For all of you who do not know me, I am Kyle's daughter, Jessica. I went down to Salt Lake City with him on Thursday and stayed through the weekend until I was comfortable he was going to be alright. A lot of you have been asking for a little more information on how dad is doing, so if you will bear with me, that is what I will attempt to do.
Leaving Thursday morning around eight a.m. the trip was, as usual, long and uneventful. After battling traffic for an eternity we arrived at the University Hospital of Utah around two- thirty where my Aunt and her daughter met us. I think my dad was a little disappointed that his father was not there, though he never gave up hope that he would show up. A short while later found my father, my Aunt, and I crowded in a small room with Dr. MacDonald, his surgeon where we discussed the surgery and its possabilities and its drawbacks. Having researched all of this with my father previously, there were no suprises, though my Aunt found it slightly more disturbing I believe.
There was a tangle deep within the brain where pressurized blood flowed from arteries and into these veins. Because veins are not made to handle this pressure they were starting to back up and risk of a blood clot or possibly even an explosion was immenant. What they wanted to do was open his head up, expose the brain, and using micro surgery they would find this tangle, cut it out, and redirect the blood flow, or so I gathered.
We next headed down to pre register, where my Aunt, my cousin, and I waited in the lobby while my father filled out paper work and had his blood drawn. For an hour and a half My Aunt and I caught up on events of the past year, the time seeming to drag on and on until my father finally came back out. Having eaten little all day, both my father and I were pretty hungry, so checking the lobby once more for my grandfather, the four of us headed to the hotel to drop our bags off, and on to Hometown Buffet for dinner.
After stuffing ourselves to bursting we headed back to our hotel, the DoubleTree Hilton, and my cousin and I immediately rushed down to the pool. My grandfather called to say he was in town, much to my fathers relief, though we did not see him that night. It was late when we all finnally fell asleep and morning came early, six o'clock found us back in the hospital lobby, and the first person I laid eyes on was my grandfather, whom I had not seen in nearly ten years. Having his father there seemed to mean a lot to my dad, but I could tell he was getting a little nervous, though he tried not to let on. I think we all were a little scared, to be perfectly honest, but I knew everything would work out they way it was ment to in the end. After a short stay in preop we were hearded down to ICU where we had a few minutes to say our goodbyes and wish him luck before they chased us out into the Surgical Waiting Room.
Let me tell you about where we were at. The Surgical Waiting Room was on the third floor at the very front of the hospital in the new section. There were three windows overlooking the parking lot and helecoptor pad, and the room was full of couches and chairs that were only comfortable for the first hour or two. A few fake plants, a television turned on in the corner, and a desk containing all of two telephones made up our home for the next 18 hours. Several people came and went throughout the day, But we were the first ones there, and practically the last to leave. Lunch was had at a terrible resteraunt above the hospital, and a quick trip was made to KMart for me to pick up a coloring book and a card. The rest of the day I was either hovering over the phones in the waiting room, or passed out on one of the couches.
Every two hours, or close to it, a nurse would call to tell me how my dad was doing, though it was never really much. Most of the time what they told me was "he's doing fine, his vitals are stable, and it will be a couple more hours." By the time he'd been under for nearly eight hours I started to become a little nervous, and began asking more questions. I remember the doctor telling us specifically, the longer they brain is exposed the greater the risk of dust and dirt getting in there and causing an infection. He'd said it should'nt be any longer then eight hours. Seven-thirty p.m. rolled around with another call from the operating room. Things were going well and the doctor would be up in a little while to talk to us.
It was nine o'clock by the time Dr. MacDonald showed up, eleven hours after begining the operation, and you could tell he was beat. He was afraid there was still something in there, but he was to tired to keep going tonight. They were going to take dad down to get an angeogram, and if the results said there was still something in there, then he'd operate again tomorrow. The good news was, the surgery was over for now, and dad was doing fine.
My grandfather was staying in the University Guest House about a block away, so we headed over to see his room. Since it was cheaper and just as nice as the Hilton, my Aunt reserved a room for us for the following night and the next week, then it was back up to the hospital. Upon returning to the waiting room I found a note saying "Kyle is doing fine in special." I hadn't a clue where special was, but figured he'd be awake soon and I wanted to see him. I ran down to the lobby where the receptionist patched me through to directory assistance and I learned where my dad was. He still wasn't awake yet, but he was up in NCCU (Nueral Critical Care Unit) and they'd give me a call when he woke.
Not a call came, and by eleven I was ready to have a nicotene fit. I called directory assistance myself who patched me through to NCC. After a few minutes my dad's nurse came on and informed me he was awake and we were welcome to come see him. Since I didn't have a clue where NCC was, the nurse met us in the waiting room and led us a short way down the hall.
My grandfather and I went in first. I walked into the room to see my father, helpless as a babe, surrounded by computers and covered in tubes, lights blinking, moniters beeping, and a nurse putting a small green sponge in dads mouth cuz he was thirsty. The smell was nearly sickening, sterile plastic and medicines, and he was so pale I choked and my voice quivered as I said hello to my father. To my relief, he easily recalled who I was, but he was still extremely groggy. "Dad, we where here all day waiting for you," I told him. "How long?" he wanted to know. It had taken eleven hours I told him, and when he asked what time it was I told him, just after eleven.
My Aunt came in and my grandfather left, but I never left his side. While we had a minute alone for just a second his train of thought seemed to clear and he said to me "don't worry about me now, I'll be alright." And then he seemed to slip back into another world where he understood little of what was going on around him. It was late and we were all exhausted, so I said good bye to my dad and told him I'd be back in the morning at nine o'clock. "'What time is it now?" I told him it was eleven thirty and that i'd be back in about nine hours. "Okay," he says dryly.
Back to the hotel the three of us head, and my grandfather to the guest house. We order a pizza, make a few phone calls, and by one-thirty pass out.
Dropping me off at the hospital just before nine, they headed to church. My dad was awake when I walked in, drinking ice water through a straw, I also noticed he had a lot more of his color back. I told him hello, and when he responded I could tell he was a bit more coherent, and his words just a bit less slurred. He put out his hand and I took it into my own as he told me he loved me.
The nurses shined lights in his eyes, but all he could see was a slight flash. Still it was an improvement from last night, when he had to ask me if his eyes were even open or not and he could not even see the flashes. I stayed by his side all morning, eventually asking for a chair to sit in. I helped him drink some water, found the nurse when he became nascious or had a headache (which was a constant thing). After drinking to much water, a few mouthfuls really, he vomited and we had to go back to the sponge for a short while. Following that he was given some medicine and quickly passed out, while I read.
Around noon a nurse came in and we woke my dad up. The bandage on his head needed changed and he wanted to scoot up just a little. Between two nurses and myself we were able to slide him further up on the bed, then raising the bed up into more of a sitting position the nurse set about changing the dressing. This was the first chance I'd had to really look at the insiscion (excuse me I know the spelling is wrong on that). His head was shaved in a strip about half and inch wide from the top of the back of his head all the way down the the base of his neck, just between his shoulders. All the way down, every quarter inch or so, were metal staples holding the skin tightly together. At the very top of the head, just where the staples came to an end was a small tube about a foot long coming out of his head, with a plastic ball at the end, about the size of a tennis ball. This was where the blood still drained out of his head.
Suprisingly enough, the staples and the tube, none of it bothered my dad, in fact, he couldn't even feel them. I tried to describe it to him and he seemed a little shocked. After wrapping it back up my dad and I had a few minutes to ourselves, he wanted to know about his web page and how it was doing. When I'd tell him how many hits it had gotten or how many of you had signed his guest book it really ment a lot to him.
The nurses got to know me pretty well around there, for I practically hoovered over my father while he was awake, read quietly by his side, or held his hand while he slept, leaving for a few hours so I could have lunch and rest at our new hotel room for a short while before heading back to the hospital again. When I arrived back at the hospital in the afternoon he was able to see the shadow of movements. such as if someone were to walk by the sunlight coming through the window or wave their hand before his eyes. Once he asked me where Brandon was, and I had to explain to him that Brandon was back home in Boise. "Okay," he says. As the day progressed he lost a bit of his coherence that he had that morning, but from my point of veiw, he was still doing well.
The plan was for me to leave in the morning, so I could get home and back to work. I explained this to my dad and promised to be back this coming weekend, that his sister would stay with him while I was gone. His father was leaving in the morning as well. Being the most familiar face before and after the surgery, I think my presence was the most important to him, and I knew that my leaving kinda scared him just a little. I stayed with him till just before ten p.m. and promised I'd be back in the morning for a few hours before I left. My grandfather came in to say goodbye to my dad, then we all went to the guest house to get some sleep. Tired as I was, I had trouble falling asleep that night, but after a great battle exhaustion won out and I lost conciousness.
I woke myself up early Sunday morning, grabbed a shower, packed up my things, and walked up to the hospital, telling my Aunt to sleep in and meet me around ten-fifteen. By 8:30 i arrived at my fathers room. Again he was awake as the nurse changed his bandage. We talked for a few minutes and I explained to him, again, that I was leaving this morning, but he was tired so I held his arm and he slept. I could be wrong, but something told me that just my being there and feeling my hand on him was a comfort to him, and I could tell that he was sleeping well while I sat next to him.
When he awoke back up he asked me to find his nurse. She came in and he asked to sit up, so we helped him hang his legs over the edge of the bed and ever so gently we helped him sit up. For several minutes he sat there on his own, though I stayed at his side lest his arms gave out and he were to topple over, which he did not. The headache throbbed for a few seconds then went away and we helped him stand up. One of the doctors walked in at this point and began talking about taking the tube out of his head.
By the time ten o'clock hit us my dad was laying back down, feeling a little tired. They had removed the tube from his head and his cathetore (again I appoligize for the incorrect spelling), which meant that from now on he had to start walking if he needed to go to the bathroom. I helped him drink a little bit of grape juice, gave him a hug, and promised to see him soon. My Aunt arrived and the two of us headed down to the truck.
For $40 I caught the greyhound back to Boise, and I must tell you, by this time I consider myself an old pro at riding the bus. It was a long, long ride back home, though I met a lot of interesting people, and had some compelling conversations. The bus got to Boise by seven-thirty and throwing my pack over my shoulders I walked the 12 blocks home. Several nights of little sleep and long stressful days finally caught up with me, so my brother and I ordered a pizza, watched some television, then passed out early.
I slept late yesterday, then had to work. After calling my Aunt in Salt Lake last night I tride to update the page quickly before I headed to bed. She tells me he has been moved to a differant room, this time with a roommate who always comes in smelling like cigarette smoke which bugs my dad a little. From a Texan point of veiw he is "eating real well," so I assume that is good. She said he tried to feed himself yesterday and it ended in a bit of a disaster, but nothing a few more tries won't help. Dad was not walking a lot, just to use the bathroom, but his sight has increased to the point that he can see reds, and his comprehension improves daily. Their is a chance he may be released from the hospital by early next week and he will be allowed to come home.
This evening either my brother or I will try and update the page again, once I have gotten home from work and can call my Aunt. Once again I would like to thank all of you for your interest and concern for my father, it means a lot to all of us.