{Karlton Bontrager}

Karlton had another red letter day on Monday. I saw him only briefly before coming to send out my update, and I didn’t notice that the nasal-gastric tube was gone. He’d pulled it out during the night. He hated that thing so badly, plus the mitts and restraints the nurses had put on him to prevent his removing it, that he was highly motivated to be successful with the swallowing therapy. This time he was able to drink sips from a cup without bolting down its contents. When he was finished, he said, “I want to take a nap.” The PTs came along soon afterwards to get him to stand, but when they heard of his success, they let him sleep.

Later in the morning, Karlton showed a wee bit of the impatience with us that was so characteristic of him before. I’d just returned from the university, and I told him that he had an email from his college roommate, calling the roommate by name. Karlton corrected my pronunciation of the name. Next, Choy-Lang read to him a letter that had come from another Hamilton friend. Karlton snatched the letter out of her hand as if to say, “Don’t read my mail.”

At the end of the 2:00 to 4:00p rest period, we returned to find Karlton sitting up in a chair with a bedside table in front of him and a cafeteria tray on it. Kevin, the RN, told us that he’d eaten pureed baked beans and apricots as well as drinking two small cartons of thickened juice. He clearly was going to be able to eat enough to keep himself nurished.

Karlton desperately wanted to go back to bed, signalling to us and writing notes. My response was the Kevin was in charge and we couldn’t move him without permission. Unfortunately, Kevin had stepped out of the room for a bit. Then Karlton wrote, “Against all rules of Kevin can I just go to bed for a minute please?” Kevin returned shortly, and we got him right to bed.

This morning I talked to the OT in charge of memory recovery. She explained that the long sentences, 3- & 4-syllable words, and convoluted expressions are a result of confusion in the brain and general fatigue. Here are some more that he came up with yesterday. Once he wrote me, “If you want to help, you’re well able to help me when my problem exists.” Still another time, when the RNs’ attentions were divided between his needs and those of Collin’s, another patient, he wrote, “Collin wasn’t helping us to trouble shoot how to get past our problems.” When Jenn and Alec called and the wireless phone was next to his ear, he said, “I love you too but now is the worst possible time. Call back again.” (Once he’s fully recovered, he’ll probably regard this paragraph the same as we regard those naked baby photos our parents like to show of us at graduations, weddings, etc. I document them here purely for further scholarly examination.) [Yeah, right!]

Suzanne Jackson, the neurosurgeon, had a full day of surgery, so she made her rounds in the late afternoon. She is concerned about the continuing nasal drip, fearing it might still be cerebral spinal fluid (CSF). She said that Karlton can’t move on to the rehabilitation facility until the drip is determined not to be CSF. She said the indwelling urinary catheter could come out. Moreover, the oxygen and pressure to the trach, she said, served more as a placebo to the medical staff than they were of any use to Karlton. She wanted the vein line to stay in, though, just in case it was needed for medications or nutrition.

Dr. Jackson also talked about the Post Traumatic Amnesia (PTA) stage of recovery. That’s the stage Karlton is in right now, and that is why the OT keeps trying to jog his memory by asking questions about his name, birthday, location, etc. Until he passes out of that stage, he will not be able to watch TV or view a computer screen. More than fearing that the flickering screen could set of seizures, she said that what Karlton needs now is rest, not stimulation.

Murray Stewart, the ENT surgeon, stopped in just moments later. He assured us that he feels reasonably confident that the nasal drip is NOT CSF. He says that any foreign object causes the nose to run. Karlton has a blot and the transplanted thigh muscle tissue in his nose, so it is no wonder that his nose runs. Yet Dr. Stewart said he would send a sample of the nasal drip to the laboratories in Christchurch for definitive identification.

The nurse removed the nasal blot soon afterwards. Later, in the evening, we noted that the amount of nasal drip had decreased significantly. (Rehabilitation, here we come!!)

Karlton ate a good dinner last night–all the pureed food he could get into himself–and a good breakfast this morning. Dr. Stewart came by this morning and ordered the vein insertion discontinued. Now the trach is his only artificial support. When I left the hospital to come to the university this morning, Karlton was in the shower. Kevin, the RN, had put him onto a rolling chair and wheeled him down the hall.

Our prayers–and yours too–have been answered so many times over, and they continue to be. Choy-Lang and the rest of the family join me in thanking you for your constant support.