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Hospital Vigil: Nurse Stories, Part Three (By Louisiana Sandusky, R.N.) by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Tuesday, June 8, 2004
Rated "PG" by the Author.
Louisiana shares a story about one of her scariest moments, both as a mother and a nurse. This story involves a patient she knows all too well: her then four-year-old son, Johnny.
My son, Johnny, who is now 11, is a child who has had to deal with sickness or the threat of death on a regular basis, more times than I would really like to admit. He has a progressive neuromuscular disorder, muscular dystrophy, that is slowly, but gradually weakening his body, and because of this, he is in a wheelchair, and he can't do things now that he could before. He also has seizures, brought on by lesions in his brain that was caused by his first bout of spinal meningitis (this same bout of meningitis also compromised his hearing and his sight, and he also has a stammer to his speech when he talks), but he has managed to surprise his doctors with his unending courage and will to live.
Johnny has had many instances where he has gotten sick for one reason or another, and for him, doctor visits, pills, tests, and hospital stays are commonplace. Yet he has learned to take each blow with a spirit that refuses to be bent, and he has bounced back, stronger and all the more determined to beat the demands placed upon him by his cruel illness or his other disabilities.
One such time was when Johnny had a bout of breathing trouble that quickly became severe. He had a seizure, and he stopped breathing when his tongue slipped and closed off his airway; and for this reason, he stopped breathing. He was four then, just a little boy, and it scared the living hell out of me. He was playing with his toys, in his bedroom, with his sister, Ronee', when he fell over onto the ground and lay there for a minute or two before he started shaking in his all too familiar seizure. Of course, the sight of her brother jerking spasmodically on the floor terrified Ronee', and a loud, bloodcurdling scream that ripped from her throat brought my husband, Bill, and myself, quickly running into the room. I was shocked to see Johnny jerking on the floor, but my nursing instincts quickly took hold, and I quickly moved Johnny away from near the dresser, so he wouldn't hurt himself during the course of his seizure; and I quickly rolled him onto his side, so he wouldn't choke; and I also stayed by his side while Bill tried to calm a shaken Ronee', who was still crying.
The seizure, thankfully, lasted only a few moments, but something was wrong; I could tell: Johnny lay there, too still, and his color looked funny; and worst of all, his small chest wasn't going up and down. It lay still, which immediately told me that he had stopped breathing. I quickly told Bill to call for an ambulance and keep Ronee' from coming into the room while I tended to Johnny, and I told him to send the paramedics in when they came to the house. As we waited for the paramedics, I busied myself trying to revive my son. I never was so scared in all my life. Johnny looked dead, and to see him in such a state absolutely terrified me. But I was determined to try to save him, and so, every few seconds, I willingly breathed into his mouth and nose, hoping desperately for him to start breathing again, and sending a quick, silent prayer to Heaven, asking God to spare our little boy's life and to let him live.
It seemed like hours, but it was only minutes before the paramedics were knocking loudly at the door, announcing their arrival. I quickly led them to where Johnny still lay, unmoving and limp, on the floor, and they immediately sprang into action and soon had an I.V. line running into his arm and heart monitor leads attached to his now-exposed chest. They slipped a small, silver tube into his mouth, and soon, they were breathing for him, forcing air into his still lungs, all the while, talking to him, calling his name, and physically shaking and pinching him, hoping to elicit some sort of response from the unconscious little child. It wasn't long before Johnny was then loaded up quickly onto the stretcher bed, was strapped into place, and then was quickly rolled outside, to the back of the ambulance, where he was then quickly loaded into the back. The ambulance then quickly took off to the hospital, its sirens blaring piercingly, its shrill sound quickly fading as it faded into the distance.
I told Bill that I was going to go to the hospital, to be with Johnny, and I told him to keep an eye on Ronee'; and as soon as I found out anything, I would call him and let him know what was going on. I then got my keys, grabbed my coat, and quickly got into my van, where I then started the motor and drove to the hospital where Johnny had been taken by ambulance.
At the hospital, in the Emergency department, Johnny was still being tended to. He was still unconscious, and he was still having trouble with his breathing. The emergency team continued to pump his small body with lifesaving medications, to try to help his breathing or his heart, which was now beating erratically, and he was still not responding as well as they would have hoped. Johnny had been down for over six minutes, and there was worry of possible brain damage. A "Code Blue" had been announced over the loudspeaker, and extra doctors and nurses appeared, trying to revive the little boy who lay on the table in the treatment room; and the air had a sense of urgency and fear in it. The tension in the air was so thick it was possible to cut it with a knife.
When I got to the hospital, the emergency room nurse met me at the door, and I could tell by the look on her fair face that the news with Johnny wasn't good. I steeled myself for the worst; but my mood lightened a little when she told me that Johnny was still alive; but he was still in grave danger of dying, and to pray for him. She said that he was still down, and things didn't look good. Johnny was still unconscious and not breathing on his own, and he was still in extremely critical condition. It would be a miracle if he survived, she said, and if he DID survive, he would probably have some sort of brain or physical damage because he was without oxygen for over ten minutes. I asked her if I could see him, and she said I could, but he was still being tended to, and the scene would be chaotic at best.
It was, too. Johnny was still getting full C.P.R., and you couldn't hardly see his small body, for all the doctors and nurses working over him. His small, naked body was a very pale, pearlescent color, and he had wires and tubes all over him. His eyes were still closed, and doctors were breathing for him; and the monitors still sounded shrilly in my ears. Suddenly, the monitors stopped shrieking, and there was a faint "blip! blip!" sounding through the air, which told the medical team that he had gotten his pulse back, and that he had come back to life. The tension in the room immediately lifted, and we all breathed a huge, collective sigh of relief. As we looked at him, we could see the color slowly returning to his limbs, his face, his torso; and we knew that his life had been spared.
Still, he wasn't out of the woods, not by a long shot. He was still in a very critical state, and he would have to be closely monitored and cared for in the PICU until he passed this crisis. There was also the uncertainty of whether he sustained any damage to his body or to his brain, and only when he would awaken would tell whether he escaped the damage to his body or brain or not. Right now, he was in a comatose state, and he would probably remain unconscious and on a ventilator for some time.
For about a week, Bill or I would sit at the bedside of our son, who looked more dead than alive, a breathing maching breathig for him, and only the monitors showing that he was not dead, but alive (and barely so). He had all sorts of tubes in him, and I felt utterly helpless, wishing that I could have prevented him from ending up in this situation in the first place, and damning his epileptic condition, and also wishing that I was the one lying there instead of Johnny. I felt angry at him because he was keeping us from our other child (she was staying at a neighbor's), and I was angry at him because I somehow felt that I was responsible.
Johnny did NOT die, but he did remain in the hospital for about three weeks after the seizure episode, and both Bill and I got very little sleep until we made sure that Johnny was going to recover. When the boy emerged from his unconscious state, his sweet voice was music to our ears; and he started improving right away, a far cry from the deathly sick little boy he was just days earlier. And best of all was the joyful news that Johnny did NOT have any brain or physical damage as a result of his being without oxygen for so long; how he managed that remains nothing but a mystery and a Miracle!
Johnny did NOT have any damage to his brain or his body as a direct result of this crisis involving his breathing, but for a while after he awoke and got out of the hospital, he seemed "slow" and lethargic. It would be some time before he would be back to his former self, but we would help him through whatever problems that came up. His sister, Ronee', was upset that her brother couldn't play with her because of what happened, but she made a good little helper, and she was more than happy to help him with his eating or his bathroom, and she was delighted that he was home from the hospital and back at home, where he belonged.
We were relieved too, that Johnny was home again from the hospital following his crisis. Still, it WAS hard seeing him a shell of his former self, but we would take one day at a time, and we would help him come back and help him with whatever physical or occupational therapies he might need to help him overcome the effects of his crisis.
Johnny has weathered some more of these crises such as the one above, but he has bounced back each and every time. Sure, he was sluggish and lethargic for a while, but it wasn't long before his true nature appeared, and he has surprised his doctors (and us) with his will to survive. It is only because of the Grace of God that Johnny is still alive, and with us, all these years later, and who knows what the future may bring for him--or for us.
It is because of crises such as the one above that makes my job as a nurse all the more worthwhile and special. Even when things appeared at their very worst, some patients have managed to surprise us, and they are still doing (relatively) well all these years later. Such as in the case of our little boy, Johnny, who is now a young man of 11, and a living Miracle of God by all means! He continues to defy the odds today, but we are waiting for that perverbial "other shoe" to drop, and wait for that time when he may not be so lucky. It is as though we are living on a ticking timebomb, and as much as we don't like to think of his impending death from heart or respiratory failure, it is still a part of having muscular dystrophy, and it is something to be expected. But we are hoping that this doesn't happen for a long time.
This is awesome. Sorry I have been AWOL on you all lately. There aren't enough hours in my day the past week or so. I will try to keep up better, as my time allows!
I n s p i r i n g as only an inspiring person such as you
can write. Thank you for helping us remember how many
kind and brave souls there are in the world. We need
more reminders like this! Just sign me Wunuvmany Admirers
uvthe TexasTornado xoxoxoxoX
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My son, Johnny, who is now 11, is a child who has had to deal with sickness or the threat of death on a regular basis, more times than I would really like to admit. He has a progressive neuromuscular disorder, muscular dystrophy, that is slowly, but gradually weakening his body, and because of this, he is in a wheelchair, and he can't do things now that he could before. He also has seizures, brought on by lesions in his brain that was caused by his first bout of spinal meningitis (this same bout of meningitis also compromised his hearing and his sight, and he also has a stammer to his speech when he talks), but he has managed to surprise his doctors with his unending courage and will to live.
