July 17, 2018

Guest Post

I remember the day. I had been worried about my daughter’s health and her “bronchitis” that wasn’t clearing up. When the phone rang at 1:15 a.m. I knew it would be her and that she would need help.

I answered the phone but could barely make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was saying she was ready to go to the emergency room.

I threw on shoes, grabbed my keys and drove the 10 minutes to her apartment.

She was in her second-floor bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. She could barely keep her head up and she could not get enough breath into her lungs to talk. Through a series of nods, grunts and pointing, I helped her get dressed.

I knew that it would be too difficult to get her down the stairs and into my car and that it would be best if she arrived at the hospital in an ambulance so I called 9-1-1. I had to go downstairs to call them and to move my car so the ambulance could have the spot in front of the door.

When I came back in the house, she was sitting on the couch. She had somehow made it down the stairs on her butt.

A Fire and Rescue van and a fire truck arrived within minutes. They questioned her in the house and helped her into the back of the rescue van.

I followed the rescue van to the hospital.

Her vitals were taken immediately in the ER. The ER doctor visited with her and asked questions. All wanted her to put an oxygen mask on, but she was stubborn and wouldn’t keep it on because she didn’t like the smell of the plastic.

Her oxygen levels were low and she was showing signs of turning blue. The doctor decided to send her up to the Intensive Care Unit.

Once she was settled in ICU, staff tried various types of oxygen masks on her but none were raising her oxygen levels. She kept on taking the masks off.

The hospitalist took me aside and said, “I don’t think your daughter realizes that she will die if we don’t get her oxygen levels up. We need to intubate her.”

I brought that message to my daughter who resisted a little but finally said, “Okay.”

As soon as she said okay, the staff went into motion.

I left the room while the oxygen tube was inserted down her throat. She was sedated a little for the procedure.

Eventually some test results came back and we learned she had pneumonia. I thought that she would be put on antibiotics and feel better in 24 hours. I was told it would be more like 48 hours, but I didn’t know at that time how sick she was.

As the nurses and doctors later told her, “You aren’t sick. You are very, very, very sick.”