During that first week, so many tests were run to figure out
what I was actually sick with, and the doctors were getting no answers. The
chiefs of infectious disease and pulmonary medicine were both on my case, and
were the nicest doctors ever. The infectious disease doc even looked like Kris
Kringle from the original “Miracle on 34th Street.” Both of them
would pat my hand reassuringly as they would prepare to leave my room.
In the meantime, Jesse got used to being called Mr. Boyer by
the stream of nurses, doctors and technicians who came and went. It was just
easier to let it go than explain to everyone that we were only engaged. My
pulmonary medicine doctor had apparently talked with one of my nurses and
learned that we were engaged. He asked us our story during a visit, and was so taken
by it that he kept asking questions. Soon everyone knew that we were not
married, but engaged, and were even more impressed by Jesse’s very apparent
loving care of me.
Throughout this week, Heavenly Father’s care for me was also
very readily apparent. Jesse also gave me a blessing before each of the big
tests I would undergo, which helped me a lot to stay calm.
The pulmonary chief decided he needed samples of the fluid
both in and around my lungs. Drawing fluid from around my lungs required a
needle to be inserted into my upper-lower back into the pleural space (yes, I
WebMD’ed this) to collect the fluid specimen.
The pulmonary doc did this procedure himself right there in
my hospital room. I sat on the edge of bed supported by the table, Jesse and a nurse,
a very nice young woman who was wearing a hijab. The doc administered a local
anesthetic in the spot he would insert the needle, which thankfully worked very
well because I didn’t feel a thing. He inserted the very large needle through
my back into the pleural sack and after waiting for a moment no fluid came out.
He withdrew the needle, and announced he would need to try again. I was holding
onto both Jesse and the nurse’s hands. As the doctor prepared to insert the
needle a second time, I began to pray out loud whispering quietly, asking
Heavenly Father help make this time successful. I hadn’t even finished my
prayer, when the doctor announced it was working and he collected enough fluid
for the required tests. I thanked Heavenly Father and relaxed my grip on the
hands I was holding. The nurse looked at me with tears in her eyes, and
squeezed my hand while the doctor put a Band-Aid on my back. I’ve never
experienced such an instantaneous answer to prayer before. I knew I was being
watched over, and I experienced no pain at all from this procedure.
Daily blood draws were a nightmare. The vampires… er,
phlebotomists were really good their jobs and for the most part didn’t hurt me.
The only problem was that one phlebotomist kept using the same spot to draw
blood for three days straight. Finally on the fourth day, my poor, tired,
little vein decided enough was enough and collapsed. The attempted blood draw
was so painful, I wanted to smash the guy’s face into the bed rail. I refused
to let him or anyone else touch me again for several hours. Finally, a young
woman convinced me to let her try on the back of my hand. She was successful--thanks heavens!
I even had a bronchoscopy so that the kind pulmonary doc could
look at my lungs on the inside and collect tissue samples. Thankfully, I was
put under while the scope and pincers were inserted and biopsies collected, but
awakened to violent, bloody coughing and nose blowing. I used up a small box of
tissues until I could catch my breath and stop coughing. It was pretty awful.
The good doctor was so kind to me though, and stayed in the room with his
anesthetist until I was breathing regularly.
The blood and tissue tests kept coming back with negative
results. In other words, they couldn’t figure out what was causing the
pneumonia. Among other things, I was even tested for cancer, hence the lung
tissue biopsies, which came back negative too. This was all both good and bad,
because it meant that it wasn’t a funky bacterial thing or streptococcal
infection, but they had no idea what was going on.
One night I was awakened for the hourly vital signs check by
the night nurse, and I could barely move I was tired. I remember feeling so
tired that I almost didn’t say anything to the nurse. I mustered up the
strength to tell her that everything felt really heavy and dark. Immediately,
she tested my blood oxygen level which was in the low 80s. A team came rushing
into the room with a nebulizer. They removed the nasal cannula and
fit the nebulizer over my face and turned up the oxygen. I had to use this for
the next couple of days until my levels were constantly above 92, and then they
weaned me off of it and back onto the nasal cannula. I hadn’t experienced not
having sufficient oxygen before and it was a weird feeling.
Everyone took such good care of me, and Jesse led the way.
He helped me to eat, and drink, to sit up, and held my hand through every blood
draw. I was so thankful he was there because of him I was never alone during
that first week. My housemate LP was a lifesaver, bringing needed clothing and
toiletries, and her miraculous turkey neck broth with rice that tasted so good
in comparison to the hospital food. My friend SAS also came a couple of times
sitting with me as well so Jesse could get food and shower.
We were told that I needed to go 48 hours without a fever
with urine and bowel movements on my own before they would even begin to
consider releasing from the hospital. So, the big goal became to get my temperature
down and keep it down. The fever would break for a few hours and then shoot up
back again.
Finally, I got a break. My fever broke and stayed away for
24 hours, so we started feeling hopeful. I started sitting in the chair for a
couple of hours at a time. I went to the bathroom by myself a couple of times. The
physical therapist visited and I went for a walk down the hallway. I was quite
a sight, I had the oxygen, IV and a walker. I was wearing two hospital gowns,
one to cover my front and one to cover my back, and those awesome hospital
socks with the anti-skid plastic on the bottom.
Plus, I had a big belt around my waist that the PT used to steady me
when I got a little wobbly. I made it to the end of the hallway and back with
my entourage attending me every step of the way, and a high-five from my doctor
when he saw me out and about.
We were one step closer to me going home.
