Living in the ICU Waiting Room

Good Morning Everyone,

Liam had a quiet night. He is still getting agitated and his breathing problems remain, but he's stable. And that's good. He's having problems controlling his airway, and the nurses need to suction fluids from his throat every couple of hours. Christine, his nurse the last couple of nights, said that this was the main problem keeping him in the ICU. So, keep up that coughing Liam!

Life here is oddly comforting. Harborview Hospital, West Wing, 2nd Floor, Neuro ICU Waiting Room. When Seattle got all that snow in December, Liam mentioned to me that the snow reaffirmed his faith in humanity. He said that, in more difficult times, when peoples cars were stuck and they couldn't get around, they helped each other. Neighbors shoveled neighbors driveways, and strangers talked on the street. Liam loved it, and he especially will appreciate this waiting room.

It could be a horrible place. Families and individuals in limbo, waiting for some improvement in loved ones wrecked with strokes, aneurysms, and traumatic injuries. Every couple of days, a new family arrives. Tears, stress, and fear bleeding out of their faces. But the people pull together.

When we first arrived, we avoided the others. Our own emotions too raw to hear any other stories of pain from our ICU neighbors. They gave us the space that we needed. Everyone understands. But as time passed, everyone here pulls together.

It could be a horrible place, but it's not. Across from where we have set up camp, Randy and his family wait for their grandmother, who suffered a massive stroke Sunday night. All day every day, kids, cousins, and grandkids stop by to share a laugh, a story, or a complaint about one of the other cousins. But the love they all share sets the tone for the room. Next to us is Jim. Jim's wife had an aneurysm 2 weeks ago. He's been here ever since, only going outside for a drink or a cigarette. Once or twice a week, his sister brings a huge home-cooked dinner which he shares with everyone in the room. I haven't caught her name, but another woman is here with her father, a former logging truck driver from Hoquiam, who suffered a stroke as well. He cusses at the nurses and even tried to drag his half-paralyzed body from the bed last night. She is encouraged.

We've all bonded in this place. Good news for one patient is good news for all the families. We all laugh and share stories, and complain together about the surly security guard who told us to be quiet after 10. They never even dim the lights here, so time passes like in a Vegas casino, and it is often much quieter at 12 noon than 12 midnight. But with our laughter and false indignation over trifling complaints, we can help each other forget, if just for a second, why we are all here.

Of course, it's not perfect. Randy flipped out a bit at his family yesterday, and they sent him home to finally get some rest in a real bed. Every once in a while, you look up from your computer, book, puzzle or conversation, and a neighbor is quietly shedding a tear, feeling the fear and stress. Life is real, amplified in this open living room of a house. It's a community, and people care for each other. Like the snowstorm, Liam will appreciate it.

Chris Moose is coming in about an hour to keep an eye on Liam and make sure Erika is taking care of herself. Kelly, Liam's nurse when he got here on Sunday, just stopped by to say hi and see how he is doing. She's encouraged that he's responding to commands. It's nice to know that this isn't just a job for them and that they really care. I've been hugely impressed with the staff here. That's all for now. We'll keep you guys all updated on his improvements.