Post Op Day 2
It’s amazing what a difference twenty-four hours can make. Liam’s pain control is so much better. Physical therapy came by at 10 again and he tolerated movement so much better.
He still got so dizzy and lightheaded, but he pushed through. He even managed to get to the chair with a walker. I was completely in awe. Around 36 hours past a fourteen hour surgery, 20 centimeters of missing femur, epidural, and pushing on through. He sat in the chair for an hour. Eyes closed. Head leaned back. His misery only trumped by his toughness. Reese helped me get him washed up and changed his sheets. He was starting to do the chill / spike high fever / break fever / massive sweat cycle so common after major surgery and it was amazing to have clean sheets.
The activity completely exhausted him, but he looked so much better!
I had a cultural experience when I walked down to the gift shop for a coffee. I walked onto the elevator, pushed the button to go down to one. Instead, we went up a floor. I thought it odd, but expected I’d read the arrow wrong in my sleep deprivation. Until the button for the next floor up lit up, and then the next and the next. Finally, we reached the top floor. The doors opened and instead of seeing typical hospital doors, they were furbished with rich wood. Perhaps where the very wealthy are treated? After coming down a floor or two, one floor at a time, I felt a bit disconcerted. This elevator seemed to have a mind of its own.
I got onto the next elevator and told the staff person who joined me that something seemed to be wrong with the elevator on the left. She looked to where I was pointing and said, “Oh, that’s the Sabbath elevator. It stops at every floor. Maybe just try to avoid that one.” I was completely fascinated. It stops at every floor so that if you are Jewish and need to visit the sick on the Sabbath, you will not need to do any extra work by pushing the button for the floor you desire. I’m not Jewish, but I love that they honor people groups here. Besides the Sabbath elevator, there are also kosher and halal menus available.
That afternoon he spiked as high as 40.2 and his heart rate shot to 150. He was back on oxygen and somnolent. They started a second antibiotic and simultaneously started talking about transferring him to the floor.
I was t.e.r.r.i.f.i.e.d. I knew that every fever over 38.5 gets cultured and in my head all I could see was him getting shuffled out onto a busy floor and going septic.
Reese took one look at my face and asked what’s wrong. I said, “Nothing. I’m fine,” but she knew I was lying and came around and hugged me. “I can’t send you out there if you’re not comfortable.” I started sobbing. “Look at him,” she kept saying. “He looks amazing.” The doctor asked what I’m afraid of and I told her my fear about him going septic. I heard Reese mutter, “Oh, shoot, I keep forgetting you’re a nurse.” It’s one of those times when some knowledge adds an extra measure of knowing it would be easier not to have. Most of the time I’m so grateful for the little bit of experience I have. But in certain moments, I wish I wouldn’t know what could happen.
They talked me through all the preventions they were taking and reassured me of how the nurses handle fevers. I knew he no longer had any parameters to stay. No arterial line, no norepi drip … but he seemed so fragile, especially to a mama who’s just been incredibly sleep deprived.
The tears helped and I was ready. They ended up keeping him for his antibiotic because of the possibility of cross reactions and by the time it was finished I was ok. Reese came back with a snow globe for Liam and box of tissues for me. She is such a dear. And I think Liam finally believed me that she really liked him.
She’s a classic New Yorker. When she told Liam he was going to the floor she told him she found the worst nurse for him and told her he’s the whiniest, most demanding, needy kid ever. Thankfully, I’d already told him she’s a New Yorker and not going to tell him she likes him so she’s telling him the opposite.
I’d taken our things over to the room on the floor before his antibiotics and it smelled so bad even through my mask I was afraid Liam would vomit when he wheeled through the door. I let friends know and they started praying. An hour later we rolled in and room 31 literally smelled like it had just been cleaned. Thank you, Jesus!
Liam spiked to 42 (107.6) minutes after rolling through the door. They did a full sepsis rule out again, gave him a fluid bolus, and hung his tylenol early. Post surgery fevers are unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in normal life.