Live blogging Stephen's Heart Attack

Monday, May 23, 2011 at 7:19am Stephen in hospital, heart attack. Details as they develop. Monday, May 23 at 11:28am Stephen still very critical. Please pray (but don't tell Stephen you did). -- Penny Monday, May 23 at 12:30pm Dog walker has leapt to the task, we're set there. I have Jeanne with me. Just a waiting game. Time is muscle. Monday, May 23 at 4:21pm Status update: critical but stable, guardedly optimistic. Sedated, on respirator, fights when they lower the sedation. Good BP, was dangerously low. They will keep him unconscious for tonight. Still very serious. Monday, May 23 at 10:16pm Official status unchanged, but looking better. Drifting in and out of consciousness. Able to squeeze my hand. Half-opens those baby blues and looks confused. Much guarded happiness. Great team support for both Stephen and penny. Prayers seem to help. Thanks for your support. Tuesday, May 24, 2011 at 7:05am Tuesday morning, before rounds. Stephen spent relatively good night... relative is in the eyes of the fantastic medical staff, not necessessarily that of a spouse. Waiting for rounds. Stephen wakes briefly every few hours, has no idea where he is, gets anxious, fights the restraints and the respirator, we explain it to him, he understands and settles down. Lather, rise, repeat. Stephen is a communicator: he can't communicate beyond Yes or No. You can imagine his frustration, but it's all good signs. We're all expecting great short stories from this. Penny slept 4.5 hours, a FANTASTIC result. Bruises and muscle aches have developed from all the bashing around during CPR and running back and forth to the phone with 911. Yes, she's been eating. No, she's not carrying anything heavy. Yes she has her meds. Several amazing friends have been taking the role of "Penny's Mommy" and "Ellie's Mommy." She has a picture of a smiling Ellie that she's too zonked to figure out how to post.

Non-religious types can stop reading here. The Chaplin sat with me for a long time. She's a wonderful woman. She gave me a book called Pocketful of Miracles. Monday's reading (May 23 The Day of the Heart Attack) is: Many people who return from near-death experiences have a renewed appreciation for how precious a human lifetime is. They echo the teaching experiences of Eastern philosophies, which say that human life is the greatest gift because it is the gateway to enlightenment. Prayer for today: Great Spirit: Please awaken deep understanding in my heart for the gift of my life.... I am alive! I am alive! For May 24, First Day of Recovery: Greek Orthodoxy is a wonderful tradition of gratitude... If it is true that the observer and the observed are inextricably linked in creating reality, then our gratitude actually does bring the world into being. Prayer: ... By seeing clearly, by feeling deeply, my mindfully immersing myself in life I feel grateful and happy... Stephen will say (when he wakes up) that I need to look at other entries to see if there's a pattern. I'll happily debate the existence of an accessible God with him. This morning, I am cautiously optimistic that debate will happen. Your prayers have helped. That' my story and I'm sticking to it! Tuesday, May 24 at 9:49am Brigham & women's hospital, Shapiro cardiovascular center No flowers, latex balloons, food, small animals, flammable liquids, musical instruments. Cards welcome, the wittier the better. Tuesday, May 24, at 11:35pm 42 hours after The Big Event, the word is "Encouraging" Stephen Dorneman on (LONG Post, 11:30 PM) Stephen's condition is still Critical but Stable and Cautiously Optimistic, but the Attending has added a new word: Encouraging. I burst into tears at that point. GOOD NEWS: His heart rhythm has been stable since noon yesterday. His kidneys are working great. He still has a breathing tube connected to a ventilator, but they want to start weening him off it in a few days: they will be starting to turn the machine from "Full Support" to a lower level in the wee hours of the morning. He fights the tube when he gains consciousness, usually for a few minutes every hour. He seems to recognize me -- when I speak to him, he opens his eyes WIDE and whips his head to look at me, then tries to talk and move his hands. The nurses only merit half-open eyes and a head turn. He's on sedation that causes amnesia so it's like Groundhog's

Day every hour. Sedation is starting to be lowered in small increments tonight. He's down from 3 BP meds to one. ENCOURAGING. FIXES: Today was a travel day for our intrepid hero. He had a CAT scan to see if there was any internal bleeding, one possible explanation for his low blood pressure. He had some pesky blood sneaking into the area around one kidney. Off to the Cath Lab for another angiogram -- this one to take a picture of the other angiogram. They discovered a leaky area in one vessel, but Stephen's body had already plugged the weak spot with a clot. With the bleeding stabilized the team is confident that they solved that one. He hasn't required red cells for a few hours. (Needed 3 bags of packed red calls to raise his hematocrit.) ENCOURAGING. ISSUE: He has a fever and is on 3 antibiotics. This is probably from pneumonia (fluid in his lungs) from respirating stomach fluid. Ironically, this may be the thing that saved his life. What woke me up to notice Stephen was having a heart attack was his odd "snorting" sound from trying to clear the fluid. We can take a bit of pneumonia in that case. ODDITY: He has hiccups. His hands and neck are double normal size from the fluid they flooded his body with in the first hours of the trauma. At some point, he will lose that as fast as he gained it. Doctors and nurses are starting to tell anecdotes about other similarly situated patients who recovered fully to run marathons, enter the police academy, etc. I don't care so much about that -- it's his creativity, intelligence, humor, and love we're all praying for because that's Our Stephen. He's got courage and is fighting strong every hour. Me? Strained muscles and bruises have shown up today. Fantastic doctors and nurses in the 7th best Cardiac unit in the United States. Great support from friends near and far. Everyone needs a Mommy to help them cope with major trauma: I'm so grateful that so many want to be my short-term Mommy-equivalent to support me as I support Stephen. Love to all, hug your spouses and significant others and tell them every day that you love them. Wednesday, May 25 at 6:14am Stephen opened his eyes. I said "this is penny, your wife, I love you," he turned his head to me, opened his eyes wide, and SMILED!!! Life is beautiful!!! Penny

Wednesday, May 25 at 9:40am After rounds: Doing great, much improved. Breathing on his own, ventilator off this afternoon. Hands and feet warm, no longer pale and waxy. Still has pneumonia, fever, fluid buildup. He's out of the dark woods, and into the regular woods. The trip home is usually uneventful... Wednesday, May 25 at 1:36pm Waiting in the lounge for the team to take out the ventilation tube, a major milestone. I jump up every time someone comes out the door... Who knew there were other patients here? Wednesday, May 25 at 5:02pm 60 hours after full cardiac arrest HE SPEAKS!!! His first words to me were: "I love you," and "take your coat off and stay a while." The second is an inside joke; my dad used to sat that, and we picked it up. He's also trying to cover his mouth when he coughs even though he's full of tubes and lines. He tries to help the nurses when they adjust his bedding. Even semi conscious, 60 hours after a full cardiac arrest, Stephen is polite, helpful, funny, and loving. I can't possibly express my gratitude for prayers, god thoughts, the medical profession, Dorneman genes, and all of you who care. I know it will be a long road to recovery. For now, I haz a very verry verrry happi.

Wednesday, May 25 at 8:58pm Blessings in disguise

Who knew Stephen had an irascible old coot in him? He's hoarse, tired, and swearing at the nurse. "Tell her to get her ass in here, NOW," he croaks... "i'm gonna DIE," he says and wonders why we laugh."You're fucking killing me," he complains, to which I reply "I already had the chance, kiddo." He's fighting the restraints, fighting the oxygen mask, fighting every move. He wants to get up. He is STRONG. He's also not going to remember any of this. He'll deny the whole thing later but we have witnesses. The nurse is rethinking the decision to dial down the sedatives. Thursday, May 26, at 9:34am Official Status: Turned the Corner The past few days for me have been hours of waiting punctuated by doctors and nurses, permission forms, communicating with friends, family, and fans, and being propped up by incredible friends. I am immensely grateful for my Mommy Team that had made me remember to eat, take pills (whoops, excuse me a sec.), driven me back and forth to the condo to get clothes and things, taken me for walks, held me when I've needed to cry, looked up information, scheduled support, anything. I'm also grateful to messages of support from here, there. and everywhere. When Stephen has been quiet, I read and re-read your messages and feel stronger. The Mommies are the Home Team, the rest of you are the Farm Team. (Yes, that's a baseball reverence, and no, I really don't know if it applies, but it sounded good to me, and I knew Away Team wasn't somehow right...) I count up the "like this" and feel the collective energy. The first 66 hours were long periods of waiting. Waiting for doctors and nurses to inform me of actions, risks, outcomes, and options. Waiting as Stephen's body accepts the insults that a dozen powerful drugs can deliver. Waiting and communicating with people who care. Now that Stephen's reentering the world of the living, things are changing fast. There's less Groundhog's Day and more modern fiction short stories. Less waiting, more interacting. I'm less able to read or write, more able to joke, argue, cajole,explain, and noodle with Stephen. Amusing and ironic vignettes abound. Examples: Stephen trying to get loose of his wrist restraints while Designated Mommy Mindy passes me a smoothie for a few sips, then retreating while I explain to two-year old Stephen why we can't cut them. Stephen struggling with the orderlies trying to move him to change the bedding. Stephen's worst insult after 5 minutes of arguing about why he has to wear the oxygen mask: "you're ugly!" Stephen figuring out how to dislodge the oxygen tube by pressing his head against the pillow to create friction, then

turning his head to clamp the elastic tie in his teeth. HA! his expression proclaimed his success. No dice, the nurses weren't born yesterday. Stephen slowly arching towards his hands to yank the oxygen cord. DID IT!! That resulted in a replaced mask and shorter restraints. I explain what each tube and machine does, and how we know that he really isn't suffocating. Over and over. Stephen sees the nurse standing with her hip against the bedrail and s-l-o-w-l-y creeps his foot towards her backside. CURSES, she moved. He tries again He has an almost playful cantankerousness. "I'm not funny, I'm sick," he said. "That's a joke." Last night I got 6 hours of sleep once the wrestling match settled down. Thank goodness for the extra Haldol. My aches and pains from the CPR are less acute. I have crutches for long distances. My doctor is keeping track of me, and has prescribed a massage. I'm fed, watered, and pilled on a regular schedule thanks to the Mommy Brigade. In helping me, we're all helping Stephen. Thursday, May 26 at 5:44pm Bon Mots from Camp ICU -- Hour 85 The doctors are no longer talking about condition, they are talking about transition. Stephen is still technically Critical as hes in the ICU. Sometime tomorrow or Saturday he will move from the cardiac ICU to a General Medical floor. 2-3 days there, then HOME. From there, cardiac rehab and back to work! Well, maybe a small vacation first. He still has pneumonia in both lungs from aspirating fluid. He no longer needs blood and hes losing the massive amount of water they flooded his system with. He now politely requests that someone fix his oxygen rather than trying to rip it out. One of the cardiologists thinks Stephan has had a form of Sleep Apnea that may have cause the heart attack. Makes sense in hindsight. Stephen has regained his famously dry sense of humor. Now that hes more active, I have less time to muse about mortality and more time to interact with the most amazing person any of us has ever met. Some of his best from today, in a gravelly Stephen Wright delivery: S: Am I awake or am I dreaming? P: Which do you want it to be? S: Its probably real because its so detailed. P: Do you want your glasses?

S: No thank you, I want to preserve the dream-like quality of the experience. S: (After vomiting) Im a magic patient. I made food. (See http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/11/dogs-dont-understand-basicconcepts.html ) S: Can I have some water? P: No, the doctors wont let you. S: Can I have some ice chips? P: No, the doctors wont let you. S: Can you kiss me? I need the moisture. P: Bye now, Im going to the lounge. S: Thanks for playing our game, we have some lovely parting gifts. Nurse: Can I take your rectal temperature? S: We arent those kind of friends. ------I'm filled with thankfulness and joy. The staff here says I look years younger today, and taller (even on crutches). On the way to the lounge I passed a room with a priest and a circle of family around the bed. I look away and feel blessed.

Friday, May 27 at 8:15am The Three R's We got Stephen's first Get Well Card, from long-time friend Ann (Hi, Ann!). He READ the card! No hesitation. He understood the joke and could read the handwritten note. "That's really nice," he said. Reading is critical to the Stephen we know. He also did math in his head. The nurse asked him how long he had been married --he knew both the year we were hitched and the current year, and arrived at the correct answer. Writing will have to wait until the tubes and wires come out of his hands. He's been playing with his left hand and has asked a few times where his wedding ring is. (It's on my right hand.) He's never taken it off. We are going to have the chaplain do a short ring ceremony when the swelling in his hands goes down. [Cue the crowd going "Ahhhh....]

Friday, May 27 at 8:07pm Appropriate Happiness Hour 111 since the CPR Incident: Today I have a brilliant, funny, compassionate, polite husband who is having extensive conversations with the medical staff. Hes discussed Heparin v. Warfarin and their history in rat control with one nurse, womens rights in Saudi Arabia with another, compared educational resumes with the doctor removing his central line (carotid artery), and the schedule for tonights Bruins game with his night nurse. He told the night nurse that hed buy her a drink down at the sports bar if they couldnt get the game on the rooms TV. He doesnt want to be a pain to his nurses. He checks to see if hes sufficiently covered to avoid flashing people in the hall. Hes laughed at Jeanne Moos on CNN, expressed horror at the tornado coverage, and started catching up with what he missed on the news. Perhaps youve met this person: Hes Stephen H. Dorneman, in the flesh. Very bruised and beaten flesh with enough holes to sink a battleship, but genuine living and breathing flesh. We once saw, in a list of side effects for a drug, Inappropriate Happiness. Stephen and I have never been happier or more grateful. We were lucky enough to live within a mile of Bostons Finest EMTs, within a mile of one of the top cardiac hospitals in the country, and when we needed to get there urgently, it was 4:30 in the morning. Later in the day, BU students moved out of their dorms. Traffic was gridlocked. The Longwood Medical Area is a ridiculous mess of cars, buses, and pedestrians at almost every hour of day or night but not at that hour. This level of happiness is ENTIRELY appropriate. Our friend Jil played Mean Mommy and insisted I go to her place for a real nap in a real bed in a room that doesnt beep, flash, chime, chirp, ring, clang, or alarm. I practically fell asleep on my feet as she explained something. Three hours of bliss later, I am a new woman. Backache gone, legs limp-free, neck has lost a great deal of tension. Im ordering that mattress when I finish this post. Thank you all for praying/wishing/hoping and __________ (fill in the blank with your deity's preferred form of communication). Please give thanks for hearing and answering. I'm positive the process worked. Thank YOU for participating. The next post will be all Stephen, by Stephen. This is Penny Dorneman, relinquishing control of Stephens Facebook account, because I can.