I'm not going to tell you it's quiet here. I'm not going to say that it looks like the one-two punch of morphine and ketamine, combined with the three-four punch of methadone and ativan is working (for now). I'm not going to say anything about how they took Ike off the Vasopressin because his blood pressure stabilized. I'm not even going to tell you about his bath (that required a dose of paralytics, but still) to de-stinky-i-fy him. I won't tell you that his sweaty head is clean(ish) and that they removed all the drains from his incisions and even the gauze from his chest incision.
I'm not saying any of that because I don't want to jinx anything. Especially after this morning and this afternoon when he got so pissed he decided to hold his breath, even though the vent was still trying to breathe for him. Very alarm-y (in both the actual and emotional variety) and at one point the pulse ox monitor said 6, which very nearly made me puke on the bed.
I will tell you that the bugger still hasn't pooped (and who can blame him, really?). It's been since Tuesday. It looks like someone fed him a basketball. Colace, miralax, suppository AND a bit of a glycerin enema have produced nada (I shouldn't say "nada" I guess. It's the name of a Mexican restaurant here in town). Nothing. It's produced nothing. No poopies. We need an epic poop y'all.
Also, he is still a little feverish and his cultures are growing strep pneumo (which they kind of always do), but that has caused some hand-wringing.
We also had some good times with blood rushing forth from his mouth and nose – a story no one wants to hear – but it looks like it was just a nose bleed gone bad from the ET tube.
I am officially sick to my stomach, which considering everything, is kind of a record holdout on the part of my intestinal fortitude. The plan for tonight is to get Ike to poop and to stop me from pooping. We have opposing goals, but that does not mean we aren't still friends.