Tuesday Night Visit
Visiting Dan at NIH feels oddly like visiting Hannibal Lecter -- not because Dan eats people, but because of the security stops, atriums, hallways, and elevators one must pass through to find the guy. NIH is built like a spooky, but plush, military think tank. First our car was swabbed down with nifty Terror-era chemical/bomb detecting gadgets in a little port-a-bunker next to the main gate, which was itself girded with a dozen armed guards and one of those spring-action barracade devices. Not the normal gates of yore:
No, this was one of those gates designed to halt charging fuel trucks or IEDs. Why terrorists would consider bomb-rushing a complex of buildings filled with already-sick people is beyond me.
After that, and the bomb-sniffing bunker, and the search for Building 10 ... my mom and I walked through a huge atrium, several hallways, and finally got to Dan. But everything was very quiet, very cavernous, very new, and very corporate. It had New Hospital Smell. And while I can't describe that, let's just say it's much better than Old Hospital Smell.
So there was Dan -- on strict orders to remain on his back until 2pm tomorrow. The nurse was administering hourly doses of morphine, just as the pain began to spike again. Dan's brother Dave, Dave's girlfriend Polly, and Dan's mom and dad were there. They've been by his side for the last 48-hours. Polly's nursing experience came in handy as she tried to convince Dan's current nurse to switch to a more uniform morphine schedule. Because the script says "as needed," Dan technically has to push a button every time he wants more pain medication. This button summons the nurse, who ... after another 10 minutes of paperwork and snack-munching ... will saunter to your side and give you the drugs you needed a 1/2 hour earlier. So hopefully they'll find a groove that lets him sleep for more than 50 minutes at a time.
The weakness in his left hand seems better. At least it sure felt that way when the dude punched me for bringing the wrong flavor of Gusher's Fruit Snacks.
Surprisingly, none of us had a digital camera on hand. So these drawings are the best I've got. Dave has some "before" photos we'll upload later on. Dave would also like to state for the record that conversation with Dan has been minimal, but that Dan "continues to serenade us with his melodious flatulence."
I'm going to stop now. I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted in your daily Dan update -- but most of Dan's time is filled with waiting, sleeping, and repeating his life story to each new nurse who attends on him. The pain runs neck and neck with the tedium, from the looks of it. I printed out the last batch of your e-mails for him, read some of them aloud in funny voices, and left the others by his bedside for later. I only got to hang out with him for about a half hour -- that nurse (above) comes in all the time to clear out the room and deliver new medication. But he seemed good, given the circumstances -- and your kind words definitely helped cheer him up.
Tomorrow will be another baby-step toward independence: Dan's going to try sitting up in bed. I'm going back to NIH in the afternoon or evening, so expect another update around that time. Dan's high-tech hospital bed has a live DSL internet connection wired through it, so he may be checking the e-mail account (sidebar) from now on. And don't be surprised if you get a post from the man himself before long ...
-->KM
No, this was one of those gates designed to halt charging fuel trucks or IEDs. Why terrorists would consider bomb-rushing a complex of buildings filled with already-sick people is beyond me.
After that, and the bomb-sniffing bunker, and the search for Building 10 ... my mom and I walked through a huge atrium, several hallways, and finally got to Dan. But everything was very quiet, very cavernous, very new, and very corporate. It had New Hospital Smell. And while I can't describe that, let's just say it's much better than Old Hospital Smell.
So there was Dan -- on strict orders to remain on his back until 2pm tomorrow. The nurse was administering hourly doses of morphine, just as the pain began to spike again. Dan's brother Dave, Dave's girlfriend Polly, and Dan's mom and dad were there. They've been by his side for the last 48-hours. Polly's nursing experience came in handy as she tried to convince Dan's current nurse to switch to a more uniform morphine schedule. Because the script says "as needed," Dan technically has to push a button every time he wants more pain medication. This button summons the nurse, who ... after another 10 minutes of paperwork and snack-munching ... will saunter to your side and give you the drugs you needed a 1/2 hour earlier. So hopefully they'll find a groove that lets him sleep for more than 50 minutes at a time.
The weakness in his left hand seems better. At least it sure felt that way when the dude punched me for bringing the wrong flavor of Gusher's Fruit Snacks.
Surprisingly, none of us had a digital camera on hand. So these drawings are the best I've got. Dave has some "before" photos we'll upload later on. Dave would also like to state for the record that conversation with Dan has been minimal, but that Dan "continues to serenade us with his melodious flatulence."
I'm going to stop now. I'm sorry if this isn't what you wanted in your daily Dan update -- but most of Dan's time is filled with waiting, sleeping, and repeating his life story to each new nurse who attends on him. The pain runs neck and neck with the tedium, from the looks of it. I printed out the last batch of your e-mails for him, read some of them aloud in funny voices, and left the others by his bedside for later. I only got to hang out with him for about a half hour -- that nurse (above) comes in all the time to clear out the room and deliver new medication. But he seemed good, given the circumstances -- and your kind words definitely helped cheer him up.
Tomorrow will be another baby-step toward independence: Dan's going to try sitting up in bed. I'm going back to NIH in the afternoon or evening, so expect another update around that time. Dan's high-tech hospital bed has a live DSL internet connection wired through it, so he may be checking the e-mail account (sidebar) from now on. And don't be surprised if you get a post from the man himself before long ...
-->KM
posted by Dan at 9:38 PM
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