A Terrible Untwisting
But put forth thine hand now, and touch his bone and his flesh, and he
will curse thee to thy face.
Job
2-5
July 12, 2000, was a play day. We went to the
Six Flags theme park in Santa Clara. Evan especially loved the water ride. It
was hot, and getting wet was fun. For a few hours, we were able to forget we
were going to ruin the rest of his summer vacation. Ironically, Evan was still
looking forward to throwing away his hated back brace.
I had been dreading
the next day, July 13. This was the day of Evan’s spinal fusion surgery. The
surgery would be performed at Lucille Packard’s Children Hospital, a four hour
drive from home. The doctors would start early in the morning. They would take twelve
hours. If all went well, Evan would be home in three weeks. The day of the
surgery was as bad as I feared. The recovery was much worse.
The union
representing the nurses was on strike. The hospital was staffed by a mix of
nurses willing to cross the picket line and temporary nurses brought in
throughout the country. Evan was going to pay a price for his audacity to
require life saving surgery during their stupid labor dispute.
We brought Evan in
to the hospital very early in the morning. While he was being prepared for the
surgery, Dr. Rinsky talked to us. We were instructed to stay in contact during
the surgery. He would give us status updates throughout the day. Our little boy
was then wheeled away from us. We were in for a long, excruciating wait.
There weren’t many
status updates. Dr. Rinsky addressed us once in the early afternoon. He
bemoaned the fact that Evan’s bones were softer than normal. This was
presenting challenges to the surgical team. Eventually, we were told the
surgery was complete and he was being taken to the recovery room.
Evan’s little body
was so swollen, we hardly recognized him. When he regained consciousness, he
said, “I’m crooked.” No, Evan, you were crooked. You are almost straight now.
The doctors told us that Evan’s reaction was very common to scoliosis
correction surgery. Evan spent three days in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit
and then was moved to another hospital room.
The hospital rooms
at Lucille Packard have beds for a parent to sleep in. This arrangement allows a
mother or father to comfort a sick or injured child around the clock. Cindy
promptly settled in for the long haul. I could stay in a nearby facility called
the Ronald McDonald house.
Monday, July 17th,
proved to be the worst of the worse. It was obvious to us the temporary nurse
was unfamiliar with a very important piece of equipment. This equipment was
used to administer pain medication to Evan in just the right amount to control
his pain. In mid afternoon, she totally botched it. Evan’s level of pain
increased, but he did NOT cry out. However, his body tensed and his blood
pressure and heart rate increased dramatically. We yelled at the nurses that
something was wrong. Other nurses were called to help. Evan suffered for hours
before his pain was brought under control.
By the time I left the hospital room
that night, I was livid with anger. I went to the lead Nurses Supervisor and
gave her a blast. “You need to train your temporary nurses better!” I bitterly
complained. I told her exactly what happened to my son.
When I arrived in my
room, I directed my angry cries at God. My thoughts were on the promise made to
me that my tears of joy would wash away my tears of grief. This was a very thin
thread to hang on to. “That joy better be
strong enough for this!” I complained.
“It will be,” was
the soft reply.
“He lives to comfort me when faint;
He lives
to hear my soul’s complaint”
Hymn 136, I Know That My Redeemer Lives. Samuel Medley
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