Saturday in the ICU

The Intensive Care Unit at St George Hospital has a certain atmosphere of medical gravitas. Mae is in a care bay on the far side from the entry door, and you have to do three sides of a square to reach her, passing and trying not to look at other care bays each with a patient in varying stages of living or dying, all very ill so it would seem. Each individual bay has its own bank of complicated instruments, screens, tubes, drip stands, cabinets and equipment, its own special nurse station with more computer equipment. Staff everywhere, all busy.

Last night Mae had been immobile, ventilated and apparently unconscious, so this morning when I arrived I was not expecting her to smile when she saw me, and wave and blow me kisses as I got my gown and gloves on. She was not only conscious, she was awake, aware and making sense, asking questions, being positive and generally being herself. She was speaking more slowly than usual, occasionally closing her eyes and drifting off for a few seconds, but she was most firmly there. David and I were able to stay while she had her first exercise session with a forthright Chinese medical person. This woman used a kind but no-nonsense tone while inflicting tough love in the form of commands about raising arms, lifting legs, is best for you, you no want that ventilator tube put back, do you? Now cough. Yes, it hurt, I know. Cough again. OK, not 100%, I leave you room to improve, OK? You keep doing. I come back again, do more tomorrow. Tomorrow you sit up in chair.

David is now at Day 3 after his hand surgery, and his arm pain is creeping back a bit after being much better on Day 2. Perhaps he needs to keep up the painkillers a bit longer. Just to keep him from resting and recovering too fast, I proposed a walk.  We took a taxi from the hospital to a cafe at Brighton le Sands, a nearby beach overlooking Botany Bay, where we met Linda and Phil for lunch.  Then we walked back the forty five minutes to the hospital. Well, it did me good anyway.  But he found it a bit tough and I had to make him an arm sling out of my scarf. He's resting in a chair in front of the Olympics as I write this evening. He's volunteering to stay home tomorrow.

After lunch we had a little more time with Mae, and by this afternoon she had been divested of some more of her tubes, having her hands and arms free of cannulas now. She still has an oxygen supply in place, has a nasal tube down to her stomach and is still not allowed to eat or drink. Bloods are taken from a tube inserted in her neck area and there are monitors attached to her chest. Painkillers and fluids are being dripped in from bags suspended behind her. Drains appear from under the covers at the sides of the bed and lead to macabre looking collection vessels. Her legs are encased in some kind of pressure splint. The bed is mechanised in every way imaginable, goes up and down and can form the shape of "N" She is more reclining than lying, her legs slightly bent and supported, and her back supported by an independently moving back section. She was in a bit more pain this afternoon and her nurse encouraged her to use her morphine pump more. Some paracetamol was added to the drip. She was able to suck on ice. Her mouth was dry. She fantasized about going to the fridge and getting a big glass of iced water. Once it was established that she could swallow safely, she was allowed a few sips of water.

It looks to me as if her recovery is going well. Youth is on her side.

No photos from ICU, but here is one I prepared earlier. Great smile, hey?