My Turn

For me, like everyone else, time marches on, and as a 4^th Quarter member, every day takes on increased significance. I write on lots of topics here, hopefully staying clear of politics but everything else, pretty much in play. I feel confident in writing on most subjects and try not to focus too much on my own health issues but recent events mandate, at least for now, a change in that posture. What follows is not for the faint of heart, but it is my turn and my story.

          It all began on September 6^th. It was a beautiful Sunday, and I took a lovely walk around the neighborhood. Life was good. I felt good. Diane almost recovered nicely from her open-heart surgery in January. As the old refrain goes, “Who could ask for anything more?” Never take anything for granted. There is an old Alan Alda movie, Fate is the Lonely Hunter, and that adage was about to have genuine relevance to the Macomb Taylors. Diane and I followed our usual schedule. I had a couple of cartons of Jevity 1.2 for dinner or whatever you call it I ingest through my feeding tube.  At about the same time, I watched poor Diane fix her dinner for one and then basically eat alone though of course, I was in the same room. Not very glamorous or exciting but that’s our “new normal.” Then it was time for pajamas and a couple of tv shows in bed. That’s where, life as we knew it, threw a major curveball at us.

          I lay there and told Diane I was having a little discomfort/tightness on my left side of the chest that got worse as the evening progressed. I have no heart issues so pretty much ruled that out. I said, “I’ll bet it’s a kidney stone” and we decided a trip to the ER was in order. We arrived at 11.41 p.m., and the doctor was quick to say I had aspiration pneumonia, which is caused by inhaling food, liquid, saliva etc. into the lower respiratory tract. It was decided I should be admitted to the hospital where I spent the next five nights being released on Friday the 11^th.  I was sent home with oxygen. That meant a portable unit and two larger units so I could access oxygen throughout the house. The level was set at three, and we had tubing strewn throughout the house.

          What I’ve neglected to mention was all this would be a major inconvenience to Taylor family plans.

September 28—Gordy already delayed biopsy appointment to determine severity of previously diagnosed prostate cancer.

September 30—Diane appointment with Northwestern cardiologist for post-surgery evaluation in Grayslake.

October 7-17—visit to Corpus Christi to visit Jennifer and her family.

These were longstanding commitments, important to us, but all three would be postponed.

          Back to “the story.” I spent the weekend at home adjusting to life with oxygen which is a major intrusion on my otherwise active lifestyle, not to mention, more work for Diane. Monday the 14^th had a visit with good friend Marty Green who was in town for meetings. While sitting on the couch, I indicated more tightness and difficulty taking deep breaths. I could breathe ok, but the deep breaths were a challenge, so it was back to the ER and readmission to McDonough District Hospital (MDH). X-rays showed abnormal buildup of fluid around my left lung lobe. Hospitalist Dr. Jack McPherson pretty much took over for the next week. Our boys played basketball together in high school, and I used to outplay Jack on the court in “old man games” but he disputes my interpretation of events.

           Thursday, September 17^th a surgeon extracted the fluid which, while not painful, isn’t much fun either. Diane was amazed when they showed her, they had removed 1.3 liters of fluid. I was discharged for a second time on Saturday the 19^th still on oxygen which I remain on now at the lowest level of one (that’s good) to this day. But there was a new wrinkle. The pesky pneumonia and a small amount of fluid was still in the space between the membranes that line the lungs and chest wall.  It was determined I would engage in a new, extremely invasive and challenging set of actions. I was to be administered four doses of a powerful antibiotic every day for the next 11 days–44 infusions of Zosyn and before this ‘here’s the kicker” I would receive these at 6 a.m., noon, 6 p.m., and midnight. I could have remained in the hospital for 11 more days, but Florence Nightengale Salk Taylor asked Dr. McPherson, “Could I do this at home for Gord?”  Note reference to both famous nurse and polio doctor (Diane would serve both roles). Jack said OK, but it would be difficult.  No one had ever offered to do the infusions at home. It was home health care nurse Crystal who would be our angel. She taught Diane what to do and learning curve was steep and rife with unknown twists and turns. I would receive saline injections before and after the actual antibiotics, dripping from a bag through a “pic line” inserted in my left arm, but it was Diane who had to do the hard work of actually “doing it.”  We had some issues but a phone call to Crystal pretty much addressed each of them until Sunday night the 27^th when we had a blocked pic line with coagulated blood. Back to the ER for third time in three weeks. They were able to “blast open” the pic line, so we could again continue with the procedure.

          You need to get the visual here. You have 78- and 80-year-old people doing this 4 times a day for 11 days. That meant getting prepared at 5:30 a.m. 11:30 a.m., 5:30 p.m. and 11:30 p.m. You are on an impossible sleep schedule and to say the least, your bodily biorhythms are totally disrupted. It was, to say the least, a tough 11 days, and we are just now getting back to a balance in our sleep schedule. I asked Diane who carried to burden in all this, “Are you feeling any buyer’s remorse wishing I had stayed in the hospital for all this?” and the reply, “Absolutely.”  However, looking back she says she is glad she stuck with it.  My sweetheart of 58 years never complained about waking up and not sleeping.  Diane never got angry or frustrated with the 44 antibiotic infusions and 88 saline solutions administered before and after each antibiotic dose in my pic line. 

          I wish I could say this story has a completely happy ending but not so fast. We still have to reschedule the prostate biopsy and Diane’s appointment, not to mention, when we can go to Texas. For now, the goal is getting me off oxygen so I am allowed to function independently, and we can move on from there. All this involves my diagnosis of bronchiectasis which unfortunately is incurable and involves the minute air sacs in the lungs but is treatable. I’m confident I’ll get through this but sometimes we feel like we are confronting that wall the marines need to get over in those training commercials. We are like the Little Engine That Could and we will—chug, chug, chug.

          This has been My Turn.