mcatrophy
Privileged to ride a 2018 FJR1300AS
We are hoping that she can come home for a while.
Last week she had a severe infection. Her temperature went up to 40.7C (105F). She was shivering like I've never seen anyone shake before. The hospital staff firstly had to get her temperature down, so they forced cooling air over her, cold compresses, and paracetamol intravenously - luckily she had a suitable cannula already in place, there is no way they could have got a needle into a vein with all her shaking.
It took several hours to bring things under control. "I never want to go through that again, just let me go."
A scan showed that not all of her liver is draining properly. We were told that, because some of the ducting is still blocked, such an infection is likely. They took blood to find what bacteria we were up against, meanwhile putting her on a cocktail of antibiotics to smother the infection. Later, having identified it, they reduced the antibiotic to one.
Now she has a permanent infusion pump, subcutaneously delivering a cocktail of painkillers (mostly morphine), anti-nausea, steroids and the antibiotic. Maybe a few more things. She is able to take additional drugs orally now her nausea is controlled, and if she does need additional pain killers they will adjust her infusion cocktail to suit.
She is now a bit more comfortable. The pain and nausea are under control, for the last few days she has been able to eat and drink - she has been something like four weeks without being able to digest any food, and fluids had mostly to be given intravenously. She's obviously been losing a lot of weight, this has now stabilised. She has even joked that this was something of an extreme way to lose weight!
Her lead doctor now says she is medically fit to go home, but there are things to organise, such as the daily visit of a Macmillan nurse to change her infusion syringe (even if I could do it, I wouldn't be allowed to owing to the controlled drugs). She has been given a "stair test" to see that she can manage our stairs, apparently she "passed with flying colours". That's typical of her, she will gear herself up to whatever challenges are thrown her way. However, she is very weak and unsteady, we hope this will improve as her weight builds. Anyway, we are hopeful that she will be released tomorrow (Friday) afternoon.
Today I borrowed a wheel chair, took her around the hospital. She knows many of the staff from her 25 years of voluntary work. There were hugs, kisses and tears.
I've bought a reclining chair to help her relax. I've also organised a disabled parking badge. She wants to be able to go to our local shops, maybe buy some bread. Normally I'd have said "But that's my job", it being my excuse to get out on the bike (as I've posted several times before). Somehow that doesn't seem funny anymore.
Anyway, I'll have her home for as long as we are able to look after her (the family will all help), try to keep her as comfortable as possible, take her out as much as we can. Then, I'm afraid, it's a case of waiting for the inevitable.
I've always said that life isn't fair. This, to my mind, is the worst example imaginable.
Last week she had a severe infection. Her temperature went up to 40.7C (105F). She was shivering like I've never seen anyone shake before. The hospital staff firstly had to get her temperature down, so they forced cooling air over her, cold compresses, and paracetamol intravenously - luckily she had a suitable cannula already in place, there is no way they could have got a needle into a vein with all her shaking.
It took several hours to bring things under control. "I never want to go through that again, just let me go."
A scan showed that not all of her liver is draining properly. We were told that, because some of the ducting is still blocked, such an infection is likely. They took blood to find what bacteria we were up against, meanwhile putting her on a cocktail of antibiotics to smother the infection. Later, having identified it, they reduced the antibiotic to one.
Now she has a permanent infusion pump, subcutaneously delivering a cocktail of painkillers (mostly morphine), anti-nausea, steroids and the antibiotic. Maybe a few more things. She is able to take additional drugs orally now her nausea is controlled, and if she does need additional pain killers they will adjust her infusion cocktail to suit.
She is now a bit more comfortable. The pain and nausea are under control, for the last few days she has been able to eat and drink - she has been something like four weeks without being able to digest any food, and fluids had mostly to be given intravenously. She's obviously been losing a lot of weight, this has now stabilised. She has even joked that this was something of an extreme way to lose weight!
Her lead doctor now says she is medically fit to go home, but there are things to organise, such as the daily visit of a Macmillan nurse to change her infusion syringe (even if I could do it, I wouldn't be allowed to owing to the controlled drugs). She has been given a "stair test" to see that she can manage our stairs, apparently she "passed with flying colours". That's typical of her, she will gear herself up to whatever challenges are thrown her way. However, she is very weak and unsteady, we hope this will improve as her weight builds. Anyway, we are hopeful that she will be released tomorrow (Friday) afternoon.
Today I borrowed a wheel chair, took her around the hospital. She knows many of the staff from her 25 years of voluntary work. There were hugs, kisses and tears.
I've bought a reclining chair to help her relax. I've also organised a disabled parking badge. She wants to be able to go to our local shops, maybe buy some bread. Normally I'd have said "But that's my job", it being my excuse to get out on the bike (as I've posted several times before). Somehow that doesn't seem funny anymore.
Anyway, I'll have her home for as long as we are able to look after her (the family will all help), try to keep her as comfortable as possible, take her out as much as we can. Then, I'm afraid, it's a case of waiting for the inevitable.
I've always said that life isn't fair. This, to my mind, is the worst example imaginable.
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