The most terrifying day of my life.
The day that I heard “bleeding in the brain” and “aneurysm”
and “my husband” in the same sentence.
The day that I had thoughts of losing him; losing my family
in one moment.
The day that Andy had a Perimensencephalic Nonaneurysmal
Subarachnoid Hemorrhage.
Still today, some 3 weeks later, it doesn’t seem
possible. It doesn’t seem possible that
we just went through some terrifying hours, terrifying days wondering what the
hell happened.
But it did happen, and Andy is still with us today. Still with us like nothing happened.
Which is a wonderful thing.
I will try to relive the moments that happened during that
week, because this blog is our story.
Our life. Our moments.
Saturday October 19th, 2013
The kids and I had just pulled into the driveway, after a
morning of running errands. Andy pulled
in right after us, coming home from the Indianapolis Marathon. I look over at him, and he had a horrible
look on his face. A look of, “Oh God, I
feel like I’m going to get sick.” So I
thought he was just that: sick. The
weeks prior, he had been fighting a nasty sinus infection that just wouldn’t go
away. On top of that, he had the 24-hour
flu bug that ran rampant through our household 3 days before the race. So I assumed that he was just severely
dehydrated. In fact, I might have
mouthed the words, “You idiot; I told you so.”
Because I did; I told him it probably wasn’t the best idea to be running
13.1 miles when you’ve only had maybe
3,000 calories within the past 3 days.
I quickly realized that it was more than just severe
dehydration.
He explained what had happened to him. He started running the race, not even a mile
in, when he felt a sudden pain in the back of his head. He equated it to being hit upside the head
with a baseball bat. It was a sudden and
severe headache. So he stopped running,
started to walk, then realized that he couldn’t finish the race. So he walked himself to his car. FOUR MILES AWAY. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t go to the medic station. Nope, he walked 4 miles to his car, then
DROVE HIMSELF HOME.
So anyway, we gathered the kids up and headed to the
emergency room. After waiting 2 hours
for the ER doctor to come to our room, they wheel him off to get a CT
Scan. I’m still not thinking anything is
wrong at this point. I was told that
it’s just a precautionary measure that they take, anytime someone comes in with
a sudden headache. So I sit back in the
room, and play on my phone to pass the time.
10 minutes later they wheel him back in, followed by the ER
doctor who informs us that they did find some bleeding in the brain, so they
want to take him back for some additional tests to make sure there isn’t an
aneurysm.
An aneurysm.
A sudden burst of blood in the brain that can kill you.
That can kill Andrew Swickheimer, my husband. My life.
The father of our two wonderfully beautiful children.
So they wheel him off again to do some more tests. As I sit in the ER hospital room alone.
Alone with my thoughts.
I’m not sure how long the 2nd test took. All I remember is them telling us that there
is NO aneurysm, so that’s a good thing.
(It is?, I’m thinking. Nothing can be good, when my husband is lying
there in the worst pain of his life, and there’s not a damn thing I can
do.) But they want to admit him into the
ICU to keep him under careful observation, just to ensure that one doesn’t
form.
So he spends his first night in the ICU. Where they monitor him every hour, on the
hour. Shining a flash light in his pupils. Asking him questions like, “What is the
date,” or “Can you tell me what you see in this picture?” Having him pull down and push up on the
nurse’s shoulders.
Scary questions.
Scary tests. Scary times.
Sunday October 20th, 2013
Day 2 in the ICU.
Andy is still in a high amount of pain, despite the intense pain meds
they are giving him. The neurologist
ordered an MRI, to target the exact location of the bleed. The severity of his condition is starting to
set in. Andy is tired. He gets no sleep. The nurses come in every hour. He’s been lying flat for 24 hours now. He was also told that he technically suffered
a stroke. Any time there’s bleeding in
the brain, it’s classified as a stroke.
A stroke. Something
that slapped Andy in the face. The only
person that he’s known to have had a stroke was his beloved Nana, who died.
That night, Dr. Hall (neurologist) shows us the MRI scans
and proceeds to walk us through the exact bleed location, telling us what parts
of the brain are affected. The good
news, he says, is that there is no aneurysm and he doesn’t foresee any
forming. Andy has responded “very well”
to it, which the doctor attributes to him being in such good shape. His age also helped his body’s response;
being a young 40 benefited him in this situation. (See, FORTY is only a number; a YOUNG
number) He experienced no signs that a
typical stroke victim experiences: no slurred speech, no impaired vision, no
balance issues. He never even lost the
ability to see colors, which is where his bleeding occurred.
So physically, he was doing wonderfully.
Monday October 21st, 2013
Day 3 in the ICU.
More of the same, in terms of Andy’s condition: intense pain (that
subsides a little with pain meds), no real sleep………although Nurse Dina did allow
him to get 4 hours of sleep without interruption of the tests they make him
do. The neurologist said that he could
probably be released out of the ICU the following day, if all goes well. We still have no idea, though, of when he’ll
be released from the hospital fully.
As you can imagine, Andy’s spirit is pretty low at this
point. He has been bed-ridden for 3 days
now, has had virtually no good sleep, and is wondering what the hell happened
to him. With no known explanation or
causes for this hemorrhage, he’s feeling pretty scared. While I spend all day with him, he’s alone at
night with his thoughts. The kids come
and visit him after school. Drew is
completely oblivious to what’s going on, but Emma understands. She understands that her Daddy is in pain,
and that he’s in the hospital which is very bad. Without her Daddy at home, to tuck her in at
night and to read her a book, she’s starting to get really sad.
And hearing that his little girl is crying at night without
her Daddy at home, is heart-breaking to Andy.
Some friends have come by at this point. Jared Youtsey, Quincy Clark, Jon Sohacki,
Dave Nancrede, Greg Ross, Chris Nancrede.
(am I forgetting any?) Prayers
have been flowing by our family, our SPX family, and our Noblesville schools
family. We are blessed at the outpouring
of prayers and thoughts. Jenny Myers, my
mom-friend (I really need to stop calling them mom-friends. Yes, they are my daughter’s friend’s
mother. But they are much more than
that. They have become my friends. Regardless of being a “mom.”) set up a
MealTrain and my SPX family quickly jumped aboard to sign up for meals.
The game of the century was being played this night. Colts vs Broncos. Luck vs Manning. So while Andy wasn’t watching it at The Luc,
we were able to spend the evening together, in the ICU, cheering on our amazing
Colts to a freaking victory against Manning.
The Colts rule, by-the-way. They
freaking rule.
Tuesday October 22nd, 2013
Day 4 in the ICU.
Andy has been able to sit up in a chair, and has been able to walk
around the ICU with assistance. The
neurologist finally downgraded his condition, so he was able to get into a
“regular” room in the Ortho-Neuro wing that night. These rooms are actually the old maternity
rooms, so we had been in this part of the hospital 7 years ago when I
delivered Emma.
Wednesday October 23rd, 2013
Andy is in an incredible amount of pain on the 5th
day. Aside from his constant headache,
his lower back was really hurting him and nausea took over pretty heavily. Apparently, both of these symptoms were to be
expected. The back pain stemmed not only
from being in a horizontal position for 5 days straight, but the blood was also
re-absorbing into the body. As it moved
its way down the brain stem, into the spinal cord, it could (and did) cause an
immense amount of pain. We took a long
walk around the hospital which was nice, but that really wore Andy out. Which really surprised him. I think it was at that point that he realized
he may be out for a long while, on a road to recovery.
At this point, we still don’t know when he will be released
from the hospital. The neurologist wants
to do an angiogram to see how his vessels are looking, before he can give any
word on his release.
Thursday October 24th, 2013
Another difficult day, pain-wise. It was so hard for me to just sit there and
watch him in so much agony. I wanted a
magic wand that I could wave to alleviate all his pain. All the doctors said that this pain was
normal, so I guess that was comforting to know.
It was just a little frightening to us, because it seemed like he was
regressing as far as pain was concerned.
He had his angiogram today, which is where they insert a catheter in his groin and snake a tube all the way up to his neck. Then dye is inserted into his blood vessels, where the doctor was able to see all the vessels and veins in his brain.
Soon after the test, we learned the results from the doc.....and we were overjoyed! Everything looked normal. In fact, he said that the vessels in his brain looked nice and healthy!
He had his angiogram today, which is where they insert a catheter in his groin and snake a tube all the way up to his neck. Then dye is inserted into his blood vessels, where the doctor was able to see all the vessels and veins in his brain.
Soon after the test, we learned the results from the doc.....and we were overjoyed! Everything looked normal. In fact, he said that the vessels in his brain looked nice and healthy!
Praise the Lord!
Friday October 25th, 2013
Today was the day where
we learned that he could go home! Hallelujah! The
neurologist said that Andy may experience pain for a few weeks to a month
(comforting, huh?), but other than that, he should have no other symptoms,
complications, or restrictions. He was ordered to take the next whole
week off of work, then he slowly make his way back part-time the following
week.
Which leads us to today.
Nearly three weeks later and Andy is completely back to normal!
Going through everything he went through, it truly is amazing to say and
see that he is back - fully - to himself. In fact, as I sit here
finishing up this (looooong) entry, he is at a Colts game.
Cheering them on to
another fanTAStic victory!
 | |
|
 |
| Dad i hope you feel better. and your neck. :) Daddy Daddy Daddy I hope you can stil [still] run. We pray for you. ar [Are] you getting bedr [better] i hop [hope] you are. from: Emma to: Daddy |
 |
| Watching the Colts game in the ICU. |
 |
| The kids getting some ice cream in the ICU while visiting Daddy. |
 |
| During one of my many walks/thoughts-gathering
time, I noticed all these palm trees in the entrance of the hospital. We live in Indiana. Why in the world are there palm trees here?!? |
 |
| One of his final days in the hospital, sitting up, waiting to get the "green light" from the doc to go home. |
