Saturday, October 19th 2013

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 19^th, 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 2^nd 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 20^th, 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 21^st, 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 22^nd, 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 23^rd, 2013

Andy is in an incredible amount of pain on the 5^th 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 24^th, 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!

Praise the Lord!

Friday October 25^th, 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!

In the ER waiting room....... ....waiting for the doctor to come in..... ....while he lays there in the worst pain of his life.

In the ER waiting room.......
....waiting for the doctor to come in.....
....while he lays there in the worst pain of his life.

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.