course of the past couple of days. It does appear that he will look in the direction of someone speaking next to his bed.
He has a coughing "spell" every now and then, which is helping keep his lungs clear ... another good thing for him to be doing. During one spell, I was holding his hand and saying, "Dad, it's OK. You're doing great." He opened both eyes as big as I've seen them since the surgery and looked toward my face for a bit before closing them again and making his frowny face as if to say, "Is this tube still in my throat?"
His right side is still somewhat "dormant" as he has not been moving it as much as he had in the past. That may be the result of shifting pressures in the head and may indeed resolve itself in due course. Again, we're being graced with the patience from God to take it one day at a time. It sounds cliche, but it's so very true.
The respiratory therapist dropped in a few times, and late this afternoon indicated that Dad is continuing to improve slightly toward breathing on his own. She explained how the machine is set to do a certain amount of work, and that Dad has to create enough pressure on his own to breathe. However, when he's heavily sedated, the machine does all the work, which she called "riding the vent."
The third neurosurgeon from the practice stopped by today as well, and indicated that Dad appears stable at the moment. He felt that Dad would not be coming off the respirator this weekend, but we'll continue to take the baby steps as they come.
Day 8: A.M.
Mom and I (Chip) are about to head up to the hospital. A new prayer request ... that we don't get snarled up in gameday traffic! Go DAWGS!
We've added photos of our family in the "About this Blog" section on the right under the link "The Bush Family."
We've added photos of our family in the "About this Blog" section on the right under the link "The Bush Family."
Friday, August 31, 2007
Day 7: P.M.
Tonight's post is encouraging ... many good reports from today.
Test results were good (I didn't get specifics, but to know that they were good.) Dad is still on the ventilator, but the nurse said that every patient is different and he'll come off when it's right for him. (Let Oklahoma State get ahead by a touchdown or two, and that might give him some impetus!)
They are gradually lowering his sedative (replacing it with morphine to keep him comfortable) so we can move toward getting him off the ventilator. The pulmonary specialist once again turned the ventilator into a mode that let Dad do more of the work on his own, and Dad did better this go-around than before.
His pupils are reacting to light quicker than before, and that's another good sign. Also, today he started trying to roll over onto his right side (his favorite sleeping position) on his own. Once the staff came in and helped him on to his side, Mom said he seemed to be much more comfortable. (After being on your back for a few days, we all would!)
He ran a slight fever today around 101.2, but they treated it with Tylenol. He's on an antibiotic as well, and the fever appeared to react favorably to the Tylenol. He still shows good strength on his left side, raising the left arm, but not as much movement on his right side as before.
All in all ... many good things reported today from the staff. We're all in town for the weekend, so we'll keep you all posted.
Additionally ... Dad's nurse today revealed that she's a dedicated Bulldog fan. We can just imagine that very time she called to him, "George, can you hear me? Can you hear me?" that he was thinking in reply "Go DAWGS!"
Test results were good (I didn't get specifics, but to know that they were good.) Dad is still on the ventilator, but the nurse said that every patient is different and he'll come off when it's right for him. (Let Oklahoma State get ahead by a touchdown or two, and that might give him some impetus!)
They are gradually lowering his sedative (replacing it with morphine to keep him comfortable) so we can move toward getting him off the ventilator. The pulmonary specialist once again turned the ventilator into a mode that let Dad do more of the work on his own, and Dad did better this go-around than before.
His pupils are reacting to light quicker than before, and that's another good sign. Also, today he started trying to roll over onto his right side (his favorite sleeping position) on his own. Once the staff came in and helped him on to his side, Mom said he seemed to be much more comfortable. (After being on your back for a few days, we all would!)
He ran a slight fever today around 101.2, but they treated it with Tylenol. He's on an antibiotic as well, and the fever appeared to react favorably to the Tylenol. He still shows good strength on his left side, raising the left arm, but not as much movement on his right side as before.
All in all ... many good things reported today from the staff. We're all in town for the weekend, so we'll keep you all posted.
Additionally ... Dad's nurse today revealed that she's a dedicated Bulldog fan. We can just imagine that very time she called to him, "George, can you hear me? Can you hear me?" that he was thinking in reply "Go DAWGS!"
Day 7: Lunchtime
It's been a full week since Dad fell. In some ways, it seems like yesterday, but then you begin to think what all we've experienced in a week, and it seems much longer. Your words of encouragement and prayers are tremendous and we thank you for that.
Dad is neurologically holding at about the same spot. We will probably hear more later today about the test results. He was put through the ringer this morning, but with some good things in addition to the tests. He's been bathed and shampooed, teeth brushed, and everything changed from head to foot. Even when you're sedated, that's got to feel better.
Also, the pulmonary specialist once again pulled back on the ventilator to let Dad try and do some of the work on his own, and Dad apparently did better this go around than the last time. I think they are going to continue to try and wean him off slowly. They raise and lower his sedation level to help keep him rested until his body is ready to start taking over again.
Dad is neurologically holding at about the same spot. We will probably hear more later today about the test results. He was put through the ringer this morning, but with some good things in addition to the tests. He's been bathed and shampooed, teeth brushed, and everything changed from head to foot. Even when you're sedated, that's got to feel better.
Also, the pulmonary specialist once again pulled back on the ventilator to let Dad try and do some of the work on his own, and Dad apparently did better this go around than the last time. I think they are going to continue to try and wean him off slowly. They raise and lower his sedation level to help keep him rested until his body is ready to start taking over again.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Day 6: Evening
Nothing much new to report. The evening shift was going to give Dad some morphine as he was somewhat restless. He's scheduled for a battery of tests tomorrow, which should give us an indication of our progress toward coming off the respirator. If his test results are good, they will start to get more aggressive toward getting him off the "tube." Mom said that Dad had been shaved and that the respiratory therapist had come in and retaped the respirator tube, so he looked real good with plenty of color in his face, etc.
Mom also said that the first responder from last Friday stopped by to check in on Dad ... we have been so very impressed with everyone we have been in contact with and are very fortunate to have Dad in St. Mary's for treatment. Doctors, ICU and NCCU staff, ER folks ... they have all been just top notch.
And thanks to everyone for their comments and words of encouragement on the blog and via other communication methods ... they mean a lot to us!
Mom also said that the first responder from last Friday stopped by to check in on Dad ... we have been so very impressed with everyone we have been in contact with and are very fortunate to have Dad in St. Mary's for treatment. Doctors, ICU and NCCU staff, ER folks ... they have all been just top notch.
And thanks to everyone for their comments and words of encouragement on the blog and via other communication methods ... they mean a lot to us!
Day 6: Lunchtime
More word from the charge nurse in NCCU ... Dad didn't have a CT scan this morning. We're taking that as his condition is stable enough not to warrant a daily scan. They have cut his sedation in half, so we're working on letting him slowly come back. In Skeeter's words (and confirmed by the NCCU nurse), it is as if we're finally getting to the edge of the darkest part of the woods. That's encouraging!
Skeeter also got word from a reliable source at St. Mary's that we were in FANTASTIC hands with Dr. Semenoff, both in terms of skill and how he handles his patients and their families. We had made that determination ourselves, but it's a blessing to get confirmation from another source.
Skeeter also got word from a reliable source at St. Mary's that we were in FANTASTIC hands with Dr. Semenoff, both in terms of skill and how he handles his patients and their families. We had made that determination ourselves, but it's a blessing to get confirmation from another source.
Day 6: A.M.
Mom said she got an encouraging report from the attending neurosurgeon this morning ... another doctor in the same practice as Dr. Semenoff. Dad remains stable. The nurse indicated that he seems to keep his eyes open a little longer each time. He's not fully conscious, but he's peeping out every now and then to see what's going on, I suppose.
They tried to cut back on the ventilator either late yesterday or last night, but said that it seemed to tire him out too much, so they have increased it back this morning. All in all, he's holding his own.
They tried to cut back on the ventilator either late yesterday or last night, but said that it seemed to tire him out too much, so they have increased it back this morning. All in all, he's holding his own.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Day 5
No bad news is good news to us!
Today, they did not have Dad on a diuretic, because it apparently did what they wanted it to do yesterday. The CT scan did not show any additional swelling, which is also good. We are about at the point in time where the swelling would be at it's peak and we're looking for it to begin to subside. So from that standpoint, we're holding at the mark and ready to come back down.
Dad continues to move in his bed ... raising his knees and lowering them every so often. He will turn his head back and forth, and sometimes open his eyes slightly. He is still sedated until the swelling is on it's way down, and he still moves his hands in a manner indicating he is aware of the ventilator and would prefer to remove that tube!
A physical therapist visited today to keep those limbs moving, and will be showing some exercises that can be conducted with his hands and arms, even when he is sedated, to keep the limbs moving.
So we will post another update tomorrow. Again, we appreciate everyone being willing to help us out with observing the "No Visitors" rule for us ... it just makes it easier for Mom to focus on Dad, and for the doctors and nurses to get done what they need to get done. Your online comments (which you can add below) and reassurances of prayer and encouragement are all we really need at this stage.
On a humorous note, a fine colleague of mine here at The Coca-Cola Company called his church to request a mass in honor of Dad for healing. You can imagine how incredulous this sounded when he made the call to the church office. (And this is all truthful, yet paraphrased here.)
"Yes, hello ... this is Jimmy Carter. I would like to request a mass please."
"Jimmy Carter? OK. [Pause] And what is the name of the individual you're requesting a mass for?"
"George Bush."
"Ah-hah ... ok, we'll let you know."
Well, indeed my colleague is named Jimmy Carter, and he eventually got a call from one of the church leaders telling him that he had the church up in arms over a "Jimmy Carter" calling in to request a mass for "George Bush." Of course, he had to confirm to the secretary that indeed there was a Jimmy Carter in their congregation, and that this was not a prank call!
Today, they did not have Dad on a diuretic, because it apparently did what they wanted it to do yesterday. The CT scan did not show any additional swelling, which is also good. We are about at the point in time where the swelling would be at it's peak and we're looking for it to begin to subside. So from that standpoint, we're holding at the mark and ready to come back down.
Dad continues to move in his bed ... raising his knees and lowering them every so often. He will turn his head back and forth, and sometimes open his eyes slightly. He is still sedated until the swelling is on it's way down, and he still moves his hands in a manner indicating he is aware of the ventilator and would prefer to remove that tube!
A physical therapist visited today to keep those limbs moving, and will be showing some exercises that can be conducted with his hands and arms, even when he is sedated, to keep the limbs moving.
So we will post another update tomorrow. Again, we appreciate everyone being willing to help us out with observing the "No Visitors" rule for us ... it just makes it easier for Mom to focus on Dad, and for the doctors and nurses to get done what they need to get done. Your online comments (which you can add below) and reassurances of prayer and encouragement are all we really need at this stage.
On a humorous note, a fine colleague of mine here at The Coca-Cola Company called his church to request a mass in honor of Dad for healing. You can imagine how incredulous this sounded when he made the call to the church office. (And this is all truthful, yet paraphrased here.)
"Yes, hello ... this is Jimmy Carter. I would like to request a mass please."
"Jimmy Carter? OK. [Pause] And what is the name of the individual you're requesting a mass for?"
"George Bush."
"Ah-hah ... ok, we'll let you know."
Well, indeed my colleague is named Jimmy Carter, and he eventually got a call from one of the church leaders telling him that he had the church up in arms over a "Jimmy Carter" calling in to request a mass for "George Bush." Of course, he had to confirm to the secretary that indeed there was a Jimmy Carter in their congregation, and that this was not a prank call!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Day 4
Mom's birthday. I won't reveal her age! But Happy Birthday, Helen Bush!
The CT scan is becoming something we hinge on ... determining where we are in the process. Today's CT scan shows marginal improvement in the swelling. They decided to try diuretics and another medication to help reduce the swelling. Mom said that it looks like he's got more fluid output today, so the medications must be doing their job. We won't know for sure until the next scan.
He is a little more mobile today ... raising his knees in the bed and lowering them. He's turned his head from side to side, and even opens his eyes slightly every now and then. Mom said she turned on the TV to give her something to watch. He also raises his hand every now and then. Mom said she would hold it and rub it to keep it warm.
They introduced a feeding tube today to help start him back on sustenance in his stomach. Probably a good thing, since more fluids are being removed. Mom is maintaining a balance between being at the hospital all day and keeping up with her "little job" of bookkeeping, which she loves and shows great dedication for. We're praying for great news from tomorrow's CT scan.
Looking forward, Dad will eventually be moved out into a room on the 7th floor but outside the NCCU. Then he will go into rehab, which will either be inpatient on the 5th floor, or outpatient, hopefully at the St. Mary's facility on 316 much nearer to Mom and Dad's house. We're praying that it all passes by quickly!
(Ed Note: This brings us up to the present, so the entries will now be written more closely with the time at which it happens. Feel free to use the "comments" link below if you have any questions. We'll try to answer them the best way we know how. Thanks!)
The CT scan is becoming something we hinge on ... determining where we are in the process. Today's CT scan shows marginal improvement in the swelling. They decided to try diuretics and another medication to help reduce the swelling. Mom said that it looks like he's got more fluid output today, so the medications must be doing their job. We won't know for sure until the next scan.
He is a little more mobile today ... raising his knees in the bed and lowering them. He's turned his head from side to side, and even opens his eyes slightly every now and then. Mom said she turned on the TV to give her something to watch. He also raises his hand every now and then. Mom said she would hold it and rub it to keep it warm.
They introduced a feeding tube today to help start him back on sustenance in his stomach. Probably a good thing, since more fluids are being removed. Mom is maintaining a balance between being at the hospital all day and keeping up with her "little job" of bookkeeping, which she loves and shows great dedication for. We're praying for great news from tomorrow's CT scan.
Looking forward, Dad will eventually be moved out into a room on the 7th floor but outside the NCCU. Then he will go into rehab, which will either be inpatient on the 5th floor, or outpatient, hopefully at the St. Mary's facility on 316 much nearer to Mom and Dad's house. We're praying that it all passes by quickly!
(Ed Note: This brings us up to the present, so the entries will now be written more closely with the time at which it happens. Feel free to use the "comments" link below if you have any questions. We'll try to answer them the best way we know how. Thanks!)
Monday, August 27, 2007
Day 3
The third day is one of the first days that swelling periods tend to peak after an injury. Dad's CT scan was good and bad. Good in the sense that he wasn't worse, but bad in the sense that he wasn't much improved. The swelling (which was apparently still building slightly) had basically backfilled the void area from the blood clot removal. Thank goodness we had elected for the surgery, so the ongoing swelling was prevented from causing more damage.
Otherwise, it was a pretty quiet day again. They decided to add a central line in his chest, as one of the IV lines was leaking and was considered "lost" in his left hand.
The charge nurse in the NCCU is very knowledgeable and comforting. She indicated that Dad showed "purposeful actions" which I think is what she called it. Instead of random movements, it was evident that he was moving his left hand up to try and pull out his tube. To me, another good sign! He's aware of something foreign and he wants to have it out. But not just yet ... we have to get by the swelling.
For me, I tried to wrap up things a bit as I needed to get back to Atlanta for training and a followup visit at the eye doctor. Mom was still as resilient as ever, indicating if someone could get her to the hospital in the mornings and take her home at night, she was fine. I gave her an early birthday present (which was coming up on the 28th) and told Dad I'd be back later.
From what I understand, the day finished up about the same as it started ... fairly quiet.
Otherwise, it was a pretty quiet day again. They decided to add a central line in his chest, as one of the IV lines was leaking and was considered "lost" in his left hand.
The charge nurse in the NCCU is very knowledgeable and comforting. She indicated that Dad showed "purposeful actions" which I think is what she called it. Instead of random movements, it was evident that he was moving his left hand up to try and pull out his tube. To me, another good sign! He's aware of something foreign and he wants to have it out. But not just yet ... we have to get by the swelling.
For me, I tried to wrap up things a bit as I needed to get back to Atlanta for training and a followup visit at the eye doctor. Mom was still as resilient as ever, indicating if someone could get her to the hospital in the mornings and take her home at night, she was fine. I gave her an early birthday present (which was coming up on the 28th) and told Dad I'd be back later.
From what I understand, the day finished up about the same as it started ... fairly quiet.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Day 2
Dad was moved from ICU to the NCCU, or Neuro Critical Care Unit. He would have normally gone here from the get-go, but he would have been the only patient in NCCU at the time (praise God!) So they had closed the NCCU and shifted Dad and the NCCU staff down to ICU to help there, which was also slow (another praise.) But there were two neuro surgery patients coming into the NCCU later in the week, and the ICU was getting busy, so they moved Dad from the 4th floor to the 7th floor. I was personally very pleased. St. Mary's has a 5-bed NCCU, with highly-trained staff and a recognized center of excellence for neurological care. It as also much more bright and just had a more pleasant feel to it (as much as any hospital can). We found out that it used to be the pediatrics ward, so that explained the colorful hearts on the wallpaper borders and all the bright colors. Dad has a large set of windows, which is also more uplifting.
The CT scan early that day showed that the swelling was increasing. I'm speaking from memory and a lack of medical knowledge, but I believe I recall that we went from a 3mm offset shift to a 7mm offset shift (where no shift at all is preferred). The blood clot and swelling were pushing farther into the brain, closing off some of the open areas on the interior of the brain and creating a dangerous situation.
Dad was also not quite as responsive as he had been. He was mumbling more, and seemed groggier than ever. Dr. Semenoff stopped by to tell us that after consulting with the radiologist, they recommended that we go ahead with surgery to remove the blood clot, which would release the pressure and give the brain some room. The surgery itself carried some risk with it, but it was overshadowed by the risk of continuing to "wait and see" and risking additional swelling which could cause much more of an urgent and critical situation in getting him into an operating room. We agreed that the proactive stance was best. It was nearing lunchtime, so Dr. Semenoff said he was going to grab a quick bite to eat while Dad was being prepped for surgery. If all went well, he'd be back in his room around 3 p.m. Amazing.
And sure enough, Dr. Semenoff dropped by to see us in the surgery waiting room to tell us that Dad came through the surgery fine and would be heading back to his room. He was going to keep him on the respirator and sedated for at least the evening to keep his blood pressure in check, to avoid him becoming agitated, and give him a chance to heal. If the swelling started to subside, we could look at getting him off the respirator. That was great news.
We were totally amazed at his surgical area. They basically shaved off only a portion of his hair toward his left ear, and where I expected to see a mass of bandages, there was just about a 4-inch long strip of what looked like packing tape layered over the site. That's all??? Wow ... medicine has certainly come a long way. The had performed what's called a craniotomy ... creating a bone flap from the skull to remove the blood clot. Thank God for blessing some folks with the gift of surgery skills!
The remainder of Sunday was pretty uneventful. Dad was sedated fairly well. Veda (Chip's wife) came by to visit and ensure that I was taking a break to eat lunch. As we were leaving Sunday evening, Dad had a "coughing fit" which isn't really coughing with a ventilator tube in your throat. But that's what Dad was trying to do. It looked horrible ... as if he was choking. The nurse came in very quickly, as the respirator stopped (since Dad's body was basically fighting it's mechanism while trying to cough). She was very calm and worked with the respirator, and attempted to calm Dad down. She upped his sedative to help bring him back down some, and suctioned out his mouth a little. It was very frightening to see, but she assured us that it was a normal thing. In my mind, it had to be a good sign that Dad's body was trying to do what it would normally do if encountering a foreign object in the airways.
Once he was settled back down, we left him in the care of the NCCU staff for the night. Skeeter, Bucky and Betsy came over to Mom and Dad's house with chicken, mac & cheese, and some of the best green beans I've ever had. Despite everything, we enjoyed some time with our family around the dinner table and kept our spirits up with funny stories.
The CT scan early that day showed that the swelling was increasing. I'm speaking from memory and a lack of medical knowledge, but I believe I recall that we went from a 3mm offset shift to a 7mm offset shift (where no shift at all is preferred). The blood clot and swelling were pushing farther into the brain, closing off some of the open areas on the interior of the brain and creating a dangerous situation.
Dad was also not quite as responsive as he had been. He was mumbling more, and seemed groggier than ever. Dr. Semenoff stopped by to tell us that after consulting with the radiologist, they recommended that we go ahead with surgery to remove the blood clot, which would release the pressure and give the brain some room. The surgery itself carried some risk with it, but it was overshadowed by the risk of continuing to "wait and see" and risking additional swelling which could cause much more of an urgent and critical situation in getting him into an operating room. We agreed that the proactive stance was best. It was nearing lunchtime, so Dr. Semenoff said he was going to grab a quick bite to eat while Dad was being prepped for surgery. If all went well, he'd be back in his room around 3 p.m. Amazing.
And sure enough, Dr. Semenoff dropped by to see us in the surgery waiting room to tell us that Dad came through the surgery fine and would be heading back to his room. He was going to keep him on the respirator and sedated for at least the evening to keep his blood pressure in check, to avoid him becoming agitated, and give him a chance to heal. If the swelling started to subside, we could look at getting him off the respirator. That was great news.
We were totally amazed at his surgical area. They basically shaved off only a portion of his hair toward his left ear, and where I expected to see a mass of bandages, there was just about a 4-inch long strip of what looked like packing tape layered over the site. That's all??? Wow ... medicine has certainly come a long way. The had performed what's called a craniotomy ... creating a bone flap from the skull to remove the blood clot. Thank God for blessing some folks with the gift of surgery skills!
The remainder of Sunday was pretty uneventful. Dad was sedated fairly well. Veda (Chip's wife) came by to visit and ensure that I was taking a break to eat lunch. As we were leaving Sunday evening, Dad had a "coughing fit" which isn't really coughing with a ventilator tube in your throat. But that's what Dad was trying to do. It looked horrible ... as if he was choking. The nurse came in very quickly, as the respirator stopped (since Dad's body was basically fighting it's mechanism while trying to cough). She was very calm and worked with the respirator, and attempted to calm Dad down. She upped his sedative to help bring him back down some, and suctioned out his mouth a little. It was very frightening to see, but she assured us that it was a normal thing. In my mind, it had to be a good sign that Dad's body was trying to do what it would normally do if encountering a foreign object in the airways.
Once he was settled back down, we left him in the care of the NCCU staff for the night. Skeeter, Bucky and Betsy came over to Mom and Dad's house with chicken, mac & cheese, and some of the best green beans I've ever had. Despite everything, we enjoyed some time with our family around the dinner table and kept our spirits up with funny stories.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Day 1
Saturday is often a Game Day in Athens, and Dad is known to many as one of the biggest UGA fans. I guess in a way, it was good that he was admitted to St. Mary's ... the official hospital of the University of Georgia Athletic Association.
The CT scan conducted around 5 a.m. showed signs of additional swelling, pushing on some of the open areas deep inside the brain. While not uncommon, we were hoping the swelling would be minimal. The other spots of blood that had been dotted about the brain scans had dissapated, which was good. But one mass had "coagulated" or concentrated itself in the left frontal lobe, the area opposite the impact. This (and any other signs of swelling or edema) would be what we were watching for. At this stage, the doctor suggested we just keep an eye out and reassess with the CT scan the following morning.
Dad continued to answer questions when asked, but never seemed quite awake. But he continued to show signs of "George" that we all know and love. He would yawn every now and then with the trademark yawn, which you'll have to hear sometime if you're not familiar with it. We had actually put his hearing aids back in his ears, and those frequently give out a squeal if they get in a tight spot, such as between the ear and a pillow. Dad would respond, even with his eyes closed, by raising up and tapping his ear with his finger and readjusting the hearing aid to stop the squealing. At one point, Mom said he even opened his eyes, took it out of his ear, looked at the pads on it, opened the battery compartment, then closed it back and put it back in his ear. All great signs of fine motor skills that were still intact.
At one point in time during one of his Q&A sessions with the nurse, she asked him, "Who is the president of the United States?" We were confident he would get this one! But he responded, "Jimmy." We looked at each other. "Jimmy who?" she asked. He paused a second, eyes still closed, and said, "Jimmy Escoe." We could only grin at each other ... Jimmy Escoe is Mom's brother. We concluded that when we called him with the news about Dad, that we would have to also let him know he had been promoted to president. But the nurse reassured us that getting the answers totally correct was not the big goal ... the fact that he could be aroused to answer questions was a good sign, and what they were looking for. They kept him on oxygen, a saline IV for fluids, and the blood pressure medication. They also gave him some Pepcid via IV to help control the acid in his empty stomach.
Dad was primarily groggy the majority of the day ... letting out a sigh or a "Mercy" every now and then. Sometimes he would roll to one side or the other, then finally settle on his back and fold his hands together on his chest, as if he was giving in to being uncomfortable. We would put his glasses on when he opened his eyes so he could see, and we encouraged the nurses to call him "Irvin" as a way to offer something familiar to him from his family and friends who called him that for a number of years.
The bed would inflate every now and then to encourage him to roll one way or the other. At one point, the entire side of the bed looked like one big bubble and he was all the way against the opposite rail, looking less than appreciative of the mattress encouragement to move. The nurse felt that he was moving around enough on his own to warrant taking the air mattress off the "rotation" function.
Here's a good spot to comment on Mom ... she's been a solid rock throughout the entire process. She listens intently to the doctor and nurses, taking action based on recommendations, always commenting that we need to do what's best for "Irv," and comes across as calm as can be ... finding all the positive steps and signs along the way. Skeeter and I are both in amazement at our Mom for her strength and faith, and we just follow her lead.
The CT scan conducted around 5 a.m. showed signs of additional swelling, pushing on some of the open areas deep inside the brain. While not uncommon, we were hoping the swelling would be minimal. The other spots of blood that had been dotted about the brain scans had dissapated, which was good. But one mass had "coagulated" or concentrated itself in the left frontal lobe, the area opposite the impact. This (and any other signs of swelling or edema) would be what we were watching for. At this stage, the doctor suggested we just keep an eye out and reassess with the CT scan the following morning.
Dad continued to answer questions when asked, but never seemed quite awake. But he continued to show signs of "George" that we all know and love. He would yawn every now and then with the trademark yawn, which you'll have to hear sometime if you're not familiar with it. We had actually put his hearing aids back in his ears, and those frequently give out a squeal if they get in a tight spot, such as between the ear and a pillow. Dad would respond, even with his eyes closed, by raising up and tapping his ear with his finger and readjusting the hearing aid to stop the squealing. At one point, Mom said he even opened his eyes, took it out of his ear, looked at the pads on it, opened the battery compartment, then closed it back and put it back in his ear. All great signs of fine motor skills that were still intact.
At one point in time during one of his Q&A sessions with the nurse, she asked him, "Who is the president of the United States?" We were confident he would get this one! But he responded, "Jimmy." We looked at each other. "Jimmy who?" she asked. He paused a second, eyes still closed, and said, "Jimmy Escoe." We could only grin at each other ... Jimmy Escoe is Mom's brother. We concluded that when we called him with the news about Dad, that we would have to also let him know he had been promoted to president. But the nurse reassured us that getting the answers totally correct was not the big goal ... the fact that he could be aroused to answer questions was a good sign, and what they were looking for. They kept him on oxygen, a saline IV for fluids, and the blood pressure medication. They also gave him some Pepcid via IV to help control the acid in his empty stomach.
Dad was primarily groggy the majority of the day ... letting out a sigh or a "Mercy" every now and then. Sometimes he would roll to one side or the other, then finally settle on his back and fold his hands together on his chest, as if he was giving in to being uncomfortable. We would put his glasses on when he opened his eyes so he could see, and we encouraged the nurses to call him "Irvin" as a way to offer something familiar to him from his family and friends who called him that for a number of years.
The bed would inflate every now and then to encourage him to roll one way or the other. At one point, the entire side of the bed looked like one big bubble and he was all the way against the opposite rail, looking less than appreciative of the mattress encouragement to move. The nurse felt that he was moving around enough on his own to warrant taking the air mattress off the "rotation" function.
Here's a good spot to comment on Mom ... she's been a solid rock throughout the entire process. She listens intently to the doctor and nurses, taking action based on recommendations, always commenting that we need to do what's best for "Irv," and comes across as calm as can be ... finding all the positive steps and signs along the way. Skeeter and I are both in amazement at our Mom for her strength and faith, and we just follow her lead.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Day "Zero"
Dad was doing something he really enjoyed: mowing. He is always one to work hard and diligently, and this day was like many other days he had encountered.
He had been mowing about an hour and a half, and Mom was keeping an eye on him. She noticed he had put the mower away and was milling about. So she decided to step out and encourage him to take a break for the morning.
Once she got outside, she found him collapsed by the side of his pickup truck lying on his right side. Dad has been known to lie down when he gets winded or "overdoes" it as Mom would say, but she realized it was something else when he really didn't respond.
I would have to let Mom and/or Skeeter fill in any additional details here, but the neighbor across the street happened to see Dad sway a bit next to the truck before collapsing. At this stage, everyone felt it was heat exhaustion, but even as first responders arrived at the scene, they needed to be sure it was not related to the heart or something like an aneurysm. Dad was disoriented and confused.
When one of the EMTs asked Dad if he knew what his name was, Skeeter leaned over to the ambulance driver and commented, "If he says 'George Bush,' he's not delirious. That's really the truth!"
(Ed. Note ... along the way during this blog, we may include some comments that are funny in nature, and this is not to minimize what is happening. It's just part of everyone's healing process, and we identify with both the difficult and the humorous aspects of our journey.)
Mom noticed he had a pretty good knot on the back righthand side of his head, along with some abrasion from the concrete driveway, so she alerted the responder team. They loaded him up on the ambulance and made their way to St. Mary's Hospital in Athens with Skeeter following closely behind. I got word from Skeeter what was going on, and immediately left work to drive over to Athens.
I won't go into much detail regarding the ER, but to say that Dad had some attempts at getting his CT scans completed to determine what was happening inside his head. Our attending neurosurgeon was Dr. David Semenoff, and he eventually stopped by to talk with us. His initial prognosis was scarier than just heat exhaustion and a bump on the head.
Basically, he told us that Dad had suffered a traumatic brain injury, or TBI. When he fell and hit the back of his head, the brain "rebounded" toward the opposite side of the skull, affecting the right frontal lobe. Blood was pooling in this area, along with minor spots scattered elsewhere. The next three to four days would be critical to watch for swelling and to see how he responded. They would conduct regular CT scans to monitor the injury. Dr. Semenoff is very kind, but also very experienced, and he was open and honest. Injuries like this covered the spectrum, resulting in anything from a fantastic recovery or death and all spots in between.
So we began praying for the best as they prepared to admit him into the ICU. He would be on fluids and medication to keep his blood pressure (and any resulting pressure in his skull) low. They would regularly wake him up to check and see that he was responsive, asking him a set of questions and offering up simple commands such as wiggling his toes or sticking his tongue out. He knew who he was, and he recognized all of us and could name us. He knew his complete phone number, his birthday, but was confused on the actual date and year. On this day (which we call Day 0), he thought the year was 1987.
They gave him some morphine in his IV drip to help with the pain, and as many TBI patients do, he drifted in and out of sleep.
The hospital is already experiencing the "George Bush" phenomenon ... when I stopped by the Information Desk to find out where Dad was located, I asked about locating a patient. The volunteer turned to his computer monitor and asked, "What's the last name?" I replied, "Bush." He typed that in, scanned the results, and his eyes got really big when he asked back, "George Bush??" I grinned and said, "That would be correct." And he sent me on my way, laughing with his other volunteers at the prospect of having George Bush in their hospital.
Skeeter and I were tagged as the "Bush Brothers" by the ICU staff, where they asked us if we had the recipe for the baked beans and if we had Duke with us. For those of you who don't know, there is a brand of baked beans using our last name. =8^]
He had been mowing about an hour and a half, and Mom was keeping an eye on him. She noticed he had put the mower away and was milling about. So she decided to step out and encourage him to take a break for the morning.
Once she got outside, she found him collapsed by the side of his pickup truck lying on his right side. Dad has been known to lie down when he gets winded or "overdoes" it as Mom would say, but she realized it was something else when he really didn't respond.
I would have to let Mom and/or Skeeter fill in any additional details here, but the neighbor across the street happened to see Dad sway a bit next to the truck before collapsing. At this stage, everyone felt it was heat exhaustion, but even as first responders arrived at the scene, they needed to be sure it was not related to the heart or something like an aneurysm. Dad was disoriented and confused.
When one of the EMTs asked Dad if he knew what his name was, Skeeter leaned over to the ambulance driver and commented, "If he says 'George Bush,' he's not delirious. That's really the truth!"
(Ed. Note ... along the way during this blog, we may include some comments that are funny in nature, and this is not to minimize what is happening. It's just part of everyone's healing process, and we identify with both the difficult and the humorous aspects of our journey.)
Mom noticed he had a pretty good knot on the back righthand side of his head, along with some abrasion from the concrete driveway, so she alerted the responder team. They loaded him up on the ambulance and made their way to St. Mary's Hospital in Athens with Skeeter following closely behind. I got word from Skeeter what was going on, and immediately left work to drive over to Athens.
I won't go into much detail regarding the ER, but to say that Dad had some attempts at getting his CT scans completed to determine what was happening inside his head. Our attending neurosurgeon was Dr. David Semenoff, and he eventually stopped by to talk with us. His initial prognosis was scarier than just heat exhaustion and a bump on the head.
Basically, he told us that Dad had suffered a traumatic brain injury, or TBI. When he fell and hit the back of his head, the brain "rebounded" toward the opposite side of the skull, affecting the right frontal lobe. Blood was pooling in this area, along with minor spots scattered elsewhere. The next three to four days would be critical to watch for swelling and to see how he responded. They would conduct regular CT scans to monitor the injury. Dr. Semenoff is very kind, but also very experienced, and he was open and honest. Injuries like this covered the spectrum, resulting in anything from a fantastic recovery or death and all spots in between.
So we began praying for the best as they prepared to admit him into the ICU. He would be on fluids and medication to keep his blood pressure (and any resulting pressure in his skull) low. They would regularly wake him up to check and see that he was responsive, asking him a set of questions and offering up simple commands such as wiggling his toes or sticking his tongue out. He knew who he was, and he recognized all of us and could name us. He knew his complete phone number, his birthday, but was confused on the actual date and year. On this day (which we call Day 0), he thought the year was 1987.
They gave him some morphine in his IV drip to help with the pain, and as many TBI patients do, he drifted in and out of sleep.
The hospital is already experiencing the "George Bush" phenomenon ... when I stopped by the Information Desk to find out where Dad was located, I asked about locating a patient. The volunteer turned to his computer monitor and asked, "What's the last name?" I replied, "Bush." He typed that in, scanned the results, and his eyes got really big when he asked back, "George Bush??" I grinned and said, "That would be correct." And he sent me on my way, laughing with his other volunteers at the prospect of having George Bush in their hospital.
Skeeter and I were tagged as the "Bush Brothers" by the ICU staff, where they asked us if we had the recipe for the baked beans and if we had Duke with us. For those of you who don't know, there is a brand of baked beans using our last name. =8^]
Thursday, August 23, 2007
NEW: DAD IS HOME!
Dad is now home!
Visiting hours on Lane Creek Drive are more relaxed than at the hospital. ;-)
Please just call before coming (706-769-1380) to be sure someone is home. Dad has out-patient rehabilitation appointments and just catching up with "stuff."
1611 Lane Creek Drive
Bishop, GA 30621
Dad's email address is: gibushjr@yahoo.com
Visiting hours on Lane Creek Drive are more relaxed than at the hospital. ;-)
Please just call before coming (706-769-1380) to be sure someone is home. Dad has out-patient rehabilitation appointments and just catching up with "stuff."
1611 Lane Creek Drive
Bishop, GA 30621
Dad's email address is: gibushjr@yahoo.com
The Bush Family
The blog has spread to so many people, including some who we have not been in contact for years and some who we perhaps have not had a chance to even meet! Here is a photo (above) taken of us this past Christmas. We stayed on Tybee Island for a family wedding in the Savannah area.
This was a family portrait from the Bush reunion in August.
Back (L to R): Bucky, Chip, Dad, & Skeeter
Front (L to R): Veda, Chaz, Mom, Amy, Betsy, & Leah
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