Written August 27, 2010  9:05 pm

Anita slept through the night breathing spontaneously on her own, with the ventilator connected as backup.  She was somewhat restless in her sleep, and in the morning spiked a fever.  In addition, she showed elevated CO2 and sugar levels, and was very fatigued.  She was administered with a insulin dose to lower her blood sugars, which are a residual impact of the steroid treatment.  She was put on antibiotics to combat a potential lung infection and was put back on the ventilator, to allow her CO2 levels to decrease and for her to get some rest.  Her fever decreased and she slept through the morning/early afternoon.  She perked up in the afternoon and had a round of OT, a visit with son and watched Oprah. She also read some cards and Guest Book wishes, and again requested a Coke!!  She is currently resting and will pass the night breathing with the aid of the ventilator.

I don't remember much from this time.  I do remember wanting a Coke, visits from friends and family and John being there a lot. Here is a part I do remember.....

There is a doctor, a resident, who comes every single morning.  He arrives before the rest of the hospital wakes up.  The hallways are quiet and he always knocks before he enters.  I wonder if he ever gets a day off.  He starts our one sided conversation the same each morning. "Good morning Mrs. Crean."  I keep my eyes closed.  He gently pushes on my arm.  "Mrs. Crean?  Mrs. Crean?"  I open my eyes.  He smiles and rolls the covers up from the bottom of the bed exposing my naked feet.  "Can you feel this?"  He grabs each of my big toes, one at a time. "Can you wiggle your toes?"  I think I smile at him, trying to be polite, but I shake my head side to side in response to his question.  "Are you in any pain?" "Do you need anything?"  I want to say in return, I need a Coke.  I need to breathe, sit-up, talk, eat and walk.  I need to go home to my boys.  The oldest is a senior this year.  He's applying to colleges, finishing up an Eagle Scout project.  The youngest is a junior.  Bright, sensitive kid with his future before him.  Important stuff!  I should be there.  But I just look at this young resident who is not that much older than my boys.  He writes something on his clipboard and squeezes my foot in farewell.

I know he is a student.  I could set my watch by his am greeting each day.  He's prompt, courteous, brief, even when no one is watching him.  I wish he would tell me what he writes on that clipboard or just give me an encouraging word.  He seems stressed.  Medicine is not an exact science.  Not for him and certainly not for me.  His lab coat is always starched and ironed with virgin pens peeking out of the breast pocket.  No teeth marks on them.

I'm sure I'm not a priority patient.  Stable.  Critical.  No change.  Check on her everyday.  Maybe adjust her meds.  Answer her husband's laundry list of questions.  Click the pen, pocket it, and move on.  The staff here is excellent.  I have plenty of time with nothing to do but study them.  I am one of many to them, but to me they are one piece of a small but complex puzzle that is my life.  I am the largest piece struggling to figure out where I fit.  How do I begin to understand this?  Every time my brain starts to grasp a piece of this concept.....I fall asleep.  Again.