The Saga of Sam

The Saga of Sam

It is hard to believe that only two months have passed.  This sclerotherapy is marked with complications.  You are quite comfortable with the OR.  In fact, you're giving Dr. Schwarz and the anesthesiologist orders.  You are quite aware of the surroundings.  I leave as you go under and in not too long you are in the recovery room.  This recovery takes many hours (five).  Your blood oxygenation is low (92 percent).  Recovery Room x-rays are showing pleural effusion (water in the lung).  There is a fear that your esophagus has been perforated.  You lasix is increased.  You are sent for a nuclear x-ray.  It is late in the evening and the x-ray doesn't come easily.  Finding the right people and signatures is frustrating, but all proves well and you are moved to the IMCU (9th floor) for close observation through the night.

Dr. Schwarz is not happy.  Your blood chemistry numbers are worse and you did not tolerate the sclerotherapy well.  She won't do it again.  Living related donation becomes more of a reality.  We decide to do all the tests as a safety precaution.  If I qualify and a donation does not appear, there will be an alternative.  I'll need the following: a GI exam by Dr. Diehl, psychiatric exam by Dr. Wirth, blood analysis, CAT scan and angiogram.  We set up the schedules.  Blood and CAT scan are tomorrow.

Well, even the great institutions screw up sometimes.  We had back-to-back CAT scans.  I went for mine and waited for you.  I waited and waited.  Just a boy with a broken let next to me.  I finally went to find you, but you were gone.  Back to the CAT scan area.  No Sam, no boy with a broken leg.  OOPS!  Wrong boy.  The boy with the broken leg was on his way back, probably bewildered, you were on your way down.  We finally found each other.

Barb Wise took my blood.  Dr. Schwarz ordered another unit of blood for you.  She felt your numbers were better and you could probably go home tomorrow.  You were unsettled and pretty cranky.  Your belly is really large from the ascites.  You skin and nipples are worsening.  Your hands are cramping.  The night is a tough one.  The blood transfusion is not easy.  There is pain in your arm where the needle goes into the vein.  The transfusion is slowed, but little comfort comes.  I woke up around 4:00 A.M. to a small whisper.  You're saying, "Dad, Dad! Help, I can't breathe".  You've slipped down in the bed and can't pull yourself up again.  I'm glad I was there.  In the morning, I dress in the bathroom and leave for work.