From jacque@oz.net Mon Oct 28 11:34:00 2002 From: jacque@oz.net (jacque@oz.net) Date: Mon, October 28, 2002 11:34 am Subject: [Fwd: Bob 10/28] Message-ID: <3030.166.128.54.100.1036600625.squirrel@www.oz.net> -------- Original Message -------- Subject: (no subject) From: Date: Mon, October 28, 2002 11:34 am To: Take a deep breath. (I know I am.) Bob was seriously injured in a 30 ft. fall down a mine shaft near Jean, Nevada yesterday morning. After a protracted rescue, he was airlifted to UMC Trauma in Las Vegas. He is listed in very serious condition, with deep lacerations to his head, two badly broken wrists, and possible spine injury. At this time, he is unable to feel much below his collarbones. His neck is stablized with a cervical collar, and he is being treated with a steroid protocol to reduce the swelling from spinal shock. I was with him last night from 9:30p to 4a and will return to the hospital in just a few minutes. Thankfully, he was not alone when he fell; his companions did all they could to bring in medical help. Cell phone coverage was nil; eventually, another group happened along with a satellite phone. He is drowsy and a bit addled by all the morphine he is receiving---they are quite careful to monitor his pain and keep him as comfortable as possible. His vital signs are good; breathing is a bit labored, not surprising in light of the spinal trauma. He has undergone CT and MRI scans; we will meet with the orthopedic and spinal surgeons this morning to get a better picture of his prognosis. At the time of rescue, he was able to recall his home address and phone number. He also remembered that I was visiting Seattle---his friends were able to track me down early yesterday afteroon. Carly, Graham, Simone and I cut short our Northwest visit and flew to Las Vegas on the next available flight. We are staying in a temporary rental with the guys who were with Bob when he was hurt. Everyone is sticking around until Bob is improved and we know what the long term plan is. We have not yet determined how long we'll be in Vegas. My kids are missing school, obviously---but I feel at this time it's more important we all be together. You will be pleased to hear that he is openly impatient with how slowly the diagnosis/treatment plan is proceeding. Same ol' Bob. Sorry to be the bringer of bad news. But I figured you'd want to know. Think good thoughts for my guy, please? I will be reachable on my cell 650.387.5448 until further notice. You can also contact me at jacque@oz.net. Take care, all of you-- Jacque From jacque@oz.net Tue Oct 29 12:44:00 2002 From: jacque@oz.net (jacque@oz.net) Date: Tue, October 29, 2002 12:44 pm Subject: [Fwd: 10/29 update on Bob] Message-ID: <3125.166.128.54.100.1036443199.squirrel@www.oz.net> -------- Original Message -------- Subject: 10/29 update on Bob From: Date: Tue, October 29, 2002 12:44 pm To: Hello all-- Bob had brief bedside visits from both an orthopedic surgeon and a spinal surgeon yesterday. The orthopedic specialist informed us that Bob would need multiple surgeries to repair to damage to his wrists. These operations will come further down the line; the important thing now is to address the spinal concerns. The spinal surgeon came a few hours later. He examined Bob and checked to see how much sensitivity he had below the neck. Bob can now feel pressure to the sternum line; his arms are weak but he can move his fingers a bit. I asked about fractures in general; up to now, I have not been told of any. The nurses had hinted at broken bones but insisted the doctor had to be the ones to divulge them to me. Turns out Bob has several broken ribs; this makes breathing painful. The surgeon also confirmed several serious fractures in Bob's thoracic spine, the vertebrae just below the nape of the neck. The spinal surgeon said he wanted to operate on Bob in two hours. The objective of the surgery was stabilitization of the areas above and below the worst break. Two hours? I was alarmed but Bob was OK with it; he is eager to make progress. The surgery last night lasted 6 hours. Carly and I were able to see him when he got out; he did not know we were there and didn't wake during the two hours. The nurses said he would probably sleep all night--we took his cue and went home to sleep. Dick (Bob's father)and his wife Julie arrive today. Dick and I will stay in Las Vegas to be with Bob; Julie will fly to the Bay Area tonight with Carly, Graham and Simone. Julie has agreed to stay with the kids in our Palo Alto home so they can resume somewhat normal lives. The hospital communications director informed me that a local TV reporter wants to interview me about the accident. I am declining that "opportunity." I can report that Bob was more conversational today. Talking is exhausting for him. Nevertheless, he was taking care of business. He told me which people I needed to call, gave me some banking instructions, asked me to contact his employer. It is good to see him so mentally clear. He had several visitors and received some fabric floral arrangements. Can't bring real plants into Trauma ICU. Thank you all for your emails and phone calls of support. I will write again when I have more news. Best to all of you-- Jacque From jacque@oz.net Wed Oct 30 03:20:00 2002 From: jacque@oz.net (jacque@oz.net) Date: Wed, October 30, 2002 3:20 am Subject: [Fwd: The Bob Report 10/29 (Part 2)] Message-ID: <3129.166.128.54.100.1036443324.squirrel@www.oz.net> -------- Original Message -------- Subject: The Bob Report 10/29 (Part 2) From: Date: Wed, October 30, 2002 3:20 am To: My latest installment of Bobwatch: John R. was the last of the Plaid men to leave town---he flew back to Seattle earlier tonight. Elvis has left the building but I am grateful for twin consolation prizes: a wireless modem and a 2-bdrm. apartment a few miles from the hospital. I am sitting in Bob's TICU room right now, keeping him company while he persists in what I hope is deep, healing sleep. Dick arrived earlier this evening and had a few hours with Bob. At this point, I'm planning on staying until morning. BL has been moved into a private room (previously he was languishing in a surgical recovery/ICU overflow area), and is not babysat 'round the clock as he was before. I don't want him to be alone. Less nobly, I am still new to town and fairly sure I wouldn't remember the route to my new digs under cover of darkness. (Not that it's ever pitch black in fluorescent Las Vegas.) BL has been fading in and out of consciousness for most of the day. He opens his eyes periodically, then goes under again. Dick was able to get some wordless smiles out of him tonight, even with eyelids shut. Earlier this afternoon, I arrived to find him trembling-- a heartbreaking period of shakes from a post-surgical fever. The nurses wouldn't let me blanket him (chiennes!), claiming he got too heated under covers. They were concerned with bringing his temperature down. I rubbed his upper arms gently with my hands---a feeble attempt to offer him some warmth. Straight-jacketed, arms wrapped, tubes snaking in and out of all quadrants, I worry my touch will break him. In the past 24 hours, I have only heard him speak once-- he woke up frantic, and begged me for a glass of water. He isn't allowed oral fluids at this time, but the nurse brought me a cup of ice chips. BL and I agreed upon the open-mouthed baby bird method as a voiceless way to signal his interest in another spoonful. I have managed stoicism up to now---but today was pretty rough. I reduced some of my friends to sobbing with me on the phone, plus I had a good screaming rage fit in the privacy of my car after seeing the kids off at the airport. I am haunted by the thought that it was a week ago today I gave Bob a big hug and watched him drive away to Las Vegas. I have an uneasy alliance with my manufactured visions of him lying bloody and unconscious at the bottom of the mine. I do notice that I'm less shocked each day arriving in the TICU---my husband's broken form is increasingly familiar. It is the memories of him active---tossing Simone up on his shoulders, grilling burgers, coming through the door at the end of the day---that bring me to tears. I weep at having taken that mobility for granted. Crazy. I know. Today was my birthday. First time EVER in my life that I've had to be reminded--several times. Under normal conditions, I play the Imperial Birthday Brat--pay me proper homage and no one gets hurt. I reserve the right not to acknowledge my increased maturity until my husband comes home and takes me out to dinner. Many have asked for a local mailing address for Bob and me. At this time, I don't have one---the current apartment is mine only until 11/7. So email and cell phone contact are the best methods for now. I can tell you that Bob has received several balloons and florist arrangements here in the Trauma Center at UMC Las Vegas. But for mail? Hmmm. I will go to Mailboxes, Etc. tomorrow to research making myself a local. Bob's brother Don just arrived. He drove in from the Bay Area. "Wow," I said, "you drove? How long did it take you?" "Well," he said, "I won't tell you how long but it was 700 miles." Hmmm. In college, I often commuted the 720 miles on I-15 between Salt Lake City and Los Angeles. Took me 12 hours. My experience is the roadway slips by much more quickly for them Lord boys. Let's all drive safely, eh?--- Jacque From jacque@oz.net Thu Oct 31 04:31:00 2002 From: jacque@oz.net (jacque@oz.net) Date: Thu, October 31, 2002 4:31 pm Subject: [Fwd: The Bob Report 10/30, Part I (long)] Message-ID: <3133.166.128.54.100.1036443624.squirrel@www.oz.net> -------- Original Message -------- Subject: The Bob Report 10/30, Part I (long) From: Date: Thu, October 31, 2002 4:31 pm To: Yesterday was bleak. I can't lie to you. Hardest day so far. It just keeps getting worse. We can start on the slightly more upbeat topic of transportation. I am lucky to have use of Bob's car while I am here in Nevada. Under normal circumstances, I avoid driving it. It is Bob's, after all, and, well, Bob being "Bob" about such things... I know only three routes: hospital, apartment, airport. Don and I have been living on stale Krispy Kreme, trail mix and Coke. We need to get to a grocery store. In Bob's car, I'm happy to listen to his music, eager to embrace on to any part of him from less acute times. Number One in the CD changer is The Cars Greatest Hits. Even a tragedy requires a soundtrack. I am struck by how many of the lyrics are currently applicable to our situation. (Lyric:I don't mind you coming here, wasting all my time) I enter Trauma ICU a little after 11a. Don, Bob's brother, is sleeping sitting up in the visitors chair. Somehow he has managed two pillows from the nursing staff. As Don comes awake, I turn my attention to Bob, who is sporting an oxygen mask. This is alarming. When I left the night before, he was getting by with the little nose tubes. What happened? Don --who has dated all the gullible female nursing population in Northern California (love ya, bro!), has been following the HR, BP and SO2 numbers on the monitor. It is helpful that he has at least some idea how to interpret numbers. He brings me up to date. Throughout the early morning, Bob's heart rate jumped up (145-157) and his continued to elevate and his blood oxygenation dropped. He's been flat on his back for 3 days, has several broken ribs, and the paralysis renders his diaphragm less effective. He is paralyzed below the nipple line, and has only his upper chest muscles with which to breathe. So getting air is exhausting and painful, and he keeps his inhalations shallow to minimize discomfort and effort. The nurse decides she needs to suction Bob's lungs. She attempts to place to tube, he pushes it out with his lips and tongue. She tries again, same thing. "Bob, I need you to cooperate," she says. "F*ck you, b*tch," he growls. She makes further progress with the tube. He works to cough it out, blood everywhere...but she persists and finishes the job. Jenn, the nurse, takes no offense at the outburst. Bob being pissed off is a good sign he's still Bob. She leaves the room and Don comes to the head of the bed. Bob opens his eyes and gets in the last word. "Slacker." He drifts off. (Lyric: I don't mind you hanging out and talking in your sleep it doesn't matter where you've been as long as it was deep ) The suctioning helps but Bob is still struggling. He becomes panicky and disoriented. Don hears him mumble about being in a car wash. An oxygen mask is placed on his face to help with airflow. Don leaves, I stay. Bob continues to be agitated. I lean in close to kiss his forehead. "Take the mask off," he whispers. "I can't," I say. "Take the g*dd*mn thing off!" "You need the air," I insist. "I'm not going to take it off." "It's choking me, I can't breathe, get it off." He is very upset. His heart rate soars. I gently pull the elastic over his head, keeping the mask lightly in place with my hand. I give him some ice chips, which calms him down a bit, and then he talks about the mask again. "Get it off, PaPa is dead, we don't need it..." PaPa is my maternal grandfather, he died a year ago. Even with the mask on, we can't keep the blood oxygen number above 94. He struggles for breath. 92 and 93 produce confusion, at 94 he is more mentally clear. The nurse approaches me. "We may need to intubate," she says gently. "Be prepared for that. Let Bob know it may be necessary." I am chilled. Breathing with a machine. How is that any different from life support? Bob is wheeled off for a CT scan, this one to check for cerebral bleeding or trauma that may be contributing to the disorientation. (Lyric: I can't feel this way much longer, expecting to survive with all this hidden innuendo just waiting to arrive ) The room is huge and empty without the bed. Dr. Vater, the spinal surgeon, strolls in. He is a kind, economically proportioned man with a Nordic accent. I have not seen him since the surgery Monday night, and I am anxious to get details on Bob's injuries, how the the surgery went, what the next steps will be. He gives me quick details. It is numeric and alphabetic soup. I can't keep up. T2 through T7...rods...C4, C5, T4, T5, buckle, distal, fracture, wedge.... "...in cases of paraplegia like this, we can do subsequent surgeries to stabilize..." The room is so cold. I ask him to clarify. He doesn't hesitate. Bob will be paraplegic. 100% certainty. It was apparent from the moment he was airlifted in. So I start wailing, of course, and Vater is nonplussed, this being his usual effect on women. He continues talking through my tears, reassuring me that paraplegics can live full and rewarding lives, that he skis with paraplegics, plays basketball with parapalegics... The oddest thought crosses my mind: But Bob doesn't ski. "Should I tell Bob?" I ask. "Will you tell him?" Vater says that it's up to me, that I know Bob best, but his experience is that the patient usually knows already. He leaves. Dick calls from the waiting room outside TICU. I walk through the halls in tears, arriving by his side, blubbering in the chair next to his for a few minutes. I tell him what the Dr. told me. Dick is saddened, but not really surprised. He suspected the worst from my initial phone call letting him know Bob was hurt. We return to the room. Bob is back from the CT scan; they are preparing to intubate. The doctor reassures me that Bob will be heavily sedated for the next few days and will not have any awareness or memory of the respirator. Is there anything Bob and I need to talk about before they put the tube in? Dick and I leave the room. I need to get away from the hospital for a while. Dick agrees to go back in with Bob after the procedure is over. I step out into the sunshine. I don't know where to look for my car. I don't remember which lot I used. I wander through the aisles, looking for BMWs with California plates. I'm not too sure on model or color. I dial a friend and wander around for ten minutes before I locate my vehicle. Even in my hysterical state, I did manage a few useful errands. I went to a drugstore for toilet paper and bath soap. Apartment rentals aren't like hotels, sadly, you have to bring your own---plus a blow dryer. I also rented a mailing address to use while Bob and I are here: Bob Lord &/or Jacque Deerr-Lord 840 S. Rancho Dr., Ste. 4-105 Las Vegas NV 89106-3820 Suite, yeah right. It's a 5" x 5" box. I will check it daily and correspondence is always welcome. OK that's all for now. Sure, a lot more stuff happened yesterday. But I feel like I've been hit by a truck and maybe you do, too. Thank you all for your emails and phone calls of support and concern. It really helps keep me going. Keep Bob in your thoughts-- Jacque