Sometimes You Know Too Much

I know that not everyone will understand why I share so much of our lives, often in personal detail. There are many reasons, first...I process by writing. It is therapeutic for me to put proverbial pen to paper and silence the noise in my head by getting it out into a tangible format. Second, I have always believed that when we hide the messy, sad, even embarrasing parts of our lives, we are doing a disservice to others. We did not get to all the good in our lives by walking easy roads. The most beautiful and interesting people are the ones who have endured pain. Those who have risen from the depths and constructed their broken pieces into a beautiful mosaic...full of color, a few sharp edges...but ultimately a masterpiece we call life. These are the reasons I share. 

In this case I also share to document for Jon the days he lost. He has said multiple times that he is most disturbed by the fact that he just lost 4 days of his life. He has no recollection of the sequence of events that took place before he opened his eyes in the ICU with a breathing tube down his throat....so truly, this is for him. 

 In the moment you don't always realize that the decision you are making is a life altering one. To make or not make the choice would set you down two very distinct, and vastly different, paths. My decision to call 911, for the first time in my adult life, was such a moment. Now, this may seem obvious to many...but to a seasoned ICU nurse, this decision was difficult...let me explain. 

 Jon had tested positive for COVID about a week prior to that fateful call. I had just returned from my usual week of work in Las Vegas. He didn't feel terribe, but my Monday he was pretty fatigued and his ear was hurting. By Wednesday that earache had escalated and now included a brutal headache. The ear was also leaking fluid so we took him to the hospital, got some fluid since he was also febrible, and had his ear looked at. They said it was ruptured and he was given drops to treat it. Nothing seemed too amiss otherwise. By Friday morning he seemed to be doing well and even went on some holiday errands without me to grab some more gifts. He came home just as I was about to head out to a 1530 appointement. I told him I'd pick up Asher and that he should meet me nearby with Jackson so the boys could see Santa. He agreed. 

 I arrived to the Santa location at 1730 and called him to see when he was coming with Jackson. He said he had a 10/10 headache and wasn't coming. I brushed it off then as he tends towards the dramatic at times (can we say man flu??) and called my mom to bring Jackson instead. Both boys had a great time and I we returned home about an hour later. I found him in bed, lights off, with his hands over his face. He said he had a terrible migraine. I asked what he had taken and he said he wasn't sure. So I gathered all the meds to make sure I knew what he was getting. We tried many tricks to get this "migraine" to go away. He never complained of stiffness in his neck, only of typical migraine signs. He was lucid, despite being in pain, and nothing really triggered me to feel like he needed to be seen at the hospital. He ended up settling a bit and we agreed I should sleep in the office so I didn't disturb him too much. 

 I woke up early the next morning around 0400 as I was restless and a little worried about him. I went in to see him and he woke up, said his head still hurt, and I helped him to the bathroom. He was still lucid and making sense, and was fairly similar to the night before. I gave him some more meds, hoping it would finally solve the problem. I told him if this didn't clear up soon we'd need to go in, he agreed. I continued to check on him hourly, just speaking to him a little to ensure he'd wake up and see if he needed anything. He was clear and answering me appropriately...until he suddenly wasn't. 

 At 1050 I walked into our room and told him that it was nearly 1100 and he should probably get up and dressed so we could go into the hospital. He didn't respond. I shook him a bit and he stirred but still didn't answer. I turned on the lights and shook him harder. He opened his eyes and looked about me but didn't answer. I then rubbed his sternum and asked him what day it was. After a few attempts he finally answered me..."Tuesday"...it was Saturday. I then called my best friend's husband, Brian, as he's an ED physician. He didn't answer, so I called his wife, a former ED nurse. I kept her on the phone with me as I continued to attempt to assess him. I noticed he was also drenched in sweat, unlike earlier in the day. I called my son into the room and we tried to sit him up. He was able to sit up briefly but then laid back down. I told Shanne to run to our neighbors house to see if they were home as the husband is also a CrossFit guy and I knew he'd be able to help me lift him. I called Jon's brother, Jamie, and gave him a brief rundown of what was happening and to meet us at the hospital, that I'd update him as I knew more. Shanne quickly said they didn't answer the door so I called our other neighbor. The phone rang 3 times with no answer and in that moment I decided to call 911. While I had been on the phone with his brother I had asked him his name...he mumbled a response that was absolutely not consistent with anything sounding remotely like Jon. I knew then that something was terribly terribly wrong. 

As I walked through the triage with the dispatcher I remained calm. I knew his symptoms were not consistent with a stoke as they were focal and not unilateral. Besides his clear fever his oxygen saturation and heart rate were normal. Nothing else was clearly wrong. The medics arrived and began their assessment. His temperature was over 103 degrees at this point. I told them that he was A & O x 0. In medical terms this simply means he did not know who he is, where he is, or when it is. They continued to assess him and told me that they were getting the ambulance to come out. Since we live in a more rural area, the fire engine team is closer and has paramedics staffed. Now they were activating the medical side. 

When the ambulance team arrived the paramedic who had been working with Jon gave a brief report to his colleague. He stated, "I don't know if he can't answer or he just doesn't want to because he feels crappy." I was shocked, I KNOW my husband. If he knew I'd called 911 he would have perked up immediately and done anything to not be transported via ambulance. He was completely unaware of what was happening around him at this point and was no longer responding at all. I spoke up and told them that he COULDN'T answer them. They then tried to get him to stand up to get on the gurney, it was a complete failure. He wouldn't even sit up anymore. It took 6 men to get him onto the gurney. Six. There is no way I would have been able to do that alone. 

 During this I had called my village and my good friend, Britt, came to get my boys. They had been sheltered in their sister's room in the back of the house and were completely unaware of the drama unfolding. When Britt arrived we closed our bedroom door and quickly took them down the hall, they didn't see anything and had no idea why there was an ambulance and fire truck in our driveway...but man did they think that was cool! I was still holding it together at this point, likely in shock, but I said bye to them and handed them off to Britt. My mom had also been sick so I knew she wouldn't be able to care for them well and I also didn't want them to notice daddy and mommy were suddenly gone. I'm so thankful that I have a village...this was only the beginning of how they all showed up... 

 I wasn't allowed to ride in the ambulance, so Shanne and I followed in my car. My brother-in-law was already at the hospital by the time we arrived. We checked into the security area and were told to wait while they settled him in a room. It seemed like an eternity before they came and got me. Only one person at a time was allowed in to see him...so each time I went in, I was alone. 

When I first saw him I noticed his lack of color. As a nurse, especially an ICU nurse, we use all 5 of our senses to assess patients. Now that I was in a hospital setting, my brain flipped instantly into nurse mode. Taking in his color, skin temperature, facial expressions, vital signs, body movements, sounds, breathing rate, depth, and rhythm...all of it...simultaneously. I didn't like what my assessment was telling me. He was very agitated and moving constantly. They were trying to get blood from him and he was swinging his arm wildly. I jumped in to help and held him down as the tech drew blood. He was able to wrestle away from me and the needle flew across the room. Thankfully no one was hurt and they were able to get what they needed. The doctor came in to speak to me quickly and told me what they were doing. Giving fluids, attempting to get his temperature down (which was now 104 degrees rectally), getting labs, and we were going to go to get a CT of his head. They asked if I could go to help keep him calm. I agreed.

I sat there with him, wrestling with him constantly so he'd keep his monitors on, not hurt anyone around him, and not hurt himself. My brain was having a hard time trying to process what was happening as I've done this hundreds of times with strangers...but this wasn't a stranger...this was my husband. My husband who hit me in his failing and had absolutely no clue who I was. It was so surreal...and it was only the beginning. 

 We went to CT without much incident, I insisted they strap him onto the table to keep him safe. We quickly got the results and there was nothing there...only some sinusitis (which he'd been dealing with weeks prior). This was reassuring and also maddening, as it meant we still had no answers. His labs had come back without much information either...nothing was too out of the ordinary there either. The doctor and I then spoke and it was decided they'd do a lumbar puncture. He suggested we sedate him as he'd likely fight them during the procedure. I agreed. 

I signed the consents and Jamie came to see him before we had to step out for them to complete the test. It felt like another eternity before they were done and I was let back in. When I saw him this time by stomach dropped. He looked terrible. Every siren was going off in my brain. I quickly looked at his nurse and told her, "he needs to be intubated." She said, "I know." I knew he needed the support of the ventilator soon. He was breathing so fast, working so hard to keep up with the demands of his body. His temp was now well over 105 degrees as well and they were trying to cool him down quickly...which is uncomfortable at best. They placed ice cold pads all over his core and upper legs and cooled them down to 5 degrees Celsius. Jon HATES being cold on a good day and I knew this was added torture to him. 

It wasn't long before I was told the culprit...bacterial meningitis. In that moment I knew this was much much more serious then we all originally thought. The ICU doctor was already involved and they knew he'd ultimately end up there once a bed became available. They moved him to the critical area of the ED and placed him on the ventilator and placed a large IV into his neck so they could give him all the medications he needed. 

When I came back in I felt beyond helpless. His eyes looked dry and were weeping so I asked for a washcloth so I could clean them. The nurse gave me one and left the room. I wet it with warm water and began to clean his eyes. First the right eye, it was red and irritated, but otherwise normal. Then the left eye. I lifted the lid and immediately my heart sank...his pupil was covering his entire eye. In medical speak, his pupil had blown. This is a very very bad sign. I frantically went from right eye to left eye to right eye and back. Checking again and again...saying "no no no no no no" over and over again out loud. Praying I was wrong. I wasn't. I ran into the hallway and started yelling for the team. They all came in and assessed his eye and agreed. They gave emergency medications to bring down the swelling and attempt to save his brain. The neurologist came and assessed him and then spoke to me. He discussed the plan and let me know they were also going to get an MRI once he was more sedated. He didn't have other deficits in his limbs, just the pupil at that point, so we didn't need another CT. I asked the neuro doc to be honest with me, how bad was this. He paused, took a breath, and said, "this is very very bad." 

 As he walked out of the room I started shaking violently, I took my phone out of my pocket and called my mom. I think in these moments...these incomprehensible moments...we all just want our moms. I'm not sure she could understand me. I sobbed the sobs of a women who knew the love of her life was dying. A women who didn't know how to face the next moment in front of her. I sobbed the sobs that I've heard many times in my career...and they never cease to rock me to my core. I heard those sobs and when I realized they were my own...I just sank deeper into them. 

 I walked out of the room...outside...and collapsed as soon as I saw Jamie. My world was falling apart, and now I had to tell him too. Between sobs I told him what the neurologist had said. Additionally, they were consulting neurosurgery to see if he needed to go to the OR and have a drain placed to monitor the pressure as well as drain excess fluid. 

During all of this one of my best friends, Alli, and my daughter had arrived. They were surrounding me with love, in the midst of their own pain. Jamie was a rock...literally and figuratively holding me up as his world was also crumbling. He'd go into the room when I needed a break. To see your previously strong husband in that state was rocking me to my core. I was numb and dying inside at the same time. Nothing and everything made sense. I felt only deep pain and a love so strong that I knew...even if he left me on this earthly side...we'd never actually be separated. 

 And I prayed. Every moment I had. Into Jon's ear. Alone in my head. With others in person and on the phone. I prayed. For Jon. For our family. For the medical team. For peace. For strength. Sometimes it was more begging than praying. But all along I spoke to God. I knew only He had control over how this would turn out...whether it was they way I wanted it to, or not...He had it all in His hands. This was a small comfort to me...the only comfort I could find honestly. 

 Eventually Jon was moved to the medical intensive care unit. I was a little more at peace once he was there. Not that I don't love the ED team, but in MICU I was home. It was familiar. He was well sedated now, stable, and there was nothing to do but wait. It was nearing 0300 on Christmas Eve and I knew I needed to go home and attempt to rest. My village had tried to get me to eat...they mostly failed...and I needed to close my eyes. I drove home with Addy in silence. There were no words for the pain and uncertainty we felt. I tried to sleep in our bed, but there was a Jon-sized hole in the bed that felt like a void bigger than I could bear. I ended up on the couch, cuddling with our dogs for comfort. I only managed a little over an hour of rest. I got back up and attempted to do things I knew I should. I showered, I drank a smoothie, and I waited for my boys to come home. When they were dropped off I just told them that daddy was sick and in the hospital...and that he wouldn't be home for Christmas. They didn't ask many questions and were quickly off to play...bless the innocence of youth. I had called his nurse overnight and gotten an update. He was doing well, had gone for the MRI, and we had no real other information. 

 Jamie and I arrived back at the hospital mere hours after we'd left. We were now both allowed into the room...this was such a relief as I could now have support while I was wrestling internally between my nurse and wife brain constantly. At one point during the night I even had to acknowledge that Jon met the triggers for the hospital to call him into Lifesharing...as he could potentially become an organ donor if he continued down this horrid path. Thankfully, Darryl, told me that I could only be 2 things here, a wife, a nurse, or a coordinator...but I couldn't be 3. So I picked wife and nurse alone (that was hard enough). 

 To have that knowledge...to know the implications of what we were facing...to be able to read the signs myself and hear between the lines of what we were being told, and to translate that for our family. It was brutal. It was exhausting. It was surreal. I simply knew too much. Sometimes you just know too much...

That evening, around 1800...as Jamie and I stood in his room holding his hand...he stirred. I said his name loudly and asked him if he heard me. He shook his head yes. I then asked if he knew it was me. He shook his head yes. HE SHOOK HIS HEAD YES. ON PURPOSE. He heard me. He knew me. We weren't out of the woods by any stretch...but was he was in there, Jon was still Jon. He was still my husband. It felt like a weight came off my chest in that moment. 

The rest is not as dramatic. The breathing tube came out the next morning. We now know that the bacteria that caused his meningitis was likely from his sinus infection that went to his ear. They believe that the COVID infection is ultimately what cause it to go into his brain. He'll be getting twice daily antibiotics at home for the next week...luckily he married a nurse.

Jon remembers most things from that point on. He remembers writing notes. He knows CrossFit and his wife saved his life. He knows he's forgetful and is getting better about letting me help him. He's exhausted. Like a to-the-core kind of tired I've never seen from him. But he's home. He's alive. He's going to be ok. He may have lifelong deficits, or he may not. We don't know. But I don't care. He's here.

If you got this far, thank you. Thank you for letting me process my own way. I know this experience will have it's own ramifications on me. I can feel them. It is a heaviness that sits on me...even in this happiness, there is still sadness and pain. I know that a person likely can't go through something like this and not take a while to process and recover. And that goes for both Jon and I. Even though he remembers nothing, he sees my pain and knows what I went through...he feels guilt...sorrow...and an overwhelming feeling of loss. We're working through it all...together. 1% better every day. That's all we're going for.

To every single person who has called, texted, messaged, visited, responded, donated, given us food, love, gift cards...we are absolutely overwhelmed by all the love and support. It has buoyed us, specifically me, in this sadness and will get us through as we move forward. Thank you is not enough, but it's all I'm capable of right now. I love you all. Thank you God for bringing him back to me. I know not everyone gets this chance, I've witnessed it time and time again. I promise I won't waste it.