It seems wrong to suggest that things would have been better if Anthony had died the night of the accident. Of course, so much would have been worse. As it was, Joseph saw his grandfather get hurt. He didn't see him killed. As we deal with the hurt, I can't fathom how much worse it would be if he had seen him die that night.
And then there's Matthew. He had time to say goodbye, to make his peace with the loss in the best way he could. He doesn't deal well with change himself, so wading into the shallow end was probably for the best.
But there is something to be said for clean breaks.
After Matthew was released from the hospital, we went home. Joseph was still our immediate concern. With my father-in-law in a trauma ICU, there was nothing we could do three hours away in a waiting room. We couldn't bring Joseph. We couldn't leave Joseph. We ended up in constant contact with his doctors, speaking to them every time they rounded. Talking to nurses at every shift change, and with every change in his status. Calls when he changed treatments. When he needed surgery. When he needed blood, or anesthesia, or when we just needed to know what was going on. We planned our days based on cell phone towers, and since we live in a dead zone, we would call the nurse's station every time we left the house, and every time we got back, so they knew what phone number to call if they needed us.
We did that for a week. And then we had to go down to Pittsburgh to have meetings with the doctors. It would be the first time they suggested he might be dying, and that we might want to let it happen. That was not a conversation to have with Joseph around, so we took him to my sister's house and let him have three cousins, three dogs and a turtle to keep him company and distract him. It worked, a little. He was fine while he was with Aunt Becky, although she had to call us frequently to let him talk to us. Two days later when we picked him up? He burst into tears in the car, latched onto us like a barnacle and cried for days that "I missed you when I was at Aunt Becky's!" Six months later, he still says it every time we go for a drive.
For weeks, Anthony would get better, we would make plans for his rehabilitation, and Joseph would even get to talk to him on the phone now and then. And then it would all fall apart, usually the day before he was scheduled to be transferred to a nursing home closer to us. We stopped telling Joseph that Grandpa was coming home because it was just too upsetting for him when the timeline would change. We would get a call that told us he would probably be dead in hours, throw ourselves in the car, and by the time we got to Pittsburgh, confused nurses would wonder why anyone told us that.
No one knew what was happening for six weeks. Day to day, hour to hour, our lives revolved around whether Anthony would live or die. Joseph's revolved around one sentence. "I miss my Grandpa."
Monday, May 21, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Home again
First, let me tell you that carrying a 40-some pound 3-year-old who smells like vomit and is hanging like dead weight into the house in December up some slippery porch steps, and then up a double flight of stairs is not fun. Whenever I think about doing strength training, I realize I could just lift my son instead of buying weights, and then I do it once and decide I like my untoned flab just the way it is. But I did it. We got home, we got in the house and we got upstairs. Since I had already changed him into his pajamas at the hospital, I just took him into my room and tucked him in. Joseph already wakes up in the wee hours, crying and disoriented if he is alone. This was not the night to push the "everyone sleeps in his own bed" rule.
By the time we got home, it was pushing 2 a.m. I checked the phone to make sure we hadn't missed anything from either hospital. Matthew called when he was moved up to the cardiac floor to let me know his room and phone number. I headed for a hot, hot bath to relax muscles that felt like sailor's knots. I was barely in the water when Joseph started to scream.
He settled down again as soon as I got into bed. Joseph had colic when he was a baby, and even when we grew out of it, he evolved a habit of napping only if he was curled up with Matthew or me. When he moved out of his crib into his bed, he often wanted to lay with us on our bed to have his stories and lullabye before moving to his own room. He never had a security blanket or a lovey or even a pacifier. He only wanted us.
All night long, he slept in fits and starts, waking up hysterical, making sure I was still there, and then passing out again. It was when he woke up in the morning that he realized his Daddy wasn't there. Only talking to Matthew on the phone made him calm down enough to be functional. That, however, made him want to talk to Grandpa. And Grandpa was not talking to anyone.
Anthony was in the neurotrauma intensive care unit. He had bleeding in his brain that was much more serious than anyone realized the night before. Suddenly the broken legs were unimportant. The compound fracture of his shoulder would never be fixed. We began the first conversations with the hospital, and without Matthew there, I was making the decisions and doing all the talking. And without Matthew, I was alone with Joseph, so those conversations were all taking place with him clinging to me, hearing my side of discussions about bleeding, breaks, resuscitation and words that are scary to people a lot older than 3. And then I would call Matthew and relay the other side of the conversation to him. I wish I knew what it sounded like to Joseph, what he understood, and if he didn't understand, how he filled in the pieces.
Matthew didn't come home that day. I spent it in bed, or on the couch, the phone in my hand, holding a terrified little boy who just wanted his Daddy and Grandpa back where they belonged.
By the time we got home, it was pushing 2 a.m. I checked the phone to make sure we hadn't missed anything from either hospital. Matthew called when he was moved up to the cardiac floor to let me know his room and phone number. I headed for a hot, hot bath to relax muscles that felt like sailor's knots. I was barely in the water when Joseph started to scream.
He settled down again as soon as I got into bed. Joseph had colic when he was a baby, and even when we grew out of it, he evolved a habit of napping only if he was curled up with Matthew or me. When he moved out of his crib into his bed, he often wanted to lay with us on our bed to have his stories and lullabye before moving to his own room. He never had a security blanket or a lovey or even a pacifier. He only wanted us.
All night long, he slept in fits and starts, waking up hysterical, making sure I was still there, and then passing out again. It was when he woke up in the morning that he realized his Daddy wasn't there. Only talking to Matthew on the phone made him calm down enough to be functional. That, however, made him want to talk to Grandpa. And Grandpa was not talking to anyone.
Anthony was in the neurotrauma intensive care unit. He had bleeding in his brain that was much more serious than anyone realized the night before. Suddenly the broken legs were unimportant. The compound fracture of his shoulder would never be fixed. We began the first conversations with the hospital, and without Matthew there, I was making the decisions and doing all the talking. And without Matthew, I was alone with Joseph, so those conversations were all taking place with him clinging to me, hearing my side of discussions about bleeding, breaks, resuscitation and words that are scary to people a lot older than 3. And then I would call Matthew and relay the other side of the conversation to him. I wish I knew what it sounded like to Joseph, what he understood, and if he didn't understand, how he filled in the pieces.
Matthew didn't come home that day. I spent it in bed, or on the couch, the phone in my hand, holding a terrified little boy who just wanted his Daddy and Grandpa back where they belonged.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Bad to worse...for me
So, what's worse than having a family member hit by a car and lifeflighted to a hospital?
When he's not the only one that ends up in the hospital.
As my husband Matthew, son Joseph and I sat in a private family waiting room just off the trauma ER, with my father-in-law about to be flown to a bigger, more specialized trauma hospital about a hundred miles away, it seemed like the night couldn't get much worse. Well, just wait.
Matthew has heart problems. In fact, just five days before this all happened, he was in the same hospital, having two stents placed in two days. He's also diabetic. Did I mention the bad back, neuropathy, and anxiety? Yeah...not the picture of health. Well, as we were passing midnight, four hours or so into the worst night ever, Matthew was four hours or so without his medications. No insulin, no Xanax, no aspirin, no nothing. Most importantly, no nitroglycerin, which he normally carried but had gotten lost in the confusion.
Cue the chest pains. No nitro, but hey, it's an ER, at a hospital that has all of his medical records, so that probably won't be a big deal, right? They could help him out, right? Sure they could. But they want to check him in through the ER first. Sigh. Okay, fine. Now it's just me and Joseph in the waiting room, with the chaplain lady relaying information for me between my father-in-law's doctors and my husband's.
Then I have to go back to Matthew's room, so the chaplain volunteers to stay with Joseph, who has just fallen asleep on the couch. I run back to my husband and find out they aren't going to release him. He has to stay until his cardiologist releases him, which won't be until Monday at least. Great. I head back to the waiting room.
That's when I find my little boy crying hysterically. He has thrown up everywhere, and woke up gagging and screaming for me at the one minute that I wasn't with him.
What I didn't know at the time was that Joseph had the start of an ear infection that would be with him for the next two months. Luckily, I had Joseph's backpack in the car, with pajamas in it from his last trip to my sister's house. Cleaning him up didn't take long, but he was restless, hot, and inconsolable.
Within an hour, the helicopter was back. My father-in-law was on his way to Pittsburgh. And I was making decisions. What to do now? Matthew in the hospital, Joseph sick. I had to make the one person who was still my responsibility my priority. I couldn't do anything for my father-in-law or my husband. Joseph...him I could help. I made sure that the hospitals both had all of my phone numbers, and took my baby home.
When he's not the only one that ends up in the hospital.
As my husband Matthew, son Joseph and I sat in a private family waiting room just off the trauma ER, with my father-in-law about to be flown to a bigger, more specialized trauma hospital about a hundred miles away, it seemed like the night couldn't get much worse. Well, just wait.
Matthew has heart problems. In fact, just five days before this all happened, he was in the same hospital, having two stents placed in two days. He's also diabetic. Did I mention the bad back, neuropathy, and anxiety? Yeah...not the picture of health. Well, as we were passing midnight, four hours or so into the worst night ever, Matthew was four hours or so without his medications. No insulin, no Xanax, no aspirin, no nothing. Most importantly, no nitroglycerin, which he normally carried but had gotten lost in the confusion.
Cue the chest pains. No nitro, but hey, it's an ER, at a hospital that has all of his medical records, so that probably won't be a big deal, right? They could help him out, right? Sure they could. But they want to check him in through the ER first. Sigh. Okay, fine. Now it's just me and Joseph in the waiting room, with the chaplain lady relaying information for me between my father-in-law's doctors and my husband's.
Then I have to go back to Matthew's room, so the chaplain volunteers to stay with Joseph, who has just fallen asleep on the couch. I run back to my husband and find out they aren't going to release him. He has to stay until his cardiologist releases him, which won't be until Monday at least. Great. I head back to the waiting room.
That's when I find my little boy crying hysterically. He has thrown up everywhere, and woke up gagging and screaming for me at the one minute that I wasn't with him.
What I didn't know at the time was that Joseph had the start of an ear infection that would be with him for the next two months. Luckily, I had Joseph's backpack in the car, with pajamas in it from his last trip to my sister's house. Cleaning him up didn't take long, but he was restless, hot, and inconsolable.
Within an hour, the helicopter was back. My father-in-law was on his way to Pittsburgh. And I was making decisions. What to do now? Matthew in the hospital, Joseph sick. I had to make the one person who was still my responsibility my priority. I couldn't do anything for my father-in-law or my husband. Joseph...him I could help. I made sure that the hospitals both had all of my phone numbers, and took my baby home.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
A little boy in a scary place
From the scene of the accident, we headed for the hospital. It was about an hour's drive, with a significant part of that through areas without cell service. I don't think we were ever so aware of our cell phone.
Joseph was still in the backseat. Strapped in. And quiet. We didn't necessarily want to take him to the emergency room with us, but our options were limited and we also didn't want to leave him after what had just happened.
Normally, he would have fallen asleep in a car, after dinner, driving that long. He didn't. I should have known then that we were in for problems, but we were busy with insurance cards and calling family and trying to decide what to do before we even knew what was happening.
When we arrived, a chaplain met us. I realize that's meant to be comforting. It's unbelievably scary. There are some times that a chaplain is less a presence of calm and peace than a spectre of doom. A carrion bird waiting to carry something away. She took us down a long hall. The ER was being renovated, and abandoned portions looked like something out of a horror movie where everyone disappears inexplicably and leaves everything behind. Joseph was clinging to me like a koala.
The chaplain took us to a small room just for trauma families. It was next door to the trauma room where my father-in-law was being treated, and it wasn't long before the doctor came to tell us where we stood. Anthony's legs were broken. So was his shoulder, and the orbit of his eye, and his skull. He was awake, and wanted to see Matthew, and was talking about Joseph. He knew Joseph was scared.
On a Saturday night, however, the hospital had no orthopedic surgeon. He would have to go back on a helicopter, and go to Pittsburgh. But he wanted to see us first.
Matthew and I decided to leave Joseph with the chaplain while we went in. We knew that it wasn't going to be good. That was, without a doubt, one of the best decisions we would make over the next six weeks. That was not the image I want in my little boy's head when he thinks of his grandfather.
You would think this was really as bad as things could get on one cold Saturday night. Nope.
Joseph was still in the backseat. Strapped in. And quiet. We didn't necessarily want to take him to the emergency room with us, but our options were limited and we also didn't want to leave him after what had just happened.
Normally, he would have fallen asleep in a car, after dinner, driving that long. He didn't. I should have known then that we were in for problems, but we were busy with insurance cards and calling family and trying to decide what to do before we even knew what was happening.
When we arrived, a chaplain met us. I realize that's meant to be comforting. It's unbelievably scary. There are some times that a chaplain is less a presence of calm and peace than a spectre of doom. A carrion bird waiting to carry something away. She took us down a long hall. The ER was being renovated, and abandoned portions looked like something out of a horror movie where everyone disappears inexplicably and leaves everything behind. Joseph was clinging to me like a koala.
The chaplain took us to a small room just for trauma families. It was next door to the trauma room where my father-in-law was being treated, and it wasn't long before the doctor came to tell us where we stood. Anthony's legs were broken. So was his shoulder, and the orbit of his eye, and his skull. He was awake, and wanted to see Matthew, and was talking about Joseph. He knew Joseph was scared.
On a Saturday night, however, the hospital had no orthopedic surgeon. He would have to go back on a helicopter, and go to Pittsburgh. But he wanted to see us first.
Matthew and I decided to leave Joseph with the chaplain while we went in. We knew that it wasn't going to be good. That was, without a doubt, one of the best decisions we would make over the next six weeks. That was not the image I want in my little boy's head when he thinks of his grandfather.
You would think this was really as bad as things could get on one cold Saturday night. Nope.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
What happened next
We didn't realize immediately how much Joseph saw. Obviously, Anthony's needs were most important. Matthew ran to his father. Since we were parked right in front of my brother's apartment, I called him to come out and be with Joseph so I could go with him.
At first, it didn't seem that bad. My father-in-law was moaning. We took that as a good sign. Of course he was moaning. He just got hit by a car! But moaning meant alive, and that seemed positive.
There was a blur of EMTs that just happened to be passing by and quickly called their ambulance. A district judge was nearby and summoned a state police trooper before 911 could even dispatch him, despite several phone calls coming in almost immediately. I've been a newspaper reporter since I was 16 years old. I've been on the scene of lots of accidents. It was still amazing to me how things progressed.
Paramedics determined that Anthony's legs were broken. So was his shoulder. He was confused, not knowing what happened, and no one wanted to tell him. He wondered if he had fallen. We let him believe that to keep him calm. Slowly, though, it started to dawn on him. "Did I get hit by a car?" Shhh. Just be quiet.
While Matthew stayed with his dad, I talked to the police. Talking to the police is pretty much my job, but I was a lot more worried about how I was going to explain what happened to my little boy than going through it with the trooper.
It seemed like forever before they decided to LifeFlight my father-in-law to Altoona, loading him into the ambulance to take him to the flat helicopter landing pad at the site of our closed local hospital. They closed the doors, and that was the last time Joseph saw his grandfather awake and somewhat lucid.
That was more than four months ago. Joseph has been reliving those events daily ever since.
At first, it didn't seem that bad. My father-in-law was moaning. We took that as a good sign. Of course he was moaning. He just got hit by a car! But moaning meant alive, and that seemed positive.
There was a blur of EMTs that just happened to be passing by and quickly called their ambulance. A district judge was nearby and summoned a state police trooper before 911 could even dispatch him, despite several phone calls coming in almost immediately. I've been a newspaper reporter since I was 16 years old. I've been on the scene of lots of accidents. It was still amazing to me how things progressed.
Paramedics determined that Anthony's legs were broken. So was his shoulder. He was confused, not knowing what happened, and no one wanted to tell him. He wondered if he had fallen. We let him believe that to keep him calm. Slowly, though, it started to dawn on him. "Did I get hit by a car?" Shhh. Just be quiet.
While Matthew stayed with his dad, I talked to the police. Talking to the police is pretty much my job, but I was a lot more worried about how I was going to explain what happened to my little boy than going through it with the trooper.
It seemed like forever before they decided to LifeFlight my father-in-law to Altoona, loading him into the ambulance to take him to the flat helicopter landing pad at the site of our closed local hospital. They closed the doors, and that was the last time Joseph saw his grandfather awake and somewhat lucid.
That was more than four months ago. Joseph has been reliving those events daily ever since.