My Dad has no memory of the seven days he spent on life support in ICU or his two emergency surgeries.
He has no memory of the family members who flew in from all over the country to sit at his bedside, holding his hand, praying for him to pull through.
He has no memory of his wife of 55 years, my Mum, watching on as he was wheeled down the corridor between the operating room and ICU while the lead surgeon gently explained that they’d done the best they could, but it might not save him.
Late last year, my Dad almost died, but at the ripe old age of 78 he somehow managed to overcome all the obstacles in his path and survive.
In the space of a phone call, I went from being the ICU nurse who is used to doing the life-saving work to the anxious family member with nothing to do but wait.
The knowledge and training helped. I knew what all the machines and equipment attached to Dad were doing and what all the numbers meant.
I knew when things were going in the wrong direction and I knew when Dad started to turn a corner. And I knew what other complications might come along and knock him down again, which they did.
Sometimes people in ICU survive the initial insult, but the consequences of being critically ill test them all over again. It can be a stressful rollercoaster of hope and despair with lots of bumpy twists and turns along the way.
My Dad survived all of it and is now back at home, mowing the lawn and buying fresh flowers for Mum at the market.
When I ask Dad what he remembers of that time, he draws a blank. He knows what happened from what other people have told him. He knows it was a big blow and that he still feels weaker and fatigues more quickly.
But he has virtually no recollection of his time in ICU, even after he was conscious again and progressing towards being transferred to the ward.
So often in ICU, we don’t know how our patients are faring once they are well enough to leave us, but I think about them and wonder how they’re coping. I wonder what they remember and if they feel different somehow or traumatised by what they went through.
It’s a relief to me that Dad remembers virtually nothing.
“I don’t feel changed,” he says. “I’m tired and your whole body shape changes because you lose all this weight, but I don’t feel traumatised by what happened because I didn’t know what happened.”
Dad’s ordeal began early on a Thursday morning when he woke with shocking abdominal pain.
Within minutes of Mum calling an ambulance, they’d arrived to take him to hospital and after all the necessary assessments and investigations were done he was prepped for his first emergency surgery.
“It was quite extraordinary,” Mum says. “It wasn’t like he just disappeared for two hours for an operation. He was gone for hours and hours and then he was in an induced coma for six days.”
Dad says he remembers only vague details and doesn’t remember having strange dreams or out-of-body experiences.
“I knew where I was and that I’d had an operation, but I had no idea I was in ICU and that I’d had another operation,” he says. “I remember nurses hovering over me and just laying in bed with all this stuff hanging off me.”
For me, the details are vivid. I remember the wonderful ICU nurse with the cat scrubs and the tall, cheerful physiotherapist who got Dad moving again.
I remember the dynamo of a surgeon who saved Dad’s life and the doctor who gave us a thumbs up as they wheeled him out of the second surgery after we’d been pacing the corridor for hours.
I remember the relief of seeing that hopeful gesture and how much the staff seemed to care.
We are so thankful to all the staff at Rockhampton Hospital, in Central Queensland, who not only saved my Dad’s life, but took such good care of our whole family.
One day, I was stepping out of a hospital lift with tears in my eyes and a doctor who had nothing to do with Dad’s care stopped and checked if I was ok.
They were all simply amazing and now, months later, my Mum, Dad, brother and I are together again in much happier circumstances and my own children are so thankful they didn’t lose their precious Grandpa.
