The last few days have been somewhat frustrating. We've been waiting for the infectious disease specialists to let us know what's going on with Adam. The waiting is hard, but necessary because there are cultures of bacteria sitting in the lab that have to grow or not grow for a few days before anyone can tell if the antibiotics are working.
There have been three different draws of cerebral spinal fluid (csf) since Adam was admitted to the hospital. There will be another one tomorrow. The first sample showed that there was bacteria present in every sample that was taken; from the catheter in his brain, from the wound, and from the csf. The strain of bacteria is klebsiella pneumonae, a superbug. Hard to kill and requiring longer i.v. antibiotic treatment to kill it. The last two samples of csf were clear of bacteria but still showed an elevated white blood count; the good news is it's decreasing. If the sample tomorrow shows a continuing downward trend, Adam can have surgery to replace his shunt system, but I still don't know how long they'll want to treat him before he goes home.
This has been a difficult time for Adam; in and out of the hospital three times since early February; countless blood draws, ct scans, xrays, and the always popular pokes to get an i.v. line. He's lucky when it's only one stick. Tonight he's not lucky. Three attempts and no access. We're waiting for superman or woman to come over from the surgical intensive care unit to give it a try. They have to succeed because he needs it for his medication. It's getting harder and harder because his veins are small and the drugs are caustic and burn them up.
So we wait, hoping it's easier this time and there's no mining for access; they always say it doesn't hurt when they dig but they're on the other end of the needle.
On a more positive note, Adam is feeling better. He's been up and out of bed the last three days, and he's been taking walks around the unit. He was definitely stronger today. He's eating and drinking well, and his usual happy self for most of the day. He wants to go home; I tell him we can't go home yet, and he wants to know why. All I can tell him is that it's because he isn't well yet, and that we'll go home when he is. He accepts this at that moment, but he doesn't like it and asks again in a little while.
The truth is, I want to go home as much as he does. I want to look at the trees getting ready to pop out in bloom. I want to walk around in our house and soak in the peace and the colors. I want to cook for my family and babysit for my grandchildren and put Adam to sleep in his own bed. I want to scratch my cats behind their ears and listen to them purr while they sleep in my lap. I want to visit with my family and go to California to see my new grandson. Most of all, I want to sleep in my own bed with my wonderful husband and hold him close all night long. Soon, I will get to do these things. The waiting is hard.
Adam is talking in his sleep. He says, "I want to go home." Me too, Adam. Me Too.
There have been three different draws of cerebral spinal fluid (csf) since Adam was admitted to the hospital. There will be another one tomorrow. The first sample showed that there was bacteria present in every sample that was taken; from the catheter in his brain, from the wound, and from the csf. The strain of bacteria is klebsiella pneumonae, a superbug. Hard to kill and requiring longer i.v. antibiotic treatment to kill it. The last two samples of csf were clear of bacteria but still showed an elevated white blood count; the good news is it's decreasing. If the sample tomorrow shows a continuing downward trend, Adam can have surgery to replace his shunt system, but I still don't know how long they'll want to treat him before he goes home.
This has been a difficult time for Adam; in and out of the hospital three times since early February; countless blood draws, ct scans, xrays, and the always popular pokes to get an i.v. line. He's lucky when it's only one stick. Tonight he's not lucky. Three attempts and no access. We're waiting for superman or woman to come over from the surgical intensive care unit to give it a try. They have to succeed because he needs it for his medication. It's getting harder and harder because his veins are small and the drugs are caustic and burn them up.
So we wait, hoping it's easier this time and there's no mining for access; they always say it doesn't hurt when they dig but they're on the other end of the needle.
On a more positive note, Adam is feeling better. He's been up and out of bed the last three days, and he's been taking walks around the unit. He was definitely stronger today. He's eating and drinking well, and his usual happy self for most of the day. He wants to go home; I tell him we can't go home yet, and he wants to know why. All I can tell him is that it's because he isn't well yet, and that we'll go home when he is. He accepts this at that moment, but he doesn't like it and asks again in a little while.
The truth is, I want to go home as much as he does. I want to look at the trees getting ready to pop out in bloom. I want to walk around in our house and soak in the peace and the colors. I want to cook for my family and babysit for my grandchildren and put Adam to sleep in his own bed. I want to scratch my cats behind their ears and listen to them purr while they sleep in my lap. I want to visit with my family and go to California to see my new grandson. Most of all, I want to sleep in my own bed with my wonderful husband and hold him close all night long. Soon, I will get to do these things. The waiting is hard.
Adam is talking in his sleep. He says, "I want to go home." Me too, Adam. Me Too.
