sroni | (no subject)

I saw that

aadler already posted a thing about it, so here’s a bit more detail on everything that’s happened regarding my husband.

Irish had a deadline at work on Wednesday, and he never eats right or gets enough sleep beforehand. Everyone in the office loses weight in the time leading up to a deadline.
He and his coworkers went out celebrating after the deadline. Normally he doesn’t get home until two thirty at the earliest on these nights, but he came home by eleven thirty and went directly to sleep.
He woke up an hour later and started vomiting. I assumed it was a hangover.
He was still sick the next day, didn’t eat anything, but did walk to and from the store.
Friday he got weird. I woke up to him having plugged the bathroom sink up, knocked everything in, and was flooding it with the water going full blast, muttering about “45 degrees 45 45 45 45”. I managed to get him back to bed. He talks in his sleep, so I assumed it was just an extension of that.
He started making less and less sense, but whenever I said I thought he needed to go to the doctor, he’d say that he was fine, he didn’t need a doctor. It was one of the few times he was actually coherent.
He did something that, on the surface, isn’t that worrying but that I have literally never seen him do without a reason for it, and that worried me more than the bathroom flooding. I tried to get him to eat something, thinking that he probably had low blood sugar since he hadn’t eaten since Wednesday night and it was at that point 3 on Friday afternoon. He wouldn’t eat, and I called his parents to help me get him to the doctor.
His parents texted me when they thought they were fifteen minutes away. He was able to help me get pyjama pants on him and his slippers on him, but not his shirt.
By the time his parents got there five minutes later (because traffic was actually good for them), he’d gone mostly non responsive. He’d look at us when we talked, and he’d grunt, but he wouldn’t say any actual words beyond “yeah” and “nuh”.
We called an ambulance and waited.
In the ten minutes or so that we waited for the ambulance, his breathing changed and we called back. The dispatcher was nice and kept us calm and told us that they were also sending the fire brigade so that someone would get there as fast as possible. He had Irish’s dad put his hand on Irish’s chest and just say “now” every time Irish breathed. He stayed on the phone with us until the firemen got there.
By the time they got there, he’d stopped responding completely, other than flicking the eyes at us sometimes when we talked to him. He’d been able to squeeze my hand when I asked him to before, and he wasn’t able to by then.
Irish’s blood sugar was 24 when normal levels are 6.
We got to ride in the ambulance with the sirens going. Not as much fun as it sounds, and I never thought it sounded particularly fun.
By the time we got to the hospital, his blood sugar had climbed to 35.
He responded to insulin treatments and the doctors thought it was Diabetes Type One, because he wasn’t showing any signs of abdominal pain, which pancreatitis would have. They flat out told us it was Diabetes Type One.
He was awake and talking a little bit when I got to visit with him; he said “I love you, too” and squeezed my hand. I sang our wedding songs to him quietly and he touched my face.
They moved him up to ICU before we left for the night.
He was responding slower to the insulin drip than he should be if it were diabetes, so they tested him for pancreatitis on Saturday morning. Turns out that’s what it is, even though he didn’t get the abdominal pain until Saturday afternoon.
He was awake and talking Saturday and they said he was doing much better, but still needing to level out his blood. He had the lowest number of something in his blood when he came in than they had ever seen in the ICU on someone still alive. (I thought they said the acid in his blood, but it might not have been; I’ve honestly been taking in a lot of information the last couple of days and so I’m getting some details wrong.)
He took a turn downhill Sunday morning. At 5:30, he started saying things that didn’t make sense again, and his breathing got shallower. They decided to intubate him and have him on the ventilator, and also do dialysis.
They told me that he was fine and that I didn’t need to come in before visiting hours.
We went in to visit him this afternoon. He’s really swollen from the fluids but he’s doing much better. They have him in a medically induced coma for now, just to give his body a chance to heal. His blood levels are actually equalizing better than they have been, so the dialysis is doing its job. They have him on a broad spectrum antibiotic for the pancreatitis.

And that’s where we’re at right now.

I’ve been staying with his parents, but I’ll be going home tomorrow evening.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That's scary.

I'm glad he's doing better.

Friday was honestly the most terrifying day of my life. Not being hyperbolic, not exaggerating, I have never actually been as scared as I was when the ambulance took a corner and a thing fell on his face and he didn't react at all.

He's getting better, and that's the part that I'm holding on to.

Holy cow. Hope they get things fixed up and he's feeling a lot better soon.

I managed to not see this until now, so I am so sorry to go this long without replying.

He's been home from the hospital for about a month now (spent just shy of a month in the hospital, but only one week in ICU). He's been doing really well, and is back to walking to and from work, though he's not yet going to work every day. What he's been doing is going to the office on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and then working from home on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

A definite improvement, then, and good news. As for not seeing it, who hasn't missed a comment, from time to time? I know I worry about that!