Questions of Science and Progress Do not Speak as Loud as My Heart

I’ve taken a step back from my website and blog for the past month or so. Not because I’ve lost interest, but out of necessity. As many of you know, I got a new job a few weeks ago that better aligns with my career goals as a pharmacist. The downside is that it is two hours away from home at the Lake. My wife, Mary, still has her job back home, so we have been trying to figure out the best way to handle this transition. We had even gotten as far as making an offer on our own place here at the lake. With the new job and the stress of being away from home I haven’t had much time or energy to devote to the blog. But, today, I have nothing but time and nowhere else to direct my energy, and so you, dear reader, are in for a story.

On Tuesday (just over two days ago), Mary was driving with our four-month-old daughter Amelia to pick up our son John from the babysitter. We still don’t know for sure all of the details, but we do know that on her way, she ran off the right side of the road and struck a tree. This is the way that so many tragic stories start in Salem, Missouri. I haven’t bothered to look up statistics on this, but I feel confident in saying that many people in small towns who die too soon do it behind the wheel of a vehicle that meets the unyielding trunk of a Missouri Oak. I haven’t seen the vehicle yet, but from what I’ve been told, someone in the passenger seat probably would not have survived.

The tree always wins

Luckily, Mary was not in the passenger seat, nor was anyone else. Amelia was tucked away in her car seat in the back, and so she too avoided the most dangerous area of the crash. Amelia faired pretty well, all things considered. She has a broken right femur and will need to wear a harness to hold her leg in place for about six weeks. Picture a cowboy who has spent too much time sitting on a saddle. That is what poor Amelia looks like in her harness, with her legs bowed out to both sides and straps from her knees to her chest. She is a very tough little girl, however, and has handled it very well. I knew she would be okay today when she woke up and started giving me her beautiful smile, giggles, and coos. All of those wonderful things she gets from her mother.

Unfortunately, Mary has not done as well. Even up through today, nearly every time I’ve spoken with a physician or nurse about Mary, I’ve been given at least one new injury or issue that had not been previously revealed. When I left the hospital this evening, the laundry list of damages included a broken foot, a torn or sprained Lisfranc ligament, a torn PCL in her knee (possibly ACL as well), broken ribs, a pneumothorax, a broken wrist and ligamentous injuries to her hand, numerous other cuts and bruises, a cervical arterial dissection, and significant bruising and swelling of the brain.

Golden Slumbers

She has remained under sedation and unconscious since the accident. I have barely been able to be with her either. The first several hours were the hardest, however. I chased her around the state. First I went to Rolla. I got there just after they loaded her on the helicopter to Columbia. I then had to drive up there and wait some more. It was probably 9:30 pm (about 6 hours after the accident) before I finally got to see her for the first time. On thing that stuck out to me when I finally did see her was the juxtaposition of the normal and the abnormal. I remember her eye shadow still shining despite the chaos of tubes and wires attempting to take away the spotlight. The white sheet covering her battered extremities was a stark contrast from her outfit from the day lying in a lump on the floor. The quiet of the night ran contrary to the cacophony inside my head.

I was only able to stay in the ER with her a short time before they made me go back to the waiting room where I filled in Tim and Lucy and Maggie, Mary’s parents and sister. It was here, in my mother-in-law’s embrace, that I had my first good cry since the accident. It was terrible to see her like that, but at the same time it was so much better than not knowing what was going on. Unfortunately, for Mary’s parents, they would have to wait even longer to gain that same counterintuitive peace, as the hospital’s Covid visitor policy prohibited them from visiting Mary.

The visitation limitation

Eventually they transferred her upstairs to the surgical ICU. The time I spent walking along side her bed with the escort of two staff members through the typical hospital maze was the most time I had with her all day. As soon as she got to the ICU, I was kicked out to the waiting room. I waited and waited for hours. Finally I was allowed to see her, but only for a few minutes. Once they collected her admission history from me, I was booted out the door into the starkly cold November night. I wasn’t even allowed to go out the same entrance I came in, so I had to walk about a block shivering in the wind despite the protected offered by the Northface jacket Mary had given me as an anniversary gift only a few days ago.

I wouldn’t be allowed to come back until 1pm the next day.

Guilt and Confusion

Of course, this was difficult to understand. I went down the road and got a hotel room across from Tim and Lucy and Maggie and attempted to get some rest. Images in my head of Mary trapped in her mangled car played over and over in my mind. I couldn’t help but think back to every interaction I had with her in the past week searching for some explanation. I couldn’t help but feel guilty, like this wouldn’t have happened if I had been home instead of at the Lake with my new job. After all, Tuesday afternoon pickup for John from the babysitter is usually followed by a trip with me to “Donalds” for some chicken nuggets, fries, apple slices, and apple juice, not by his Mom riding in a helicopter far away.

I’m not usually a very ritualistic person, especially when it comes to religion, but the one thing that helped me clear my head and gain enough peace to fall asleep was reciting the Lord’s Prayer over and over again. Eventually those painful thoughts faded and I was able to collect about four hours from Mr. Sandman. The next day (Wednesday) was spent mostly with Amelia. She had been taken up to the hospital across town for her harness and recuperation. She spent most of the day sleeping and not eating much and ended up having to stay another day. At least being with Amelia gave Lucy something productive to do to take her mind off of Mary.

Here comes some Sun?

Back across town at University Hospital, I had managed to get special visiting privileges for all four of us to visit Mary. This big win was granted on a daily basis, but only from 1-4pm. We took advantage of every minute of it.

Still in my same clothes as Tuesday, I woke up this morning and headed over to be with Amelia again. When I arrived, she seemed to be doing much better. She bright-eyed and more energetic, and was soon cleared to go home. We packed her up and sent her home with my parents before we headed over to see Mary.

Maxwell’s Hammer on my Head

Just as we were leaving Women’s and Children’s, I got a call from Mary’s surgeon. Things had not really gone as well as we hoped and her injuries (previously listed) were more numerous than initially thought. This was a disappointment, but we were happy that she would be back in time for visiting hours. That happiness faded, however, when we arrived and learned of the terrible decision made by the hospital administration. As of 5pm today, November 12th, the hospital would be restricting all visitors. Our previous family exemption was erased. This was it. Our last chance to be with Mary for the foreseeable future.

Why would they do such a thing? Well, they cited the increasing number of Covid cases in mid-Missouri. This did not sit well with me. Their policy was already restrictive enough, this was simply taking it too far. I tried to put it out of my head and focus on spending what little time I did have with Mary while I still could. Yesterday, at Walmart, I bought a classic composition notebook. Today, I sat down and wrote out a letter to her in that book and read it to her during our visit. I like to think she could hear me and I hope she appreciated it.

But, that will be the last letter she gets to hear me read.

Covid Continues to Ruin 2020

As long as people continue to run around town without masks on, go to bars and restaurants, and break quarantine orders, Covid will continue to spread. University Hospital will not let me in until the Covid rates drop and the hospitals start to get a little more breathing room. The problem is, that the people who are suffering are not the same as the people causing the suffering. I always wear my mask in public. I haven’t eaten inside a restaurant since the pandemic began. We moved all our family gatherings outside in the blistering Missouri heat this summer. No one in my house or family has had Covid. Nevertheless, other people who have openly mocked mask requirements and even purposely exposed themselves and others are causing me to not be able to be with my wife and offer her the support that she needs during the most difficult time of her life and mine.

I fully acknowledge that Covid has gotten worse here in Missouri and continued restrictions are absolutely necessary. However, this action by the Hospital is totally uncalled for and unscientific. A reasonable reduction in visitors was necessary and prudent to reduce exposure of patients and staff to Covid and maintain the healthcare workforce and workload at a sustainable level, but there is no evidence to support completely eliminating all visitors. Due to widespread mask usage and standard precautions being taken in hospitals, the nosocomial (healthcare associated) transmission of Covid is virtually non-existent. It is unclear what, if anything, we are to gain from the complete eradication of hospital visitation. One thing we are for sure losing, however, is the peace of mind gained from being with our loved ones, both as patients and as visitors. It is well known that patients who have visitors are more likely to make a quicker and more complete recovery. It is irresponsible and cruel to take away this right from Mary.

My Karen Moment

I have already filed a formal complaint with the hospital and intend to report this violation of patient rights to the Joint Commission and the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services. While I wait for the beaurocratic responses, I intend to continue to write letters for Mary and stay as updated as I can, but I feel lost on what to do. Do I go home to Salem and stay in our giant house, which was decorated meticulously inch by inch by Mary? Do I go stay with my parents? Do I stay at the Lake and go back to work? How do I make sure John and Amelia get the support they need from me personally while still supporting them financially? How strongly do I fight this visitation policy? Is it a wasted effort? Will I be a failure if I give up too soon? What will Mary think when she wakes up?

What will she think when she wakes up… alone?

It’s a terrible thought. It would be her worst nightmares come true. It breaks my heart but I just don’t know what else to do… except write about it. So here we are.

My Call to Action

I encourage all of my readers to contact University of Missouri Hospital and tell them about the mistake they are making. In addition, reach out to your own friends and family and encourage them to stay Covid safe; wear a mask, maintain social distance, wash hands, and meet outside or remotely when possible. If you’re the political type, consider asking your local or state representative to take stronger action on coronavirus. Please, remember that your actions affect more than just yourself. We are all connected and our small individual decisions trickle out into the community and build up into bigger and bigger effects over time and numbers. For my family’s sake and thousands of others in similar situations, I beg you to take Covid seriously.

And with that, I think I’ve expended all of the energy I have left for the day. I’ll leave you with the most heart-breaking music video I know of, from one of Mary’s favorite bands, nonetheless.

Don’t watch if you Don’t like Crying.