Taylor's Miracle ~ Part Six

Completely drained, confused and not knowing what to do or where to go next, we walked through the O.R. double doors and decided to return to Taylor’s ICU room to await his arrival from recovery. That room was temporarily home now. We were informed by the nursing staff when we arrived at his room, however, that he would be held in recovery for quite a while.

As we waited in the quiet, empty ICU room, Chris said, “One of us should probably try and get some sleep in that sleeping room the surgeon reserved for us tonight.”

I nodded in agreement, but knew I couldn’t sleep. All I wanted was to be near Taylor.

“How about you sleep first and I’ll stay with Taylor,” I said, knowing my suggestion would not convince my husband.

As suspected, Chris replied, “No, you sleep first and I’ll stay with him.”

Since neither of us wanted to be apart from Taylor, we decided to at least check-in at the reservation desk since the surgeon told us the suite would soon be closing reservations for the night. We could decide later if either of us wanted to take a short nap, but at least we would have secured the room for the night.

We took the elevator down to the main floor and slowly made our way to the suite location. As we walked through the beautiful double entry residential-looking doors, we were struck by the magnificent in-hospital home-away-from-home retreat. There was a picturesque and massive living room with large overstuffed chairs, couches, coffee tables, and a big screen TV on the wall above a double-sided fireplace.  The fashionable décor and furniture was inviting in warm, rich, comforting colors that reminded me of a Colorado ski lodge.

The open room concept also contained a full service kitchen with beautiful cabinetry beyond the huge living room. A large wall of windows and a glass door on one side of the living room overlooked an enclosed and secluded courtyard. It was beautifully manicured with flowers, fountains, and small bistro tables and chairs.

We stopped at the reservation desk just inside the hospital hallway entry doors and paused briefly to admire the stunning beauty. Our minds had to catch up and readjust with suddenly leaving the sterile hospital environment on the other side of the doorway. It reminded me of the awe I felt as a kid when Dorothy opened her black and white door to the beautiful, colorful Land of Oz. The suite was clearly built and intended to be a stark contrast away from the sterilized environment of the hospital rooms and served as a lovely, home-like oasis for distraught parents.

The receptionist warmly greeted us with a smile and soothing voice. She was awaiting our arrival as she checked our name off the short reservation list and handed us a room key. After a brief tour of the gorgeous living room we had just admired where several parents were relaxing and a mother was cooking in the kitchen, we were ushered to a fully stocked kitchen pantry. There, we were encouraged to help ourselves to a large assortment of food supplies and convenient foods to cook a meal or snack during our stay.

Beyond the kitchen, was a fully stocked laundry room for our convenience. I had a few changes of clothes that Chris had brought me the prior week while at the transferring hospital; but Chris just had the clothes he was wearing from four days earlier. I had washed his clothes once so far in a lounge washer and dryer I discovered on the general floor while Chris wore green surgical scrubs kindly given us by the nursing staff.

The receptionist then escorted us to the sleeping quarters. The six private, sleeping rooms were secluded behind a locked hallway door and as we entered the darkened hallway, she held a hushed finger to her lips so we would not disturb other parents who were sleeping. Our room key unlocked the hallway door we just entered from the living room as well as another door at the other end of the hall that allowed immediate access to a hospital hallway.

Across from our room, was a large, shared bathroom suite decorated with elegant ceramic tile and fixtures. We were given a generous supply of towels and washcloths and individual toiletry items of soaps, shampoos, razors, hairbrush, toothbrushes and toothpaste.

Before wishing us a good night’s stay, the receptionist politely requested we be as quiet as possible as all neighboring sleeping rooms were occupied by parents who needed their rest. We graciously thanked her for everything as we unlocked our room.

It was a very nice, comfortable sleeping room with no windows or TV. It was just big enough for a double bed and a small desk and chair on one side. The desk held a small lamp, phone, and clock. We quickly unloaded our armful of supplies on the freshly, turned-down bed and then anxiously left to return to Taylor’s ICU room. Surely he was out of recovery by now.

We practically ran to the elevator and punched the second floor button for ICU. As we approached Taylor’s room, we noticed a flurry of activity from within. He had just returned from recovery. The room was filled with ICU doctors and nurses all orchestrated to carry out their individual duties of hooking him up to the monitors, checking all his tubes and lines and discussing his vitals and specialized care for the overnight hours.

We stepped inside the room and stayed out of their way as we quietly observed their actions and listened to the many discussions throughout the room. Occasionally, we would get a glimpse of Taylor, if a doctor or nurse stepped away from his bed for a moment. Finally, one of the ICU doctors motioned it was okay for us to step up to his bedside.

It was a shocking sight. There were tubes everywhere. In addition to his main pic line IV port he had in his upper arm for his antibiotics the last month, he now had IV’s in the top of each hand as well as the top of each foot. I suddenly remembered a month ago when Taylor first became sick at home and he worried about getting an IV on our way to the emergency room. "An IV,"  he said, "was the worst thing imaginable." That day and memory seemed like so long ago.

A large, thick tube extended from the side of his chest to a machine on the floor that collected and measured the blood drainage from his chest cavity. His bare chest was bandaged from the center of his chest to the right side of his rib cage, under his arm, and ended about a quarter of the way around his back.

The respirator tubing was taped over his mouth and the machine made a huffing sound as it raised, then lowered his chest with each forced mechanical breath.

I immediately noticed a change in his skin color. The hives that had greatly faded over the last few days had now returned. He was once again covered in large reddish purple blotches. I turned to one of the doctors and asked, “Was he given an antibiotic?”

She replied, “Yes, he was. It was necessary to prevent infection from the chest incision.”

When I requested the name of the antibiotic, I immediately recognized it as one I had recorded in my medical journal that he could not tolerate. As I shared the information with the doctor, she was concerned as she listened and then asked, “Do you know what we can give him that he will tolerate?”

A sense of panic ran through my body as I franticly searched my memory and tried to share any important details I could remember. My head was so foggy, I couldn’t think straight and I was simply too exhausted to reach for my medical journal and attempt to read through it.

My memory then realized my journal only contained adverse reactions from the numerous drugs he’d been given. I had no idea what was available he could tolerate, if anything at all now.

Sensing my panic, she calmly told me not to worry. They would call upon the Chief Infectious Disease doctor to direct them with the antibiotic course of treatments.

As we slowly continued to observe Taylor’s body, he seemed to drift in and out of unconsciousness. With his eyes closed, his head flopped from side to side and then he would try to lift his head up off the pillow. As he fought and struggled to lift his arms, it was then that we noticed his wrists were tied down to the side of the bed. The nurses spoke loudly to Taylor through his unconscious fog trying to calm him down and telling him to relax and not fight the respirator.

Sensing our extreme concern, a nurse turned to us and said, “He won’t remember any of this. I know it’s very hard to watch. We have to keep his wrists tied down because he keeps trying to unconsciously grab at the respirator.” Later, large bruises on each wrist would remind us for days of his struggle.

It was more than I could bare to see. I turned to Chris, shaking and fighting back tears and said, “I can’t take this anymore. I just can’t stand to see him suffer so horribly. I have to get out of here.” I quickly exited the room and took deep breaths out in the hallway. Chris joined me seconds later.

After regaining our composure, we approached the nurses station just outside Taylor’s room and asked them for their assurances that he would remain sedated throughout the night. They promptly acknowledged that he would definitely remain sedated and under close observation. They encouraged us to try to get some sleep assuring us he would be well cared for. They would promptly call either our sleeping room or cell phone immediately if anything more happened.

Knowing we had a few dreaded phone calls to make, Chris and I left for a while. We had to alert family back home about another rare, horrible complication.

We went to the privacy of the sleeping room and quietly made phone calls to our parents back home who were waiting for the daily update. They would then begin the telephone chain to the many other family members and friends who also awaited daily updates.

It was awful reliving the day’s events to share the unbelievable news. They experienced the unimaginable shock we experienced hours earlier and through their own tears kept saying, “This is so unbelievable; it’s a nightmare!”

After the phone calls were made, we were physically, mentally, and emotionally broken down completely. We collapsed on the bed unable to speak another word and sobbed together uncontrollably. My body simply shut down and without even realizing it sleep overcame me. It had been nearly two weeks since I’d slept more than an hour or two in a reclining chair or on the hospital floor. I never heard a thing until the phone rang and startled me out of a sound sleep hours later.

Meanwhile, three hours to the north, our hometown was staying updated of the medical drama from Taylor’s grandparents. Word was spreading fast as my mother, a retired school teacher from the middle school Taylor attended, was fielding numerous calls from teachers, administrators, and friends of the family.

Since school was out for summer break, our 12 year-old son, Austin, was being cared for by my mother, our 20 year-old son Ryan and family friends. They tried to keep as normal a home-life as they could shuttling him to his summer baseball practices, games, and football summer camp while keeping the severity of his brother’s medical crisis as discrete as possible.

The local youth baseball organization also helped keep teammates and parents updated with announcements during the games over a loud speaker. A hat was passed at games for donations in addition to ticket sales for a raffle drawing in Taylor’s honor. Arm bands were proudly worn by the baseball athletes with Taylor’s nickname, Rambo, printed on them for support and prayers.

Our neighbor, who is our city’s mayor, was personally maintaining and mowing our lawn with assistance from her thirteen year old son. She too handled phone inquiries from concerned citizens as a community rallied together to help one of their own in crisis.

Chris’s business was temporarily closed on a day by day basis while his answering machine handled calls. After work each day, Ryan, would stop by his dad’s shop and return the calls recorded while handling business affairs as best he could. As a 20 year old, Ryan, took over the business and family finances opening mail and paying bills seeking guidance from my mother when assistance was necessary.

My part-time employment hours as a secretary at a local real estate agency were covered by other part-time office employees. As a real estate agent myself, I also had a client sale transaction which was due to close within several days of Taylor’s hospitalization. Thankfully, a fellow agent took over the closing details and saw the sale transaction to completion.

We had no idea the extent to which our nightmare was impacting our caring community. Many wanted to help and began organizing future fundraising activities and charitable donations. Hundreds more supported and lifted our family in prayer while hugging their own children extra tight each night.

                                       **** to be continued ****

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.          ~ Colossians 3:12