Holding on
An Update from Intensive Care
This morning we got the results of Michael’s CT scan with contrast from yesterday. They confirmed the pneumonia is now in both lungs and advancing at a rapid rate. There is also blood in his lungs which doesn’t seem like a good place for it to be. His blood pressure was falling through the night and morning. His blood oxygenation level was dipping into the 70’s (a healthy person will be at 100% or very close). They had him on the maximum oxygen and are blasting him with a wide range of medicines to try and outrun the quick progression of the disease. They keep mentioning sepsis, an extreme reaction from the body in response to a disease where a chain reaction of damage runs through the body, causing mass failure of organ systems. I had to clarify if they thought he had that or if they were just monitoring him for it. Seems that they are still trying to decide if that’s what is happening or not.
The Hematology Ward doctor elevated his case to critical status and brought in a doctor from the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) next door to consult on what needed to happen next. Initially they thought he could stay in Hematology, but after the ICU doctor brought it in front of the rest of the team, looking at the entirety of Michael’s case, they decided the safer place for him was actually in the Infectious Diseases ICU.
Side note: There are two things I’m really happy about today. One, I love that in the Hong Kong public hospital system, patients are treated by teams instead of just one doctor. We have learned so much and Michael has definitely benefited from having immediate second and third opinions as they come to a consensus of what is best. Michael’s type of cancer is rare so there is a lot of interest in him, and I love that there are so many eyes on him. Two, I’m so glad we took Michael to Princess Margaret Hospital (closer to our house, most familiar as that is where Michael spent 4+ months doing all his chemo) instead of Queen Mary Hospital (where he did the transplant, much larger, much further away, first public hospital in Hong Kong so much older). The Infectious Diseases building at Princess Margaret is the newest one on the hospital grounds, and the ICU area feels modern and state of the art. It’s so different from the rest of our experiences and I like that, a whole bunch.
Once they decided to move him, it happened fast. Benjamin and I packed up all Michael’s stuff, which he would not be able to keep with him in the ICU. A six person medical team including a doctor transported him to the building next door, keeping him hooked up to the oxygen and monitors the whole time.
We were told to wait outside the ICU while they got him set up. The visiting hours are restrictive (from 12-1:00 pm and then from 5-8:00 pm) but at least we can indeed visit him, which we couldn’t while he was in the Infectious Disease Ward over at Queen Mary. Soon we were ushered in by a nurse who carefully explained the little world of the Intensive Care Unit. His room has a large window where the nurses and a doctor sit to monitor their patient. The doctor came and gave us a really lengthy plan for Michael’s care, along with what we can expect to happen. I was so grateful for that! We don’t always get a lot of info, we just have to trust that things are moving behind the scenes (which they are).
Visiting hour was over by that point, but the doctor said we could remain with Michael for a little bit longer. We met several more of the nurses who continued to hook up various machines and interventions. While the boys and I picked up on how serious this was when Dr. Wu called me at home two nights ago to discuss “worst case scenarios,” the full realization of what we are dealing with here finally hit Michael. That was really difficult to see, to try and talk it through when it’s hard for him to talk due to all the oxygen apparatus strapped to his face. They say ignorance is bliss for a reason, and yesterday Michael was quite a bit more blissful than today.
This is a terrifying and traumatizing situation, coming after nearly eleven relentless months of other terrifying and traumatizing incidents. Things are piling on and it’s just not getting easier. It’s a fair assumption to think it may not get easier any time soon. I keep thinking of the description of sepsis, a chain reaction of damage and how Michael hit 100 Days post-transplant only to have his angry, infected gallbladder need to come out, and how on the day he was released from that surgery he ended up with shingles. The shingles was such an extreme case he had to be hospitalized, and only just this Wednesday was the pain finally under control, only to develop pneumonia the very next day. Any one of these are rough just on their own, but when you keep getting hit while already down, with no way to fight back, you have to wonder just how much a person can take.
I was reflecting on my life together with Michael and how often we’ve been forced into utterly insane and extreme things (moving abroad to a country where we didn’t know the language and no one spoke ours with a newborn baby on just four weeks notice is the one that comes to mind first). About our life, people will often say, “I could never do that.” I always find it an amusing statement, because we could never do that either, until we had to do it. And then we did it. This situation we are in right now, both this whole year and this very specific day where my beloved is laying in a hospital bed fighting so hard for his life, feels impossibly difficult. Each day I have a moment where I say “I can’t do this.” And yet, look at me… terrified, traumatized, and doing it anyway.
Part of the reason they moved Michael to the ICU was for that extra focused care he can’t get in the Hematology Ward. They are doing every kind of intervention to give Michael time for the medications and treatments to work. The next step, as I mentioned in the last post, is for him to be deeply sedated and then intubated, letting a machine breathe for him so he can have more of that time. He is bumping right up against every marker for that next step which is deeply uncomfortable! So far, it hasn’t happened. If it does, it will happen pretty quickly. We’re 30-40 minutes away, so there may not be time to talk to him once more before they put him in a medically induced coma, estimated to last several days to several weeks. Every time I leave I remind him that sedated or not, I’ll be there holding his hand and talking to him and praying over him during visiting hours, reminding him to be strong and courageous, believing hard in a future which still has him in it.
Thank you for the prayers, the emails, donations, text messages, and words of strength and deep care for what we are going through. Please don’t stop. So many of you know and love Michael, and I realize that you too are going through this. I hope that wherever and however this finds you, you realize you are not alone. It’s painful and messy but you’re in good company and completely welcome as you are.
More soon.
Like this content and want to support more of it? Consider a one time contribution at Buy Me A Coffee. You’re likely to be buying us something to eat or paying for a taxi ride to the hospital right now and we are so grateful for that. Thank you and have a Plucky Day!
