Recovery Begins

BEGINNING RECOVERY
Part Four

Over the next few days, things continued pretty much uninterrupted. I lay on my back in a quiet room for several days, and several days had passed before I realized why I was having so much trouble moving my head and looking around. I had a tube going into the side of my neck and I simply had been unaware of it.

I was still in ICU, and the nurses were on 12 hours shifts. I learned quickly, that if a request remained unfilled by 30 minutes before shift change, then it would be hours before it would actually get filled. Even with important things. Some of the ICU nurses were very good and compassionate while others were genuinely frightening. I remember one night my IV alarm starting to go off, and those things are loud…. Sequence of three beeps. Nobody came. Nobody came. Nobody came… and when I used the call button, all I got, which became the normal, was "I'll tell your nurse". I well understood that my nurse had another patient to work with, but in the middle of the night, it just seemed like nurses were nowhere to be found. With the sound of the IV pounding on my head, I thought I was going to go crazy, until finally, after about an hour, a really hateful nurse came in to attend to it.

A few days later, and I am unsure how many days, something must have gone wrong with the tube going down my nose to my stomach. An ICU doctor came in as well as some nurses, and started messing the tube. They told me that it was to drain off acids and other fluids from my stomach because I was not eating anything (I was on a no-food diet so they were feeding me intravenously.) When the doctor touched the tube, it was very uncomfortable, and I could feel it move all the from the interior of my nose down my esophagus to my stomach. The doctor said, "No, this is not good". I also began to taste something acidy. The doctor said, "We are going to have to replace this". I didn't really know what that meant to me, in terms of comfort, but I was certain it wasn't going to be pleasant. Preparing myself in my usual way - looking at only what is in front of me, I said ok. The doctor said that this was going to be somewhat uncomfortable, but I had already assumed that.

I looked down at the end of my bed, and saw my Dad sitting there in a chair.

With the doctor on one side and a nurse on the other, the doctor said, ok, here we go, and he started pulling on the tube. The motion of the tube made me gag which was a big problem since I had a gapping wound from the top to the bottom of my abdomen and the gagging reflex I was sure was going to kill me with pain. Tears welled up in my eyes, not from crying but from the pain.

"Now we are going to replace the tube', the doctor said, and through watery eyes, I nodded, mentally holding myself steady, firmly fastened to only what was in front of me. He said that I was going to need to down try to swallow down on the tube as it went in and on its way to my stomach. As he inserted it into my nostril, I felt it go down the back of my through and then into my esophagus. I tried to swallow, but the gagging response was so strong and the pain in my abdominal wound so great, I ended up raising my hand to grab and hold the doctor's hand back. But then I knew, holding him back, or interfering with him would only delay the torture. Finally the tube reached my stomach, and it took a moment for my system to settle down. Then came the horrible words from the doctor, "We didn't get it into the correct place, so we are going to have to remove it and do it again". As the doctor prepared another tube, I looked at my Father as I was crying, and I pleaded with him to take me out of there… "Please Dad, take me somewhere else", I pleaded, even with the nurse and doctor still hovering directly over me. It was a crazy idea for me to ask Dad to move me out, but I just didn't think I could do that again. Dad sat still and didn't respond to my very stupid request.

The procedure started again, and again I gagged and experienced tortuous pain. But this time it worked. By now I was sobbing - and I remained skeptical that it had worked. This was a fear response that we'd have to do it again. We did not have to do it again.

Right about then, I heard my Mothers voice from behind a curtain asking if anybody knew where Jonathan Thompson was. Dad got up and went to bring her in. Mom later told me, that as Dad walked up to Mom, he started crying, telling her that he had just had to watch the most horrendous thing imaginable. It was all so dramatic, it even affected my Dad. Of course, when Dad walked up to Mom crying, it frightened Mom badly, but Dad quickly told her that I was ok.

As things settled down, my attention returned to my extreme thirst. I had never been so thirsty in my life, and they would not let me drink at all. I was certain that I was going to thirst to death, but when I asked the nurse, she said that I would not - they were giving me IV fluids. It only felt like I was going to thirst to death. All I had to do was convince myself that I was not going to desiccate and die - not an easy task, but with the proper meditation (which I had only off and on), it was feasible. I began to fantasize about large cups of ice water, Gatorade, soft drinks or anything else to drink. I made my Dad promise to have some drinks ready for me when they cleared me to drink in a few days. I just didn’t want them to say, ok you can have liquids now, and there be none available, or that I would have to rely upon the nurses schedule to get it for me.

On the third night, and I will never forget this for as long as I live, in one of my many prayers, I asked God to fill my room with his presence. I asked for the Holy Spirit to fill every empty space, and stay with me throughout the night. Of course, I knew already that he was with me, but saying it - requesting it made me feel better. It was that night that I had many revelations regarding my life.

After a few days, the nurses announced that it was time to move me to a regular room, and I was happy about that. It took several hours for a room to become available on the post-surgical floor. But eventually that luxury came. They prepared me and moved me out of my ICU Room and I got my first look in nearly a week, what was just outside my door. UPMC is a vast complex occupying many city blocks of Pittsburgh. Several hospitals were stung together, and even though I had been in ICU at UPMC Presbyterian Hospital, I was being moved to UPMC Montefiore Hospital. I didn't have to actually leave the facility. There were a series of glass-covered viaducts that lead from one facility to the other. I so much enjoyed the motion, scenery and all the new people coming and going that I did not want the ride to end. It did take a few minutes to get me to my new home. I was moved to the eighth floor, and I had a wonderful few out a large window. I could see much of the city although I had no idea what part of the city I was looking at as my since of orientation had never been established, and I had a great view of one of the many rivers in Pittsburgh. When I asked nurses and staff if they had any idea what compass direction that was out the window, nobody knew. I never did figure it out.

In right down town Pittsburgh, the Allegany and the Monongahela Rivers joined to form the head of the Ohio. I believe that the river I could see out of my window was the Monongahela.

The tube from my neck had been removed as well as the tube down my nose. I was still hosed and wired up like a non-human contraption, but at least I could move my head and I could even sit up a little bit (raise the elevation of the bed).

Over the week, many get-well cards had come as well as flower and Mother neatly arranged them on the window seal. It looked nice. Things were looking up, and for the first time I turned on the TV and watched a little of the local news. Up till them, I was content with my new smart phone. Just a few days before my surgery, I upgraded to a smart, and exploring its capabilities was a great pass time for me.

My Dad had already left town, so Mother was there still to care for me. She and I worked out our hours of visitation. Some hours were better for me (some parts of the day were more depressing). Other hours were better for her. But she was able to take the shuttle every day from the House to the hospital and back. On her forays out in the hospital, she found places to eat, gift shops and other nice amenities. When she was in my room, she had either her Ipad or her knitting - and she'd quietly sit on a couch under the large window, keeping herself sufficiently occupied. I appreciated the hours and hours she spent with me, although there came a time when she had to take a couple of days off. When my Son and Ex-wife arrived, that was perfect.