noon on New Year's Eve.
It's come down to this.
Mom is relatively comfortable, but she is on
100% oxygen, at a full 15 litres, and still struggling
to breathe. Her lungs continue to fill with fluids.
She drifts in and out of sleep, or consciousness.
This morning, when the nurse asked her if she
knew who Dad was, she said it was her dad.
We are moving her to a nearby Hospice today at 2pm,
where her room will allow her to receive the oxygen
and minimally invasive care that she needs. By doctor's
recommendation, there will be no life-saving efforts made,
when her body begins to shut down. That could be today,
this week, or down the road, but it really just depends on
how long her heart and lungs hold out.
At this point, we all agree that we just want to make her
as comfortable as possible, so that she can drift away when
it is her time.
I thank you for your thoughts and prayers.
I'll keep you posted, dear friends.
Now, go hug somebody.
jb
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
non-sequitur
I think Dad had a rougher day than Mom did today.
Dad has been staying close to Mom, and hasn't left St. Vincent's
in Indy since he arrived at 2am Christmas morning.
He's been sleeping in the cheap recliners in the Family Lounge I,
on the ICU ward. Not exactly four good night's of sleep for a 75 year
old man. Or a person of any age, for that matter.
Dad has twice taken advantage of a generous program at the nearby
Marten House Hotel that provides 90 minutes in a complimentary room
for family of patients, so that they might grab a shower and a nap, and some
comfortable time away from the vigil of the waiting rooms.
No substitute for a good night's sleep in your home bed, but a respite nonetheless.
I think that the stress of the uncertainty, or finality of Mom's condition,
coupled with sheer fatigue, may have caught up with Dad.
Debbie and I visited Mom after church on Sunday, and were greatly encouraged
by our visit. She appeared to be so much more comfortable than she had been,
and she was as lucid as I've seen her since she arrived here. When I asked if she
needed anything, she said, "Yes, a Fruit Drink from The Frozen Custard".
She smiled a bit, and I saw sparkle in her eyes that I had missed. When I gave
her a sip of water, she said that it was no Fruit Drink.
After we left, Mom had asked Dad where her Fruit Drink was, and it confused him.
Later that evening, Dad told me that Mom had been more coherent with Debbie and I
than at any other moment of the day, and he was clearly concerned about some of the
random, seemingly disconnected comments she had been making.
Talking to Dad Monday early afternoon, I could tell that he was very down, and
distressed. The Doctor had told him that they could find no evidence of any infection,
which they had originally thought had caused this latest episode. The doctor said that
this left further deterioration of the heart and lungs as the cause of Mom's Christmas
Eve crash. He suggested that any future attempts at CPR, or venting to breath would
be too hard on her body, and should be avoided. Dad is going to sign the DNR paperwork.
He said that they would make her as comfortable as possible.
I saw Mom Monday afternoon, and she recognized me in the doorway. Dad said that,
an hour before, she had opened her eyes, looked around the room, and said,
"Well, when will Jay be done painting these walls."
As confusing as it must be to hear her seemingly random comments, I still believe
that, with all her medication, sedation, and sleep over the past four days, and the
loss of any context for time, Mom is probably dreaming in and out of consciousness,
and her brain is struggling to filter her thoughts into appropriate context and relevance.
But the fact remains that she can't breath without at least a 9 litre push of oxygen right
now, and you can only push 5 litres at home. And she can't really walk alone.
If Mom does leave this hospital, it will likely be to enter assisted care, and she may never
live at home again. I was well aware of this today, as I boxed up her Christmas decorations.
And perhaps this is what is upsetting Dad the most.
Not the Christmas decorations.
He often says that it is so difficult to see her laboring to breathe, knowing that he can't
breathe for her. If her quality of life can't be even what it was before Christmas, he wishes
God's will would be to go ahead and take her now, and we'll catch up with her later.
And I agree.
Dad has been staying close to Mom, and hasn't left St. Vincent's
in Indy since he arrived at 2am Christmas morning.
He's been sleeping in the cheap recliners in the Family Lounge I,
on the ICU ward. Not exactly four good night's of sleep for a 75 year
old man. Or a person of any age, for that matter.
Dad has twice taken advantage of a generous program at the nearby
Marten House Hotel that provides 90 minutes in a complimentary room
for family of patients, so that they might grab a shower and a nap, and some
comfortable time away from the vigil of the waiting rooms.
No substitute for a good night's sleep in your home bed, but a respite nonetheless.
I think that the stress of the uncertainty, or finality of Mom's condition,
coupled with sheer fatigue, may have caught up with Dad.
Debbie and I visited Mom after church on Sunday, and were greatly encouraged
by our visit. She appeared to be so much more comfortable than she had been,
and she was as lucid as I've seen her since she arrived here. When I asked if she
needed anything, she said, "Yes, a Fruit Drink from The Frozen Custard".
She smiled a bit, and I saw sparkle in her eyes that I had missed. When I gave
her a sip of water, she said that it was no Fruit Drink.
After we left, Mom had asked Dad where her Fruit Drink was, and it confused him.
Later that evening, Dad told me that Mom had been more coherent with Debbie and I
than at any other moment of the day, and he was clearly concerned about some of the
random, seemingly disconnected comments she had been making.
Talking to Dad Monday early afternoon, I could tell that he was very down, and
distressed. The Doctor had told him that they could find no evidence of any infection,
which they had originally thought had caused this latest episode. The doctor said that
this left further deterioration of the heart and lungs as the cause of Mom's Christmas
Eve crash. He suggested that any future attempts at CPR, or venting to breath would
be too hard on her body, and should be avoided. Dad is going to sign the DNR paperwork.
He said that they would make her as comfortable as possible.
I saw Mom Monday afternoon, and she recognized me in the doorway. Dad said that,
an hour before, she had opened her eyes, looked around the room, and said,
"Well, when will Jay be done painting these walls."
As confusing as it must be to hear her seemingly random comments, I still believe
that, with all her medication, sedation, and sleep over the past four days, and the
loss of any context for time, Mom is probably dreaming in and out of consciousness,
and her brain is struggling to filter her thoughts into appropriate context and relevance.
But the fact remains that she can't breath without at least a 9 litre push of oxygen right
now, and you can only push 5 litres at home. And she can't really walk alone.
If Mom does leave this hospital, it will likely be to enter assisted care, and she may never
live at home again. I was well aware of this today, as I boxed up her Christmas decorations.
And perhaps this is what is upsetting Dad the most.
Not the Christmas decorations.
He often says that it is so difficult to see her laboring to breathe, knowing that he can't
breathe for her. If her quality of life can't be even what it was before Christmas, he wishes
God's will would be to go ahead and take her now, and we'll catch up with her later.
And I agree.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
mom--Sat....3:30pm
visiting mom.
She is resting much more comfortably today,
than yesterday, when she had just had the vent
tube taken out. She seems to be in much less pain
and discomfort today. Her chest still is sore from
the chest compressions they did on her on Christmas Eve.
In the next 24 hours, they will begin transitioning her
back to much of her "at home" medications.
baby steps in the right direction...jb
She is resting much more comfortably today,
than yesterday, when she had just had the vent
tube taken out. She seems to be in much less pain
and discomfort today. Her chest still is sore from
the chest compressions they did on her on Christmas Eve.
In the next 24 hours, they will begin transitioning her
back to much of her "at home" medications.
baby steps in the right direction...jb
Friday, December 26, 2008
Friday noon
got great news on my drive into the hospital.
They took Mom off the Vent-machine, and
she is breathing on her own, albeit, with the
oxygen mask she will always have.
I'll continue to update here.
They took Mom off the Vent-machine, and
she is breathing on her own, albeit, with the
oxygen mask she will always have.
I'll continue to update here.
9am Friday update
(see post below)
On my way to Indy to spend the day at St. Vincent's with Mom.
As of this A.M., Mom is still relatively "stable" in ICU, although,
the doctors will say she is still very critical.
We still don't know what caused her to crash on Christmas Eve.
We should get some lab results today or Saturday to help identify
a potential infection that triggered this.
At this point, the sedation seems to be allowing her to "rest",
although, when she does wake up, and sees a family member,
it appears to be extremely frustrating and agitating to her that
she cannot communicate, as she is breathing through the ventilator,
and she can't move her hands, because they have secured her wrists
to protect all her hook-ups.
Yesterday afternoon, the nurse told us that she had been very surprised
to find out that she was in the ICU of an Indy hospital on Christmas day,
and didn't recall coding in Anderson the night before.
That would be difficult enough to process this news, but probably worse
yet to be unable to communicate to anyone about it.
Not even one question.
Mom's heart and lung health has deteriorated much over the past year,
and now she has an unknown infection, and is on a vent machine, which
the doctor cannot say would not be a permanent thing.
I am torn between praying that she get's better, and returns to the quality
of life she struggled with most recently, or that her body may finally be giving
all that it can.
Ultimately, I place it in God's hands, and I trust his will, and although I'm crying
as I write this, I am comforted in the faith that, either way,
I will always see her again.
And love her forever.
thanks for allowing me to vent...jb
On my way to Indy to spend the day at St. Vincent's with Mom.
As of this A.M., Mom is still relatively "stable" in ICU, although,
the doctors will say she is still very critical.
We still don't know what caused her to crash on Christmas Eve.
We should get some lab results today or Saturday to help identify
a potential infection that triggered this.
At this point, the sedation seems to be allowing her to "rest",
although, when she does wake up, and sees a family member,
it appears to be extremely frustrating and agitating to her that
she cannot communicate, as she is breathing through the ventilator,
and she can't move her hands, because they have secured her wrists
to protect all her hook-ups.
Yesterday afternoon, the nurse told us that she had been very surprised
to find out that she was in the ICU of an Indy hospital on Christmas day,
and didn't recall coding in Anderson the night before.
That would be difficult enough to process this news, but probably worse
yet to be unable to communicate to anyone about it.
Not even one question.
Mom's heart and lung health has deteriorated much over the past year,
and now she has an unknown infection, and is on a vent machine, which
the doctor cannot say would not be a permanent thing.
I am torn between praying that she get's better, and returns to the quality
of life she struggled with most recently, or that her body may finally be giving
all that it can.
Ultimately, I place it in God's hands, and I trust his will, and although I'm crying
as I write this, I am comforted in the faith that, either way,
I will always see her again.
And love her forever.
thanks for allowing me to vent...jb
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas over Indy
My mom is 75 years old, and has been in and out of the hospital for most of the past nine months, struggling with respiratory and heart problems. Dad taking mom to ER has nearly become a bi-weekly routine to drain fluid off her lungs, and help her to breathe.
So when my sister texted me at 9pm on Christmas Eve to say that Dad had taken Mom to ER, I'll admit I had become a little desensitized to it, and went back to watching "Grinch".
But when Dad called from ER, and told me it was touch and go, and a nurse in the background used the phrase "very critical", we jumped in my truck, and raced to the hospital.
Apparently, she had collapsed in the ER parking lot drop-off, and when they did get her into ER, her vitals crashed to very critical levels, and they had to use the "de-fib" paddles on her at least once. Silver lining to this is that her heart had been out of rhythm for some time, and this episode has put her back into rhythm.
As they worked on her in ER, they suggested that all local family might want to get here ASAP. By midnight, they still hadn't been able to pinpoint the specific cause, but it seemed to be more like an infection, than a heart or lung issue, and it was decided that she might have a better chance of diagnosis at St. Vincent's in Indy, so she was lifelined by helicopter to Indy just after midnight on Christmas Eve.
I wonder if Santa passed by Mom's helicopter over Indy?
Dad, Kirk, and I made the midnight trip to Indy, and arrived around 2:30am. We weren't able to see Mom until after 4:00am, but were surprised to see that, even through the sedation, she was responsive, and aware of our presence at her bedside. Feeling a bit relieved, we allowed ourselves to close our eyes in the family lounge, however, the recliners fought us over gravity, and my 30 minute catnap was more than Kirk or Dad got.
We gave up on sleep, and went in to see Mom at 6:30am, and saw that she had stabilized a bit more, although, we were told that her stabilized vitals were being somewhat propped up by her medication. And we can't minimize the fact that, for now, she is only able to breath through the aid of the ventilator machine. Know that there is nothing we can do, we kissed her forehead, held her hand, told her we loved her, and headed for the cafeteria for our Christmas breakfast.
We agreed that Kirk should drive home to Sweetser to open Christmas presents with his kids, and Dad and I have stayed behind. Sisters will be here later.
As of 8:30am, Christmas morning, Mom is still "very critical", but more alive than we could have hoped for 9 hours earlier. Dad and I have become that sleepless family vigil that we see too often in hospitals.
It's not quite how I had planned to spend my Christmas Day, but then again, for Christmas,
I do get to say, "Love you forever" to my Mom at least for one more day.
So when my sister texted me at 9pm on Christmas Eve to say that Dad had taken Mom to ER, I'll admit I had become a little desensitized to it, and went back to watching "Grinch".
But when Dad called from ER, and told me it was touch and go, and a nurse in the background used the phrase "very critical", we jumped in my truck, and raced to the hospital.
Apparently, she had collapsed in the ER parking lot drop-off, and when they did get her into ER, her vitals crashed to very critical levels, and they had to use the "de-fib" paddles on her at least once. Silver lining to this is that her heart had been out of rhythm for some time, and this episode has put her back into rhythm.
As they worked on her in ER, they suggested that all local family might want to get here ASAP. By midnight, they still hadn't been able to pinpoint the specific cause, but it seemed to be more like an infection, than a heart or lung issue, and it was decided that she might have a better chance of diagnosis at St. Vincent's in Indy, so she was lifelined by helicopter to Indy just after midnight on Christmas Eve.
I wonder if Santa passed by Mom's helicopter over Indy?
Dad, Kirk, and I made the midnight trip to Indy, and arrived around 2:30am. We weren't able to see Mom until after 4:00am, but were surprised to see that, even through the sedation, she was responsive, and aware of our presence at her bedside. Feeling a bit relieved, we allowed ourselves to close our eyes in the family lounge, however, the recliners fought us over gravity, and my 30 minute catnap was more than Kirk or Dad got.
We gave up on sleep, and went in to see Mom at 6:30am, and saw that she had stabilized a bit more, although, we were told that her stabilized vitals were being somewhat propped up by her medication. And we can't minimize the fact that, for now, she is only able to breath through the aid of the ventilator machine. Know that there is nothing we can do, we kissed her forehead, held her hand, told her we loved her, and headed for the cafeteria for our Christmas breakfast.
We agreed that Kirk should drive home to Sweetser to open Christmas presents with his kids, and Dad and I have stayed behind. Sisters will be here later.
As of 8:30am, Christmas morning, Mom is still "very critical", but more alive than we could have hoped for 9 hours earlier. Dad and I have become that sleepless family vigil that we see too often in hospitals.
It's not quite how I had planned to spend my Christmas Day, but then again, for Christmas,
I do get to say, "Love you forever" to my Mom at least for one more day.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
fish kisses at Christmas
(I sent this as an email back in 2003, and I posted it
as an original blog entry when I started my HornBlog.
Beg your pardon, if you've already read it, but then again
you watch "It's a Wonderful Life" every year at Christmas
time, so perhaps you'll indulge a little Horn tradition here.)
Fish Kisses for Christmas
I heard a song at work the other day, and it made me smile.
Nothing unusual there, I suppose. That happens to us all the time.
Songs take us back to a time, a place, or a person.
But I was at work, and amid a plethora of
endless Christmas songs,
I heard "Oh Holy Night", and it made me smile, and it gave me a chill.
I even chuckled a little. And then I felt a pang of guilt for laughing.But that's part of the memory. When we were growing up, one of my family traditions was to open the Christmas
presents
on Christmas Eve, and then attend the Christmas Eve church service.
Kirk, Kristin, and I were usually so wound up from sugar and Christmas
festivities that we just could not sit still. Especially in
anticipation of "Babs" doing her solo of "Oh Holy Night". In Barb's defense,
she sang an inspired and lovely solo. It's just that, when you are a kid,
you find humor
in silly things. When Babs hit the big notes, her eyes got
really wide, and her mouth formed perfectly large, round "O". For some reason,
this sight just cracked us up, and we could not contain our giggling, much to
the consternation of Mom, as well as, the serious congregation surrounding us,
who constantly gave us "the look". They tried to make us feel guilty that,
maybe, we were ruining a wonderful Christmas moment with our laughing.
And yet, everytime Babs sang, we had the same reaction.
And we could practically hear someone
whisper,
"Those darn Hornocker kids!" Yesterday, as the Horn family got together for Christmas, someone asked
my young nephew, Zack, to do "fish kisses", and I was reminded of a new
Christmas
memory.Last year, we attended the Christmas Eve service with Mom and Dad, and
Kristin brought her young twins, Allison and Zachary. Sadly, Babs was
no longer in the Choir, but as I sat in the pew teaching Zack to make
"fish kisses" with his mouth, making him giggle along the way, it felt
like and old memory coming back.
Something passed on to the next generation.Thirty-some years ago, someone in the pew behind me"shhh-ed" us,
and gave us dirty looks, because we were fooling around during the
Christmas church service. How dare I giggle during church.
If I didn't pay attention, I might miss the lessons, and the
meaning of Christmas.Well, I am now
in my mid-forties, and to this day, whenever I hear
"Oh Holy Night", I smile, and I am awash with a feeling of love,
and the great family memories of many a Christmas that I spent
with my brother, my sisters, my parents, and now my nieces and nephews.
I don't feel guilty anymore, and I don't really think I missed the
lessons, and the meaning of Christmas afterall. I hope that you all have cherished family memories to laugh about
when you gather for the holidays this year. Merry Christmas.........jay b. horn
(thanks Kirk...)Wednesday, December 3, 2008
book
Debbie teaches pre-schoolers at a private academy in Zionsville http://www.interactiveacademy.com/. As they work their way weekly
through the alphabet, this week happened to feature the letter "J".
So "Miss Debbie" brought me in as a special guest yesterday to represent
the letter "J". I was thrilled and honored to represent J's around the world.
I've never had kids, and I've never been a teacher. I've been an Uncle Jay,
but that is typically for a few hours, several times a year. I used to call it
"drive-by love". The nieces and nephews would come over, I'd get them all
wound up, and then hand them back to my exasperated sibling parents just
before their drive back home. Hopefully, with DVD players in the back seats.
So spending a few hours in a pre-school yesterday with over 20 attention starved
children was at first a shock to my introverted system.
I arrived at school just in time for a snack break. It's been awhile since I had
animal crackers and juice box, but I must say I enjoyed the snack.
After snack time, Miss Debbie led the group in a crayon lesson around writing
their letter J's. I got to sit at the tiny table and make some J's of my own.
They turned out pretty good. And I didn't break the little wooden chair.
Then it was time to read to the kids. Debbie and I had talked about this,
and we had picked out two of our favorite childhood books, noted above.
It was an amazing experience, sitting down in the big, comfy reading chair,
and being immediately swarmed by 20 three year olds, who began picking out their
favorite books, and waving them in my face, and begging me to read their choices.
Oddly, there was a book called "Our Body" that two kids seemed desperate to
have me read. I thumbed through it, and it seemed a bit wordy, and perhaps
more graphic than I was prepared to be able to explain. I flashed on a childhood
memory of sneaking curious peaks at the Encyclopaedia Britannica section
featuring the Human Anatomy, with the see-through fold-away pages that
showed the body from exterior skin to interior organs. Scandalous stuff.
I elected not to read "Our Body" to the group.
Despite the varied requests, I held fast to our original choices, and we had
a wonderful time reading together, "The Monster at the End of This Book",
and "Little Bear". Some of the kids knew the stories, but others listened with
eyes and mouths wide open. And I knew I was either a good reader, or they were
a good crowd, when I got the childhood version of an encore call, when they
begged me to "Read it again!".
Lunchtime followed reading time, and more childhood memories flooded back,
as I got to sit with all the children at the traditional kids lunch table, which hasn't
changed much since I sat at one, as in this picture from my 1969 yearbook.
I'm in the second table, next to Reid Estes.
We enjoyed Miss Sue's famous grilled cheese sandwiches, with tomato or chicken noodle soup,
along with apple wedges, baby carrots, celery, and cucumbers. Along with most of the kids,
I received a check mark for at least trying one of everything on my tray. But sadly, I did not receive a sticker.
We had a bit of free time after lunch, and I couldn't fit into any of the dress up costumes, so I wandered over to the reading chair to relax. As soon as I sat down, like moths to a lamp,
half a dozen kids came at me with books to read. I managed to once again deflect "Our Body",
but settled on "I Know An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Pie".
As I sat in the reading chair, I was aware that at least six children
were either sitting in my lap, leaning heads on my legs, or connecting to me in some way. And they could not have been more content and attentive.
I must say that I was a little sad when Miss Debbie told the children that it was time to go outside and play in the new snow. Abruptly, the reading spell was broken, and replaced with much cheering, jumping about, coat gathering, and boot tying.
As I stood by the window, and watched the kids scamper out into the snow,
I thought of their innocence, and the sheer joy and contentment they derive from such simple things as making snow angels, and having someone read them a book.
I've never had kids, and I've never been a teacher. But I am an Uncle Jay, and very soon I will be a Grandpa Jay to Miss Debbie's Grandchildren. So I think that a legacy and a gift I'd like to pass along more often is the gift of reading to the children in my life.
When was the last time you read "Go Dog, Go!" to a child?
I believe it's an experience that neither of you will forget.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Reindeer
Deer leap to death from overpass
Last of 5 strikes truck's windshield on I-69; driver OK
by Michael Zennie, reprinted from The Journal Gazette (Fort Wayne)
For some drivers on Interstate 69 on Friday, it might have looked as though it were raining deer in Huntington County.
But, sadly, it had nothing to do with holiday reindeer. In a gruesome display of bizarre animal behavior, five deer leapt to their deaths off the U.S. 224 overpass and onto the northbound lanes of I-69 about 12:30 p.m. Friday.
The last one went through the windshield of a tractor-trailer rig, the Huntington County Sheriff's Department said. The driver was uninjured.
The 20- to 30-foot fall killed all five deer, dispatcher Brian Jenks said.
Wells County EMS paramedic Andy Stimpson said he was the first person to arrive at the crash scene, and he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw. "It's the weirdest run I've ever had in 28 years," he said.
The animals' mangled carcasses littered the expressway after their fatal jump, Stimpson said.
This time of year is stressful for deer. Hunters push through fields and woods, hoping to scare deer out of their cover. Farmers are removing the last of their crops from the fields. And the breeding season is in full swing.
Any of these factors could have pushed the deer onto the highway overpass, Department of Natural Resources spokesman Phil Bloom said.
If oncoming cars spooked them, they might have jumped off the highway, not knowing what was below them, conservation officer and DNR district spokesman John Salb said.
And the I-69/U.S. 224 interchange marks a likely spot for wildlife and humans to collide. The west side of the interchange is bordered by privately owned fields and the Markle State Recreation area, which is popular with hunters, Jenks said.
The east side of the interchange marks the edge of the town of Markle. And that stretch of U.S. 224 is heavy with traffic.
The falling deer is just one extreme example of the strained relationship between deer and civilization.
Jenks said he's seen about a threefold increase in car-deer crashes over this time last year.
Huntington sheriff's deputies work, on average, three deer-related crashes every night. On a single night in mid-October, deputies handled 14 crashes across the county, he said.
(and I thought "Bambi" ended badly...jbh)
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