I think my job is done here

As I'm sure you've noticed, I've not been posting regularly to this blog anymore. For example, I forgot to tell you that dad was released from the hospital last week! He and Kathy are staying in Reno for a month or so while he does some outpatient rehab and has some doctor's appointments. Dad's voice is really strong and talking on the phone isn't a problem, so if you want to know how he's doing, I suggest you give him a call, or e-mail him. If for some reason you don't know how to reach him, you can e-mail me at sarasama@gmail.com and I'll give you his info.

I'm thinking this will be my last post to this blog, as - fortunately - it's not really needed anymore. I'm happy that some of you found it useful. I found it to be a really nice way of connecting with so many people from so many places over a man that I (for one) respect, love and admire so very much.

Take care, be well, and much love to you all!

Sara

Looking good!

Doing Good

I don't even know what to say on here anymore, because everything's going so well.

I'm here in Reno - Ron, Desmond and I drove up yesterday. Dad is doing so, so good. The trach is totally out, and he no longer needs any oxygen. His voice is still a little husky (or "sexy," as dad is calling it) - he's doing a pretty good Don Corleone impression.

He's eating solid food and taking pills orally. He's getting all his nutrition this way, and they haven't put anything through his G-tube for a few days except some medicine. They'll probably take the G-tube out soon.

His heart rate and blood pressure are maintaining themselves nicely. Sometimes a number will get a little high or a little low, leading the doctors to fine-tune the medication. Overall, they seem quite happy with his vitals.

He's able to get up and get into chairs, and go for little walks in the halls. He even spent 11 minutes on the seated elliptical machine this morning.

They're still talking about releasing him in the next week or so.

Dad now knows about this blog, and I asked him if he wanted to say anything to his "fans." He made a bunch of smartassy comments, so I guess that's a no. Though I know he really appreciates all your love and support and good wishes.

Go dad!

Goodbye to the trach

I'm back at home in San Leandro, and I'll be here until Friday, when we'll go back up to Reno for the weekend. So for now, I get daily updates from Kathy via phone. She says that:

They took dad's trach out today. All the way out! As in, no more trach! The respiratory folks decided that he was doing a great job breathing on his own, so they just popped it out and stuck a bandage on his neck - no stitches required. Dad says he's glad to see the "dog collar" go.

They still aren't letting him eat or drink anything, but hopefully they'll perform another swallow test soon and start letting him eat ice chips, at least. The other day I asked him what he wanted for his first meal, and he said "a tall glass of water." I can't imagine what it must feel like to have no liquids going into your mouth for weeks. Rather unpleasant, I'm guessing.

Dad got to take a shower today for the first time, which made him real happy.

The doctors are very pleased with his progress. The internist mentioned that she's hoping to be able to release dad in the next week or two. Kathy's thinking that they'll get a room at an extended-stay hotel in Reno for a month or so after he's released, so they can be near the doctors and hospitals for appointments.

I'm still astounded by the progress he makes daily. He's one strong dude. Makes me proud.

Happy New Year!

Every day when I walk in to dad's hospital room, I'm amazed by how much better he seems. Every day! It's pretty cool.

They've had him sitting up in a chair for a couple of hours in the morning. Eventually they'll get him up and walking around.

He is able to control his body much more now. He can pretty well maneuver himself around the bed, changing his position to make himself more comfortable. His hands aren't wobbly anymore, and his writing is much improved.

He is completely off the ventilator. They were able to put the speaking valve in his trach, and he's tolerating it well, so he can now talk to us (huzzah!), and his voice is getting stronger. The respiratory therapist is hoping to put a smaller trach in today, cap it, and deliver oxygen through a nasal cannula. If he tolerates that well for 3 days, and if he passes his "swallow test" on Monday, they can take the trach out entirely.

Dad is well aware of what day/month/year it is, but his days and nights are all twisted around. For example, if you tell him it's noon, he's surprised, because to him it feels like it's 5pm. The nurses are going to try to start giving him pain meds at night instead of during the day and see if that helps.

His sense of humor is firmly intact. When the nurse asked him what year it was, he thought for a moment and in mock earnestness replied, "1876?" And then yesterday, Jana called while I was with dad. I told her that he had the speaking valve in and could talk - did she want to hear his voice?

Jana: (nearly in tears) Ohmygod, yes! Dad! Dad, can you hear me?

Sara: (holding phone to dad's ear) Dad, say something to Jana!

Dad: (recognizing his chance to say something deep and meaningful) mmmphaaarghwaddahaddaarghhhhhh

Jana: Dad! What...?

Sara: Aw dad, c'mon, say something nice.

Dad: (further channeling his inner village idiot) oogidaboogidaglibblegarblepfft

Jana: Ha ha ha, aww, I love you too.

Baby steps

All is good here! Dad's doing really well. He is getting frustrated and irritated, which I take to be a great sign of improvement. It's pretty easy to understand why he's feeling that way:

1. He's had open heart surgery, which multiple sources have informed us "feels like an elephant sat on your chest."

2. He's been stuck lying in a bed for weeks, so he's achy and his muscles are tight and he wants to get up and move around way more than the nurses and doctors will allow.

3. He still has the trach in, which his nurse - who had one in her younger years - called "your best friend and worst enemy." She says it's weirdly uncomfortable, and makes you feel like you have to cough at all times.

4. He can't drink or eat because of the trach. He's getting nutrition and fluid through his G-tube, but still.

5. It's difficult for him to communicate. He can't talk with the trach, unless they put a speaking valve in, which they tried to do yesterday but it was too uncomfortable in his throat. (They'll try again today). We've since discovered that we are all really bad at reading lips. He can write and point to alphabet letters, but his hands are still wobbly and don't always do what he wants them to. (They tell us that this will greatly improve over the next few weeks.)

6. He just wants to go home.

I think it's hard for him to see the amazing improvements that he's making every day: yesterday he could hardly hold the pen, today he could. Two days ago he couldn't make a thumbs-up sign, today he did. And cognitively he really seems to be "all-there." He gets my dumb jokes, he can answer any question the nurses throw at him, his memory is good. He seems like himself. Tempest-tossed, but himself nonetheless.

Well Geez Dad, it's about time!

Dad woke up!

This morning I drove back to Reno. As I was checking into the hotel, I got a phone message from Kathy, which went something like, "Sara, this is Kathleen, I'm on my way up to Tahoe to get Gene's hearing aids and glasses, and I have wonderful news - your dad was awake for a solid hour while I was there this morning! He knew who I was, he wanted to know where he was, and he had so many smiles: when I told him you were on your way, when I told him I loved him, when I told him about all of the people who were asking about him and thinking of him, when I told him that Jana and Brian had been here. He even mouthed the word 'wow.'"

I sprinted up to my room, threw my stuff down, and made a beeline for the hospital. Sure enough, when I walked in, dad gave me a big smile. He grabbed my hand and brought it to his mouth to kiss it. When I told him he was in the hospital, he gave me a "what am I, some kind of idiot?" eye roll. Through an elaborate series of charades (he still has the ventilator going, and speech therapy hasn't yet come to evaluate him and give him a speaking valve, so he can't talk yet) I determined that he: (1) did not want water, (2) wanted his wrist restraints off, (3) was not particularly excited that his birthday was tomorrow, (4) wanted to leave the hospital for a warm sandy beach where one might find tan girls in bikinis, and (4) needed to go to the bathroom and could I get the nurse because he did not need my help with that thankyouverymuch.

I suppose there's more to say, but I'm so happy about this sudden turn of events that I can't really think of anything else. So I'll try to post again later tonight.

And hey, thanks for those positive thoughts, good vibes, prayers, buddhist meditations, wiccan chants, etc. It looks like they're doing the job!

Post-Christmas update

The biggest news is that dad's doctors want to remove all sedation, as they are growing more concerned about dad's neuro status and these tremors he's been having (he'll shake his hand back and forth for a while, then his leg, then his other hand, etc.) The doctors stated that the nurses "won't like it" because dad will probably get really agitated, but they think it's necessary in order to properly assess his neurological condition and determine what's triggering the tremors. They gave him his last dose of sedative at noon today, and Kathy was surprised that dad didn't get as squirrely as she thought he might. He was opening his eyes a lot more throughout the day, but was otherwise unresponsive.

The respiratory therapist turned off dad's ventilator today for the first time and had him do 4 hours of breathing on his own. This is good! Kathy says that he seemed like he was gasping, but the therapist said the issue was that dad was only using his lungs, and neglecting his diaphragm and rib muscles. This is not so good, and is another reason why the doctors really want him off the sedative.

The anti-arrhythmia drugs are no longer being given to him via drip. His heart rhythm seems stable, so they are now only giving him those medications orally, on an as-needed basis.

The results from his ultrasound show that his liver is "fatty" and his gallbladder is "sludgy." I'm assuming this has something to do with the massive amount of meds that have been coursing through his system the last few weeks. The doctors don't seem overly concerned, and think it is likely to resolve itself over time.

Finally, dad had some stitches in his throat that were put in with the trach to hold everything in place. They were able to remove those today.

Jana, Brian, Gina and Ken all left yesterday. I'm so grateful that they were all there while I was. Someone once said, "Grief can't be shared. Everyone carries it alone. His own burden in his own way." While I think that's true to an extent, it makes a HUGE difference to know that there are people around who feel for you and with you, who empathize and understand you, and who can hold down the fort when you just can't deal with reality for that minute/hour/day/week. So - thanks you guys.

(By the way, I am no literary genius - I had to Google that quote to remember it exactly. It was Anne Morrow Lindbergh who said it. And she knew a little something about grief... and resilience.)

Vicki and Frank are now in Reno with Kathy, and I'll be going back on Monday.

I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas!

Christmas Eve

Nothing much new to report. Dad's condition seems to be almost exactly the same: heart rate and blood pressure look good, he's on CPAP on the ventilator (meaning he's initiating his own breaths), but he's still very agitated and unresponsive.

He moves around so much, he's starting to get cuts and bruises on his arms and legs from hitting them against things. And he's looking pretty skinny - he's expending so much energy with his constant motion, yet he's not able to take in that much nutrition through his G-tube.

They're going to take him for an ultrasound some time today - his skin is still yellow and his bilirubin is elevated. So they just want to take another look at his gallbladder and liver.

I've been feeling pretty depressed the last few days. Something about the move to the new facility, the apparent stall in progress, and the approach of Christmas is making me want to crawl into a hole. Tonight we're all (Kathy, Ken, Gina, Jana, Brian, me, Ron, Desmond, Lynne) going out to dinner together at the Circus Circus Steakhouse - I'm hoping that will pull me out of my funk.

Tomorrow morning I'm leaving town, but I'll be back Sunday or Monday. I'll be sure to get daily updates from Kathy and post them here.

Happy Christmas Eve everybody. Hope your hearts are light, your Yule-tide is gay, and your troubles are miles away.

One Old, One New

Gene, 1951

Gene, 2008

A New Home

Yesterday they moved dad to Tahoe Pacific Hospital West. They transferred him by ambulance (and I got to ride along, which was neat). His condition is about the same, and they're just trying to find the right mix of medications to keep him comfortable and keep his blood pressure and heart rate down, while at the same time have him be with-it enough to wean him from the ventilator and be more responsive.

Kathy, Jana and I are now staying at the Circus Circus, which is 2 blocks from this new hospital. It's nice to be back in the real world - if that's what you can call the casino-during-the-holidays crowd. At least it provides some diversion. As in: "Look at that girl! How can she walk in those heels?! Why is there an enormous reproduction of an oil derrick in here - what does that have to do with a circus? Wow, could that guy have doused himself with any more cologne?!" etc. etc.

Back to dad. Here's a nice story: the gentleman currently sharing a room with dad had a very similar cardiac incident, and he was also very agitated and unresponsive for quite a while. But today when I walked into the room he was sitting on the edge of his bed, off ventilator, giving his nurse the A-OK sign. His wife was so happy.

Reason to hope!

Monday Night Notes

The G-tube (feeding tube) seems to be working well, and the trach is really clean and well done, so the nurses tell me.

Dad's been on a lot less sedative today, and he is definitely more agitated. Just tonight he's pulled the IV out of his neck and the ventilator tube out of his trach 3 times! But he also seems more alert, and perhaps a bit more responsive. And that's a good thing. It's just hard to watch him struggle.

His blood pressure's been pretty high this evening, probably due to his agitation. But they're keeping an eye on it and trying to manage it with blood pressure meds, as opposed to just sedating him. Another good thing.

Finally, they are talking about moving dad to Tahoe Pacific Hospital West, an "Acute Care Hospital for the Medically Complex Patient." It's located at St. Mary's hospital in downtown Reno, and after touring it today we think it would probably be a good idea to get him over there ASAP. They specialize in post-surgical care, ventilator weaning, and respiratory management, so it seems like a good fit. He may move as early as tomorrow. I'll keep you posted.

Nothing new to report, so I thought I'd share dad's favorite joke. Prepare yourself.

A guy walks into a saloon and goes up to the bartender and begs him for a free drink as he is so thirsty he can barely stand it. The bartender replies, "I'm sorry sir, but I can't give you a free drink otherwise I'd be giving away drinks to everyone."

The thirsty patron replies, "C'mon, I'm really thirsty, you gotta give me a drink!"

The bartender says, "No, sir, I'm sorry, can't do it."

The thirsty patron spies a spittoon sitting in the corner and says, "Well, how 'bout I take a drink outta that spittoon? Then wouldya gimme a drink?"

The bartender, assuming he's pulling his leg, says, "Yeah, sure buddy, whatever."

So, the thirsty patron walks over to this heavy brass spittoon, hoists it up to his mouth and starts chugging the contents noisily.

Alarmed, the bartender exclaims, "Put that down, that's disgusting!"

The patron continues noisily chugging away. The rest of the patrons start getting sick watching him.

The bartender yells, "Put that down, I'll give you your free drink!"

The patron, struggling to keep holding up the spittoon, continues swallowing.

The bartender, now beside himself, yells, "I'll give you 2 free drinks, for the love of God, just put it down!"

The patron continues chugging away. Finally, he lowers the spittoon to the ground and wipes his mouth off.

The bartender yells at him, "What are you, crazy? Why didn't you stop? I said I was going to give you a free drink!"

And the patron replies: "I couldn't. It was one long string."

Blech. Thanks dad.

Notes from Sunday morning

The surgeon's assistant came by, and Kathy asked her about permanent heart damage - she said they would perform an ultrasound to determine the extent of the damage in 4-6 weeks.

Cardiology says his heart looks good and is pumping strongly -at this stage - for what he's gone through. They are still concerned about his slow digestion and his cognitive function, though Dr. Fuller feels like "everything is moving in the right direction."

Dr. Louie - the neurologist - says he "has a feeling that he's in there," it's just going to take a while.

He's still on sedative - whenever they lower it he gets agitated and restless. He has been opening his eyes a bit more, but still is not responding to commands.

Out of surgery

Dad is out of surgery and resting in his room. Everything went smoothly. He's very calm now, as he's still feeling the effects of the anesthesia, which should start to wear off sometime this evening.

It's really nice to see him with all the tubes out of his mouth! He looks so much more like himself. Hopefully he'll be feeling better too.