More on Dave's ICU Days and hospital release - Part 7
Updated: Aug 21
After a successful shopping trip to make sure I wouldn’t be wandering around in snow-pants in 30‑degree weather, I returned to Dave’s bedside at the hospital. His bed was empty, he had been wheeled to the X‑ray department so they could investigate his chest injuries further. When the results came in, we learned he had broken three ribs. Fortunately, none of them were displaced.
Before Dave’s hospital stay, I had no idea how many specialists worked within the ICU. Dave was seen not only by a doctor, but also by a physiotherapist to get him moving again, and a plastic surgeon to determine whether his injuries would require skin grafts. (They wouldn’t.)
The first physio visit was both painful and encouraging. Although Dave was in excruciating pain trying to get out of bed, once he was upright and holding onto a walker, he managed to walk around the ICU, slowly, but with manageable pain. The physio pushed him further by asking him to climb a small set of stairs. He had to place both feet on each step before moving to the next, but again, the pain was manageable. That first walk was a huge relief and a very good sign for his mobility. From that point on, he no longer needed the disposable urine container and would drag himself out of bed to use the bathroom. What he did still need was pain medication, and plenty of it, at regular intervals. His first‑day cocktail consisted of two acetaminophen and one hydromorphone every four hours, plus one celecoxib with breakfast and dinner.
Although the ER doctor had predicted Dave would be in the ICU for two to three days, by the first night there was already talk of releasing him. I learned this while riding in an Uber back to my Home exchange. It was good news, of course, but I secretly hoped it wouldn’t happen yet. I was exhausted, I needed to take care of my own oozing wounds, and I didn’t feel capable of playing nurse. On top of that, the place I had secured for the next two nights was a basement room in a row house, I couldn’t imagine Dave navigating that narrow staircase. My host was incredibly kind and generous, but I could tell she was nervous about the idea of an injured man attempting those stairs. I went to bed not knowing whether Dave would be released. I made sure my phone would ring loudly if needed and fell asleep almost instantly. No call came, and I had one of the most restorative sleeps of my life. The next morning, I enjoyed a calm breakfast with my host, chatting about many things, including our upcoming travels to Turkey (she’s originally from there).
I returned to the hospital around 10:30 a.m. Again, I found an empty bed, Dave had decided to walk the halls to see how he managed without the walker. He came back smiling, proud that he could get around on his own. That said, when they tried giving him only two acetaminophen to see if he could manage without morphine, he failed the test. An hour later, the pain became unbearable and he asked for the morphine.
Since his pain was manageable with medication and his mobility was improving quickly, we were told he would definitely be released that day. My restful night had transformed me into a nurse‑in‑training, so I was relieved to hear it. Dave was also delighted by the news. Rumors are true: hospital food is terrible; eating at home, would only help his moral! Around lunchtime, we saw his doctor in the hallway; she confirmed she had signed the release papers and that the radiologist’s report would be completed later, but wasn’t required for discharge. Then came the best surprise: the only paperwork left was arranging professional wound care after release. I was enormously relieved that I wouldn’t have to do it myself. From watching the nurses change his bandages, I knew how delicate and painful the process was, anything touching the wounds stuck to the skin, and removing it was torture. I knew I could do it, but I was very, very happy that I wouldn’t have to.
Once we knew Dave would be released, we started planning our evening and our return home. I still had the Home exchange, but it was far from ideal for someone with mobility issues. I also worried that his oozing wounds, soaking through gauze like nobody’s business, would stain my host’s bed. So I started looking for a hotel. Sunday prices were much more reasonable then Saturday, so I booked the Crowne Plaza at the corner of the 401 and the Don Valley Parkway. I figured it would be easier for my sister Manon, who had agreed to drive from Kingston to pick us up the next morning. I had considered the train, but Dave was absolutely not in a condition to wait in line at Union Station or climb the five narrow steps onto the train.
With housing and transportation sorted, all that was left was waiting, waiting for the release papers to be finalized. Every time a nurse came in, we asked for an update and always got the same answer: they were having trouble arranging wound care because we lived in Kingston. We first heard this around noon. After hearing it three more times and waiting more then seven hours, I went to inquire at the desk. It turned out they were waiting on the radiologist’s report, the one the doctor had said we didn’t need. Urgh. Once I explained what the doctor had told us, they confirmed it, and we were out of there thirty minutes later.
I called an Uber to take us to the hotel. It took Dave a long time to get seated, and not without pain, but it was still a victory that he could walk out of the hospital under his own power and sit in the back of a car, just a little over 48 hours after I had found him unresponsive, blood coming from his mouth, in the middle of Highway 401.
We made it to the hotel, where I changed my own bandages (not easy when they’re on your arms), took painkillers, and crawled into bed. I slept well but woke up early, and so did Dave. Manon is not a morning person, so she had planned to leave Kingston at 9 a.m. for a noon pickup. I arranged a late checkout and grabbed coffee from the Tim Hortons across the street. When I returned with breakfast, Dave decided to text our neighbour Rick, with whom he had been planning a motorcycle trip in the fall (a trip Rick wasn’t thrilled about, given October’s chilly mornings). Dave showed me his draft: “I think we can forget the motorcycle trip in the fall, I’ll explain tomorrow.” I told him that would only worry Rick and that he shouldn’t leave things so ambiguous. Dave changed it to: “Arriving home later today,” to which Rick replied, “Same here, leaving Toronto shortly.” Toronto! I exclaimed. Where in Toronto? Could he spare Manon the trip? Dave called him immediately, explained the accident, and learned Rick was only fifteen minutes away. He agreed to drive us home, and I happily told Manon she didn’t have to spend her Sunday on the road. The ride home was uneventful, we didn’t stop, and we enjoyed the comfort of Rick’s truck.
To be continued, at home....
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