The life and times....

After doing a scan on CJ's lungs they saw that they were filled with fluid and infection making it hard for him to breathe correctly. They ordered a procedure called a thoracentisis. Basically a needle is inserted in his back and a tube is passed through to his lungs and the fluid is drained away. They explained that it was all very routine and although there could potentially be complications they expected it to go smoothly, we should have known that smoothly, and CJ don't really go hand in hand. 

"This may sting a little...."

"... because we are making a small hole in your back...."

"....we will be inserting a little needle and removing some fluid to send off for culturing...." "...and then drain a little fluid...""...this is all very routine, let us know if you are having any pain or breathing problems..." CJ was talking and doing fine and the next thing we know he is slumped over the table and gasping for breath. I would have noticed sooner that he was nearly unconscious, but I was too busy taking pictures.  His heart rate dropped and he had no color in his face and was sweating profusely. They immediately stopped the procedure even though there was A LOT more junk in his lungs (even after fulling a 1000ml jug, just off right lobe) and called a code team "just in case".  I refrained from asking, " 'just in case' WHAT" because I thought I already knew the answer. A small crew of people got him stabilized and they called for a portable chest x-ray to see if there was a pneumothorax (I heard the word but haven't been to web MD it to see what it really means, something having to do with air being in the plural sac around the lung, I think. Either way, it was bad). His blood pressure went from 65/33 when he was almost passing out, to 198/104 with a pulse of 120. He kept begging them to take the needle out of his back and I kept telling him that they already had. He said that he felt like he was being stabbed through his lung and he couldn't breathe. It was SCARY. For him and for me, and from the expression on the technician's face, for her as well. We are still not exactly sure what went wrong, but the working theory is that as they took the fluid from the lung it wanted oxygen, which is transported through the body via blood. So the there was this sudden demand for blood and his heart just couldn't keep up so he started crashing until his body could compensate. That was the only theory I remembered, although they talked about other things. I really didn't care. I was trembling from the inside out and trying to reassure CJ that all is well. In the end, he was nearly fine 30 mins later. His heart rate and blood pressure returned to normal (his sick normal) and his breathing was slightly better. We got back to his room and some of his buddies were there to visit so I got him settled in and took my leave. I found the nearest exit (which was marked "authorized personal only" - It was this little outdoor oasis which I thought was such a nice Zen place to create for the hospital staff, until I realized that it was where they went to smoke) and collapsed in to a sobbing heap.  It was just SO MUCH. He really was fine, telling the staff a story in great CJ fashion, and the next second he was inches away from heart and respiratory failure. It was so fast and unexpected. Realizing how precariously life is balanced is terrifying. Not just his life, but all of us just seemed so fragile and temporary. I have to say that the only thing that pulls me back from the edge is the knowledge that this life is suppose to be temporary. We are eternal soul inhabiting these very mortal and breakable bodies. I don't like it, but that is the plan. 

He has another chest x-ray tomorrow so we will see if his right lung is any more clear. We are thinking that they will want to go in and drain more off the right and start draining the left because his white cell count is still on the rise (indicating that the infection is still running rampant in his body). We are on day 8. I am so ready for this to all be over.