I'm Sorry Who Are You Again?

That night I sat on my perch. The uncomfortable Blue cushion natural wood chair that does not recline. Behind me is a  beautiful skyline of the city overlooking Jersey and the George Washington Bridge. At night staring outside the view is breathtaking. If you could only apply your sense of sight you could get lost in the beauty that is the world and all of its wonder. But there are 4 other senses and some of them just can't be ignored. The constant beep and chime of his vitals in the step-down unit ring in my head now. They go off all day and night and now if I DONT hear them I am worried.
His heart rate/saturation/respiration/temperature/and blood pressure play like a video game on a screen above his head.
All night I watch it - sensitive to the fluctuations and alerting the nurse who is watching the same screen from her location because she is not moving fast enough.
That night Lauren helped me change him. While changing his bed she rolled him toward me and he de-saturated. This means his oxygen intake level dropped. He went from 96-88. I looked at him and he looked like a fish out of water. Gasping dramatically and slowing. I looked at the screen and looked at him and she immediately said, "Oh don't worry about it, I am sure it's just his connection."
I looked at him again and his connection that was lit read as if it is working, then at the screen.
the wave form was perfect.
"Isn't that a wave form that's good?" I picked up a little medical knowledge. Bad wave form - no good read. Good wave form - good read.
She looked like a dear in headlights.
"Um, let's just hurry up and I will check him."
Then the nurses came in. One by one because their stations were going off - his oxygen dipped to 81.
"Lauren, what's going on?"
Then all hell broke loose.
It all happened so fast - I don't know exactly what happened.
A flood of nurses came in - snatching off his gown and checking his connections. They plugged him into an oxygen machine.
Someone from respiratory showed up.
The did an ABG.
More nurses came - and some were helping while others were watching.
Jason came back to 86 on saturation.
"I am calling it."
I had only heard people say that on TV when someone died.
The panic was rising and the tremble was back.
I stepped back and away - for the first time in my life not having a fucking clue as to what to do.
Trusting and not trusting. And praying. I was alone. And if this means my son was going to die - I had mentally drawn the path I would take to jump out of the window.
"I am calling a Rapid Response." the nurse said while another ran out the room to do it.
Another flood of scrub wearing individuals came in, one rather astute looking one walked in with a slow and cocky gait.
I was wearing my work ID, looking emotionless and standing in the crowd the fellow spoke freely and openly as if "I" were one of "Them". He was the "fellow" from ICU.
He spoke to the resident handling him. The one who would offer me a suggestion of medication and ask me and the nurse what we thought about going that route before confirming that is what she would do.
He said," Awww... did you do...?" rambling off a bunch of acronyms I never heard of.
She calmly answered in the affirmative.
He rambled off some instructions and the nurses complied.
He left.
Another fellow came later while Jason was still on Oxygen double checking what the first fellow offered. The response was not good. The other fellow left and another Rapid Response was called.
Dr. Cocky came back. He stood next to me again and complained that he did not have an extra bed and he didn't want to intubate.
"What does that mean?" I asked. He looked down on my ID and looked back up at me and said, "Basically I am going to put him on life support."
That's when he saw it.
It was in my eyes.
I have that face that emotion writes itself all over like a blackboard and chalk. I know he saw the look on my face. I no longer had a poker face. The Invasion of the body snatchers people realized I was a actually a human.


"I'm sorry who are you again?"


The resident who was covering Jason looked down at the floor. "That's his mother."
She answered on my behalf.
Then the doctor changed, he began rambling off how its actually a "ventilator" to help him breathe. It better if he wasn't on it - but if he needed it he was going to have to.


They were disconnecting him. Taking all the plugs he had covering him from head to toe and putting them on portable machines. Six nurses walked in quick clip down the hall carrying my son on a bed to the other side of the floor where the Intensive Care Unit was. He had been in a step-down from Critical - and now he just entered Critical condition.


They disappeared behind these huge double doors and I tried. I tried to text. I tried to tell. I tried to stay together. At this point all I can do is try. The questions came and my phone chimed back with everyone not understanding what I am saying because they were not there to see. With everyone asking questions about what was happening now. But I understood what Jason meant. My fingers didn't work. I couldn't answer.
I was becoming numb.
One by one the nurses came back thru the doors. With sad faces. Some eyes misty. Telling me "it was for the best." I didn't understand.
"I'm calling it."
Went over in my head. I imagined the Cocky Doc coming back out to give me the news. My heart was in my throat. One of my favorite nurses came back and hugged me. She was crying and she let me cry hard on top of her. I was not cold. The tremble was bad, my whole body shook. She kept asking me if I were cold.
Chelsea came. I cried. I couldn't let myself cry as hard as I had did when he was diagnosed. I was afraid to. Something broke inside me the day that happened. It's hard to explain but if you speak to someone who has gone thru trauma they might get it. I couldn't let myself completely break down. I was afraid I wouldn't come back.
She talk to me and texted everyone back. I prayed and I prayed really hard. Then I felt like I had a sense of calm wash over me.
He is going to be okay.
The more I said it the calmer I felt.
This is a complication but he will be ok.
Carmelo came and I cried some more.


Then I saw Jason.
My son had a ventilator strapped to him. A rack with 10 IV's and a monitor with even more brightly lit curves and lines. I couldn't stop my hand. The tremble stayed.


Rhonda was his nurse and she was cheerful and pretty and was fluttering all over him like a butterfly, doing this and that and happy to do it.
In ICU you get 1 nurse to 1 or 2 patients. Jason was getting the one to one care he needed.


He was completely sedated. The calmest I had seen him in days. After 4 days of running a marathon. He was finally getting rest. Maybe ICU was actually a good thing, I thought.


I stayed for 2 hours watching him lay still and lifeless. The monitor was not Las Vegas style. His heart rate was normal. All his vitals stable. No more worried. No more variance. His breathing was easy and he was taking breaths on his own- which was a great sign.
"You should go home and get some sleep. Here in ICU is a different world. I only have him and his neighbor next door and I have Joe helping me. Nothing will happen to him."


That sense of calm came over me again. I believed her.
I went home with Carmelo and I tried to sleep.