She was critically ill.
On March 19th, I watched a helicopter take off. On that helicopter was my mom. A 66-year-old thalidomide survivor who had just beaten every single odd in the past 4 hours while emergency medicine doctors worked to find out why my mom was suddenly bleeding out. She was over breathing a ventilator while critically ill with septic shock, her kidneys were shutting down, and unknown to our community hospital, an ulcer was bleeding aggressively in her stomach, and her hemoglobin and hematocrit were dropping rapidly.
As the nurse hung a unit of blood, two men in flight suits walked in the door. They worked diligently with two Emergency Department nurses and the ED provider to ensure my mom was stable for the 30ish-minute flight. Most importantly, making sure mom was comfortable during that time and that she’d stay warm since the helicopter might get a bit cold as it blasted through the upper atmosphere at over 200mph. During this time, we discussed wishes and what the next steps would look like. As she was rolled to the helicopter, doctors at the large university health system she was headed to were already reviewing past medical records and talking to mom's other doctors, getting consults ready, and ordering blood products to ensure if the bleeding kept going, mom would receive all different types of blood products. She would only need one unit of platelets in the ED. Thanks to Epic’s Care Everywhere feature, doctors were able to access years of medical history and diagnosis and be prepared for the unique problems mom faces.
At 7:02 PM, the helicopter came in for a soft landing on the roof, and by 7:07 PM, mom was meeting some of those same doctors who had only met her electronically. Some of them were getting to meet a thalidomide survivor for the first time. Residents and Attending’s alike, with one common goal, save mom’s life. We had just left home, but my phone started buzzing with notifications from MyChart (another innovation from Epic) about test results and procedures. I instantly felt relieved; I had seen the helicopter land on FlightRadar24 but hadn’t heard anything in 5 minutes, and those 5 minutes were some of the longest 5 minutes of my life.
However, mom was stable, and if you know my mom, she was fighting like hell. She was admitted to ICU and started treatment for pneumonia as GI doctors worked to find the bleeding. About two hours later, we arrived at the hospital and were able to see her. She was stable and looking better than she did when we put her on the helicopter. We stayed with her for a while as they worked to find the cause of the bleeding. Eventually, she was stabilized for the night, and they planned to do an expository operation in the morning.
We drove around and found a hotel willing to overcharge us for the rest of the night, and I passed out on the bed. At 6am, my phone rang. It was the GI doctors, letting me know they would start the procedure soon and would let me know the results when they had them. 3 hours later, I got an update: they had found 5 ulcers in my mom's stomach, one bleeding quite a bit. They placed something called a hemoclip and would monitor to see if the bleeding stopped, and it did.
For the rest of the day, they let Mom rest while they worked to clean Mom up a bit for her big day on Friday. On Friday, sedation was stopped, and they attempted to wake my mom up. Knowing my mom, I know she wanted to nap longer. She eventually opened her eyes a bit Friday night and was more awake Saturday. Sunday, mom was able to be extubated to high flow oxygen. She was still pretty sleepy but extremely stable. Monday, mom was back. We walked into her ICU room to see her sitting up in a recliner, and the rest of the time was just her eating mashed potatoes.
We still have a long way to go, the university health system found other issues to be addressed in outpatient. But we can do that. Mom is laughing again, enjoying life, and smiling like always. Against all odds, she lived. She was critically ill but is now not.