Laughter, Tattoos, and Teamwork: Three Blessings

The morning has been difficult. On the bright side, Madeline is an honest and aware patient. Though she offers minimal words, she offers clear messages. She names her feelings, her pain, and her needs. She knows when she wants to adjust and how. Her ability to be clear and direct is a often intense but very helpful. On the recovery side, Madeline is pretty uncomfortable and head movement is difficult. Her neck muscles are very tight, and her willingness to eat is quite low. Pray for energy to sit up and shift her neck so that the muscles do not get too sore or stiff. Eating will strengthen her ability to respond and move. As I finish this blurb, Madeline woke up and asked to adjust. She showed strength in her neck and moved several more degrees from right to left and even held up her head for a few seconds as we adjusted. Here's hoping for ongoing movement.

Amidst everything there are three stories of blessing worth sharing.

 

The first blessing is the amount of laughter shared before surgery and the few Madeline moments of comic relief in the PiCU. Laughter is an excellent medicine. Madeline is very fortunate to have us as parents because of how naturally funny we are. I look forward to her regaining her own funny-strength and enjoying the benefits of laughing herself. She really did make us all laugh yesterday when she perked up and said, "Hey Girl" to Jody (charge nurse). We also laughed with the OT/PT* and speech pathologist this morning. I don't even remember why, but the spirit in room was playful; I can't help but believe that is simply the kind of energy Madeline's dazzling face gives wherever she is.

 

The second is a tattoo on the forearm of the physical therapist. As she was manipulating Madeline's muscles, I noticed the tattoo. I focused through presbyopia to read the font. Printed on her forearm, "It is well with my soul." My soul wasn't well in the moment as Madeline was experiencing discomfort and watching them try to get her to sit up, eat, swallow, and move her neck was excruciating to watch; I cannot imagine what it was like for her. Several times throughout this morning Lindsay and I have held our necks; this feels like sympathy pain, but it is mostly the pain of watching someone else suffer. I kept staring at the tattoo as the PT did her work. As I stared the words calmed the anxiety in the room (or at least the anxiety in my chest). 

The Physical Therapist is a Jedi-Master. As they finished their work, Madeline asked for her phone, and the PT said, "I'm sorry; I don't think it is time yet to look at your phone." Madeline complied and didn't argue, which makes me both believe that God is real and that the PT is an agent of the Lord (or the Order of the Jedi). She took us out into the hall to talk about the next few days and to instruct us on stimulation and noise levels in the PICU. She was very focused on reducing the amount of stimulation between medical interruptions; again, she's a Jedi. 

 

While in the hall, I inquired about the tattoo. Her husband is a professional cellist who was diagnosed with brain cancer some time ago. At one of his last performances (in worship), he played, "It is well with my soul." When he went into surgery, she was unsure if she would ever hear him play cello again. She got the tattoo as a reminder. He is doing better but can no longer read music or write (but the brain/body remembers, so he can still play the cello!). The tattoo has grown in significance - the PT retold a few stories about how the tattoo is as much an encouragement to her as it is to her many clients/patients. Indeed, amidst our anxiety this morning, her tattoo was a gift. And her soul has a gentle presence to it that seemed to radiate through Madeline during the PT session.

 

The third blessing is the medical team and teamwork. I research and teach teamwork but there is still nothing more enjoyable than watching it occur. In hospitals, similar to higher education, there is a clear hierarchy demonstrated by clothing, initials, and tasks. Yet these artificial identity-markers seem to fade away when it comes to engaging the pediatric patients. A nurse came in early this morning and asked when our nurse (Josh) could give up his team to assist another nurse's patient. He clearly explained the procedures over the next hour and said, "We can be available at 9:30." At 9:30, I looked into the bullpen, and Josh's team and others were in the adjacent room assisting one another in that patient's treatment. We needed a few things while Josh was tied up, and one of the PICU residents came to help us assist Madeline. I know I was interupting their workflow, yet they set their agenda aside to help us. 

 

This happened again when PT, OT, and Speech all arrived at the same time. We are in a small room, and I was confused as to how they were all going to work at the same time. And yet, they did. They worked together taking turns completing muscle movements, pain inquiry, and speech, swallow assessments, all the while communicating softly with one another and us about what would happen next. They were a living witness of the Rublev icon and the Trinitarian life of God. They were light-hearted and compassionate yet focused on the task. The team-task is clear: Madeline, the patient. They engaged clear communication plus a plan all focused on the one task: patient recovery. I love when teams exist for the one goal in front of them; when it's my daughter, I respect the power of teams all the more. 

 

Madeline is now sleeping, and Lindsay drove back home to reset for the day. We received word from Dr. Lichty that we will be in PICU for one more night and then probably move to a different room for one more day of recovery. We lose Josh as our nurse tonight but have such gratitude for the care he provides. 

 

*For the religious and theological folks out there, OT/PT are medical terms for physical therapist and occupational therapist. I imagine some of your religious professionals see OT and immediately move to Scripture, but these are professional people rather than testaments. [Like I said, Madeline's parents are hilarious].