{Karlton Bontrager}

Karlton suffered with a splitting headache yesterday. The medical staff increased his dosage of pain killers. Yet he did not indicate getting any relief. We wonder if this is new pain or if his body is finally transmitting to his brain some of the pain it has experienced all along.

At one point he said, “It sucks in the middle of the night when I call out ‘Mama-chan, Otoh-san’ and a worker comes.” It’s really good that Choy-Lang and I can be here for him.

Karlton continues to ask to leave, for his car keys, and to go to his room. To give him a sense of his new environment and where his new room is relative to the nurses station and other areas, we put him in a recliner on wheels. Then we took him on a short stroll around the ISIS corridors.

The move to ISIS presents more challenges logistically for us, his parents. I’m writing at the university without having seen him today or having a report on his night. I’m under the impression that he’ll have a full schedule of therapy today. The weekend gave us a chance to get to know the nursing staff and begin to develop relationships with them. It’s comforting to us that they seem to be every bit as caring as the ICU and HDU people he’s had. It just takes us time to become comfortable with them.

Have a great day!

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For weeks Karlton lay bare-chested in the hospital bed. At times we had to put a fan on him to cool him down, but never a blanket to warm him up. Last week, however, he began to complain of being cold. He started wearing T-shirts, but he’d ask to have blankets put on him too. Shortly after we’d covered him up, though, he was hot and wanted all covers–even the sheet–off him. Over and over again he took off his TEDS, the knee-high support hose that prevent deep muscle clotting. But then he began asking to have his socks on again. His temperature fluctuations, we are told, are another symptom of the brain injury. The controls are out of control, and only time will get them to settle back to a normal, more consistent pattern.

His signals for toileting are similarly confused. He often asks for the urinal or the bedpan, only to produce nothing. At other times, he has an accident before he’s had time to ask for help. Last night at tea time (supper) he started in again. He needed to go to the loo. First the nurses brought in a bedside commode. He was unsuccessful there, and got back into bed. The next time, they tried a commode on wheels. We put him on and pushed him into the bathroom, positioning him over a toilet. Then we waited. As he sat there, his attention focused on the other side of the bathroom where there is a sink and a mirror. There, in all his glory, he got his first look at himself in the mirror since the accident. He asked, “Is that what I look like?” I assured him it was, tossling his front shock of hair a bit. He said nothing more.

The move to ISIS has increased Karlton’s confusion. He asks repeatedly for us to take him to his room. And he remembers his 1987 Jetta, asking us to give him the keys to it. Sometimes he asks us to tell her something. Who is he thinking of? Which “her” can it be?

But at least he’s able to rest. This weekend is really the first time since his hospitalization that he hasn’t been poked and prodded continually. The only injections he receives are the anticoagulants that he has to take in the stomach. He’s down to taking only 4 or 5 pills orally. And he has no therapies this weekend. He can sleep as much as and for as long as he needs to.

Yesterday’s Otago Daily Times carried a short article about another snowboarder who suffered a head injury at the same ski field where Karlton’s accident occurred. This was the second such snow sports-related incident here in this region since Karlton’s accident three weeks ago. A friend from Queenstown stopped in to visit him yesterday. She brought with her an article that had appeared in the Queenstown newspaper promoting helmets for snow sports. It included a head photo of the Karlton we all remember. It shows him with an enormous grin.

While he was in ICU, his sisters kept encouraging us to speak Spanish to Karlton so he would not lose those brain connections. The response from the medical staff, however, was consistently that he needed rest, not stimulation. We did use a Spanish phrase now and again, but only occasionally. But lately he has been the one to initiate some Spanish use.

A few days ago, while he was sitting up in bed, he began his insistent pleas to have his head lowered. Typically, when he doesn’t get compliance to an outright request, he turns our questions into an opportunity for persuasion. “Do you like the food we’re giving you?” we might ask. To which he responds, “I’d like it better if you’d lower my head.”
“Is the soup too hot?”
“It’d taste better if you put my bed down.”
And then he surprised us with, “Ayúdame, por favor [Help me, please].”

I can’t recall if I said something first in Spanish or the switch came totally from him yesterday. I was complaining about not having success with using a certain calling card to make telephone calls. He said, “Tengo un número para Usted para escribir [I have a number for you to write down].” And then he recited a pattern of numbers in Spanish. So his Spanish connections are still there in the brain after all.

It’s a beautiful, sun-shiny day here in Dunedin. Choy-Lang and I hope to get Karlton up in a wheelchair to take a short stroll around the ISIS halls today. It may give him a better sense of where he is and help relieve his confusion. I hope your skies are clear and sunny today as well.

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Last night marked three weeks since Karlton’s accident on Friday, July 5th. What a world of progress he has made since then! At the time, there was little reason to hope that he would survive the incident. First came one neurosurgery, then another one two days later merely to save his life.

A week later, Karlton’s cousin had the website up and running. It was clear by that time that Karlton would live. I was able to report that he was sitting up in a chair, and people across the room were able to observe the head nods that Karlton made to answer our questions. He got a real shampoo that day. He also moved out of ICU into the High Dependency Unit. Keeping his lungs clear was still a major objective.

A week ago he was back in surgery again. This time, thank goodness, it was not for neurosurgery but for repairs to his face and nasal sinus. Soon afterwards he was eating solid foods, and not too much later he was cracking jokes and occasionally being inappropriate.

Yesterday marked another milestone. Karlton moved out of the medical hospital and into the rehabilitation center. Just as I suspected in yesterday’s update, the open slot at ISIS was a factor that outweighed the neurosurgeon’s cautions. He and Choy-Lang were taken there in an ambulance while I was still at the Univeristy sending out the update.

Like Dunedin Public Hospital, the new facility is part of Otago Health Care. Yet the two entities are more like separate systems than a unified one. Despite all the physicians’ notes and nurses records made at the hospital, the staff at ISIS knew altogether too little about Karlton. (Why does this sound so much like systems in the United States??) We had to start from scratch with the dietary department–yes, he’s a vegan; no, he doesn’t eat milk products; yes, he eats eggs; and by the way, he eats fish. The nurses seemed not to know that he needs help moving his left leg and arm. It’s good that we were there to troubleshoot some of his problems. He spent a lot of his time sleeping, but he still wants us to take him to his room.

The first time that Choy-Lang and I visited Karlton at Hamilton, he had shaved his head. It took some adjusting to get used to his loss of that thick, black hair, but we did eventually. I’m thinking more and more that it’s time to go back to that look. The hair on the right half of his head was shaved for surgery, but it’s nearly 1/4 inch long now. In contrast, the right half is bushy, with an unruly lock in the front in the style of Tin-Tin, the French cartoon character. The large C-shaped incision in the scalp has healed and is increasingly hidden by the growing hair. It’ll probably be a comment from an age peer–certainly not one from his parents–that will motive him to alter the ‘do. Here at the university, on the other hand, so many people wear knit ski caps on their heads while indoors. Maybe he’d be amenable to adopting that style.

The C-shaped scar is sensitive to touch. Choy-Lang assiduously applied a jelly to it to help it heal and clear up. But Karlton loudly objected if anyone touched it. He even said something to the neurosurgeon when she had a feel on her rounds one day. He did take my hand and guide my touch yesterday. He also had me feel the lump above his ear. It is a space between the scalp and the cranium where blood has collected. Like so many other things, it will take time to go away.

That about wraps it up for now. The various therapists have the weekend off, and Karlton will welcome the chance to sleep in, I’m sure. We hope you have a restful weekend as well.

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On Wednesday (7/24/2002), the doctors decided to have Karlton try breathing on his own. They put a cap on the trach, and he seemed to do pretty well. It was only then that we learned that one evening a few days previously he had pulled out the trach himself. (Sounds ghastly, doesn’t it?) It’d been reinserted, and no one bothered to tell us.

How he hated the trach! The nurses had tied his hands in mitts. They’d put the stiff, unbending material around his elbow, they’d tied his hand to the rail, but still he wanted to get at it. His obsession wasn’t like a conscious thing, just as it hadn’t been for the naso-gastic tube and the stitches. His hand just gravitated to those areas. And he did have a right to feel those things. It’s his face after all. But before long he’d apply pressure, and we were afraid that he’d hurt himself.

And then he did it again. While we were away at lunch, he pulled out the trach a second time! Since he’d been successful breathing on his own earlier in the day, the nurses decided to leave the trach out. (As his neurosurgeon said that evening, Karlton is always a few steps ahead of
them.)

Yesterday was the first day that Karlton did not write to us. Without the trach, his voice was stronger and he had better breath control. But it probably hurt him to talk, given the trauma he’d caused in his throat. On Wednesday, he spoke some of the time and he wrote some of the time. But by Thursday, he was talking only.

Several times in the day Karlton asked us to take something out of his left hand when he had nothing in it. He apparently was experiencing phantom sensations there. Could this be a sign of changes coming on? We certainly hope so.

The PTs noticed that his left leg is getting stronger. As a team, they had him walk yesterday morning, moving his left leg for him. They got him to walk about five steps that time. In the afternoon, he walked even farther to get into a glorified wheelchair. Choy-Lang and I took him down the elevator to the ground floor and outside for a quick stroll around the parking lot.

Karlton doesn’t like to sit up for long. Even when his head is elevated in bed, he soon asks to lie down. But the nurses and PTs keep challenging him to stay up longer. He’s now staying up for an hour at a time. Then he goes into deep sleep when he gets back into bed. Yet he’s beginning to take the initiative in asking to get up to void or to eat.

In the afternoon, the social worker took Choy-Lang and me to tour ISIS, the rehabilitation hospital. It’s quite a nice facility, with wide hallways, big rooms for therapy and activities, and plenty of coffee, tea, and a New Zealand drink called milo for socializing. Families are encouraged to take part in the rehabilitation therapy. As long as Karlton remains in the Post Traumatic Amnesia stage, he will have a private room where he can get lots of rest. Once he moves beyond that stage, he will likely be in a 4-bed ward. Both types of rooms have large, floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook green grass and trees. It seems like an ideal place to be.

Karlton ate lunch at a reasonable pace today. Because he has lost weight, we thought he was starving. We learned later, however, that shoveling in food is a part of the brain injury. It makes it difficult for him to inhibit impulses. (Ergo the inappropriate comments and gesture yesterday.) So his eating more slowly was a good sign in several ways.

The speech therapist gave Karlton another swallowing test. This time she had him eat half a banana. He did so successfully. But he had a coughing spell when he tried to drink water. She decided that he could progress to a soft diet with liquids the thickness of nectar.

The laboratory results on the nasal drip had not come in by the end of the day yesterday. Without a definitive identification of whether it contains cerebro-spinal fluid, Karlton cannot move to ISIS. So our potential Friday moving date has been postponed to Monday or Tuesday. We learned today, however, that there is an opening for a patient at ISIS. That factor may change the way the decision is made.

The sun is shining today, and we hope to take Karlton outside for another walk. I hope you have lots of sunshine in your day as well.

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Some of the literature that we’ve been given about traumatic brain injury warns that we should expect inappropriate behavior and vulgarities. It came at us as a surprise, however, when it happened yesterday morning. One of the nurses stayed in the room to chat for a wee bit after helping to lift Karlton higher in bed (NOTE: Here in NZ “bits” come only in “wee” sizes). I mentioned that the day before he had been wanting to go home. She responded by saying something like, “We enjoy having you here with us.” Hearing that, he gave her the finger! We gasped in surprise, but he merely said, “She knew I didn’t mean it.” In the evening when a female friend of his stopped by to visit, he pulled aside the bedsheets and invited her to climb in with him!

Luckily, he’s also evidencing a sense of humor. His left eye continues its almost unblinking stare, and he seldom smiles, so humor seems unexpected, making it all the funnier. When a rugby mate was visiting and I walked into the room, he introduced us. I explained that we had met previously when Karlton was in surgery. His response was, “My condolences to both of you.” The friend added that I’d even been over to his house. Karlton soberly added, “I repeat myself.”

Rhonda is one of the cheeriest nurses on the ward. He named her “Rhonda Honda.” She playfully checked her oxygen saturation rate after she checked his to compare the two. Choy-Lang made a comment about how her saturation rate would be higher if she didn’t engage in certain habits. Karlton picked up on the implied meaning and said, “Too much pot.” Then Rhonda continued with her duties by asking the required questions about time and place. “What’s your name?” she asked. “Pot smoker,” he answered.

So in more and more ways we have our son back. That’s such a blessing! The charge nurse talked to Choy-Lang about the next step: moving to ISIS, the rehabilitation hospital. He told her that the move could take place as early as Friday. Later, the social worked stopped by in to make arrangements to take Choy-Lang and me there on a field trip today.

The move will change our logistics markedly because ISIS is several kilometers away and in a residential area. We may need to take buses to get between there and the town center. Also, restaurants, supermarkets, and the university library won’t be so convenient. But, of course, we’re happy to make those adjustments in support of Karlton.

When I got back from the university yesterday, Karlton was asleep. When he woke up, he opened his eyes. Both eyes. Well, he opened the right one only a wee bit, maybe a quarter of the way. But until then, the right lid had made no response when he opened the left one. And he clearly had been unable to open it at will. But suddenly, that’s changed. During the day it gradually opened more and more until he was opening it about 1/4 of the way. Choy-Lang covered his left eye, and he claimed to be able to see something. This is almost too much to ask for!

Over and over again we have steeled ourselves against hoping for and expecting too much. At some point, we tell ourselves, the progress will slow . . . or maybe even stop. But to date the only hiatus was over the weekend just after Karlton’s third surgery. And now he surges on ahead. We are so grateful for all of you who are supporting us with your prayers, positive thoughts, and energies. You are having a profound effect!

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Many of you know already that Choy-Lang is interested in touchless healing. Ever since we arrived, she has spent hours focusing the palms of her hands on areas where Karlton’s body required the most healing energy. When he needed other kinds of care, the medical staff would also hover around him. More often than I liked, dear old dad ended up on the outside, becoming almost a distant observer.

Yesterday, in contrast, was my day. Suddenly I figured prominently in Karlton’s thoughts. It was “Dad” this and “my Dad” that. And I loved it. One time Karlton wrote, “My dad & i have work to do tonight.” Another time, when Kevin, the RN, was on break and Kate, another RN, was in to relieve him, Karlton wrote, “kate, if kevin is okay can my dad & i leave immediately for the day?” And so many times he asked me to take him home. One time when he asked Choy-Lang to take him home, she asked which home he meant (that is, did he mean Queenstown? Los Angeles? Encinitas?). “His,” he said, pointing to me.

[Note that Karlton uses few capitals and little punctuation when he write. My renditions of his sentences attempt to reproduce his use of capitals and punctuation.]

Several things were noteworthy about Karlton’s writing today. Because he is usually in a reclining position when he writes, we hold a clipboard of paper in the air in front of him, and he has to write by pressing against the clipboard, almost uphill, as it were. In the past, he has had strength to press hard enough only to write with a felt-tipped marker. Today, in contrast, he asked for the ball-point pen in my pocket, and he was able to use it for nearly all the writing he did.

As he writes, the letters get more cramped and become less legible as his hand gets to the bottom of the page. Those words, naturally, are the hardest for us to decipher. Yet if we change the sheet and ask him to write the word again, he is not able to do so. It’s as if he has only one chance to get his thoughts down.

Yesterday was different, however. The incident began when he said something that sounded almost like, “Chicago.” I couldn’t understand, so he wrote, “dad what i was failing to try to say to you was (undecipherable).” I changed the sheet on the clipboard, and then he wrote, “chikaku ni swatte onegai shimasu ka?” using ABC letters to write in Japanese, “Please sit near me.”

Later, when I was reading email messages to him, he interrupted me and indicated that he wanted to write. This time he wrote, “the words you missed were napp, napping ZZZZZ”. I’m not sure what this meant, but he was clearly showing us his ability to make explanations, restating the same idea in different ways. And on another occasion he used an abbreviation: “b/4” for “before”. I think this shows real flexibility in his thinking. That is, rather than having to express thoughts as they come to him, he is able to analyze his thoughts and choose among various ways to express them.

The High Dependecy Unit (HDU) is a three-bed ward. Yesterday one patient went home, and another moved on to the rehabilitation hospital. Knowing that Karlton would be the only patient left in the HDU, the nurse in charge worked to get him moved to another room. He ended up in an isolation room, not because he’s needs to be isolated, but to allow the nurses to observe him easily from a central location. So he’s got new digs, and we’re in the process of getting the walls decorated with the cards and photos so many of you have sent.

Kevin, the day nurse yesterday, hadn’t seen Karlton in about a week. He noticed that Karlton has lost a lot of weight. Choy-Lang, too, notices when she massages his back that he’s got little meat on his bones. It’s no wonder then that he eats so ravenously. The kitchen is sending up double portions of everything, and he licks the plates clean. It doesn’t matter to him that everything is pureed and thickened to the same, boring consistency.

Yesterday he interrupted his eating only to motion that he wanted to get out of the chair and back into bed. Over and over again, he resisted sitting up. Even when he was in bed and the head was propped up high, he had to be cajoled to stay that way for a mere 10 minutes. Yet he thinks he’s ready to go home. The very thought of a 14-hour flight from Aukland to Los Angeles seems at this point to be an overwhelming obstacle, not to mention getting him to the airport, to Aukland, and beyond Los Angeles to Rhode Island where we can care for him. We still have a long way to go.

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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.

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Yesterday was such a change of pace. Three friends of Karlton’s took Choy-Lang and me on an excursion. We went to a beach that was like a scene directly out of a movie set. The approach to the beach was from a high hill. As we approached, we had a bird’s eye view of the beach, two huge rock formations in the water, and the thundering waves of the aquamarine ocean. The hill was actually an enormous sand dune, and we slid our way down to the water’s edge. The wind was cold and strong as we hiked about half a mile across the beach to where we saw sea lions, seals, and one lonely yellow-eyed penguin. The penguins are nearly extinct, probably because they stand in just one limited area during their molting time. That’s what this little guy was doing, and that is why we were able to see him from fairly close up. The climb back up the steep, shifting sand was arduous, but we returned to the hospital so refreshed.

Karlton, too, seemed to benefit from our time away. He seemed brighter and more alert, and he was certainly more interactive. A friend from Queenstown had driven down and was visiting him when we arrived back. We learned that he greeted her orally with, “It’s good to have you here.” His written messages too were easier to decipher. At the end of the day, after all his company had gone, and when we too were planning to leave, he wrote using ABC letters to spell out the Japanese words for “Thanks for helping me.”

It was truly a good day for all of us.

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Yesterday was a quiet day. Karlton continues to sleep much of the day. The PTs were off for the weekend, so they didn’t get him up in a chair or make him stand. Occasionally he asked to write something. But much of the time he slept.

This morning (Sunday) a PT stopped in to listen to his lungs. He then got Karlton to sit on the side of the bed. Karlton wasn’t excited about that; he was all too ready to lie down again. The PT wanted to get him out of bed and into a chair, but Karlton nixed that idea.

Each week, I’m told, the medical staff will remove the old tracheostomy and insert a narrower one. It sounds as if they are encouraging him to get along without one again. The smaller one should make it easier for him to swallow. I believe swallowing training will begin again on Monday.

Choy-Lang and I have been staying at a hotel that’s set up rather like a Ronald McDonald House. It’s sponsored by a charitable organization, so it’s reasonably priced. It’s just across the street from the hospital, and is also convenient to shopping and restaurants. Someone else had booked the room previously beginning today, though. So we’ve moved to a hotel. It’s more spacious, has a cooking range, and is only 7 minutes’ walk away. So part of today’s agenda includes getting ourselves resettled.

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In his talk the day before, the ENT specialist had indicated that Karlton might come out of the anesthesia quite quickly, perhaps within minutes. But it was not that way at all. At noon we got word that he is in the Recovery Room, and he didn’t come back to the ward for another hour. Then he slept most of the afternoon and evening. Occasionally his left eye would open and seem to focus, but then it would roll back into his head and he would continue sleeping.

Karlton looked like quite a sight when he came back from surgery. His face had a yellowish tint where it had been washed in iodine. He had a single suture on his lower right cheek where the maxilo-facial people had gone in under the bone to lift it up. Just under the right eye was what looked like a line of suture thread. It held together the top of the cheek where the surgeons had inserted a titanium plate to support the cheek bones. The thread was anchored to his forehead at the top of his nose and to the right side of his face. It was held taut in that position by the anchoring tapes. More suture thread came from his right nostril and was taped to the lower side of his cheek next to his mouth. That, we were told, was to pull the packing out of his nostril when it is ready to come out.

We had three scares afterwards, when things didn’t go as expected. Adding to our fears, was the ignorance of the nursing staff about what was going on. A few worried telephone calls to the House Surgeon (resident) and the ENT specialist came back with the response that those reactions were to be expected. But then why didn’t the surgeons communicate that to the nursing staff???!!!

The most concerning incident was the blood that oozed from the line of suture tread under the right eye. As Karlton’s face became swollen (luckily, we were told to expect that), the string pulled taut appeared to cut into his skin. Dark, thick blood oozed from that site. The House Surgeon assured us that it was better for the blood to exit the skin than to be trapped under it. But it did look nasty.

So it was quite a day for us all. We, his parents, and the nursing staff had several scares. But Karlton on his painkillers slept through most of it. We are very pleased on the whole with his care and with the responses of the medical staff when things don’t go as expected. We did feel a bit angry about the poor communication about developments after the surgery. We’ll have to address them as we have opportunity.

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