Happy Birthday Paramedic Extraodinaire!

Why am I thinking about the marketing plan of Alice Cooper when yesterday was my brother Tom's birthday???!!! You know, the brother (left) who saved the life of Bob (right). In honor of Tom I am reposting the care page dispatch of said event. Actually, there were several times Tom came to the rescue. This is just one of them. . .

*December 26, 2006 at 06:48 PM CST*
Take Deep Breaths.

Isn't that what you do to avoid panic attacks? To get oxygen to your brain when you simply must remain clear thinking. Like when your kids are in the back seat of the car and you're driving your husband to the emergency room at 11:30 p.m. An hour and half on the road in the rain. The best thing to do if you feel panic coming on is to pull off the next exit, open the window, and take deep breaths. If you have a brother who is a paramedic, that can be helpful because he can actually drive your husband so you can focus on the kids and yourself and not getting into a car accident. Plus, your paramedic brother can take vital signs before you go and personally greet the ER staff upon arrival. You should arrange a midnight meeting with your parents at the ER front door to transfer sleeping kids from your back seat to theirs. Then take more deep breaths, park the car and walk into St. Mary's ER in Rochester, MN, your home town. As for your husband, he should just try not to think about the itching from the inside as everyone makes decisions for him.

This is how we entered the Mayo Clinic system for the first time. Already, Bob had been sick for almost two months. Already been hospitalized. Already been seen by many doctors. Already had received tons of all different kinds of advice from family, friends, and strangers.

This night started quiet. The kids at a dinner with friends. Bob in his casket position. I was actually trying to do some LWR work. Then the phone calls started. Paramedic and MD in unwitting collusion. My brother Tom and Dr. R (not sure he wants me to use his name publicly), who is the father of my dear friend, Martha. I started working the phones. Calling them, calling me, calling back, calling the local doctor on call, swearing at the local doctor on call who was useless.

They didn't know each other, but separately Tom and Dr. R started to ask me the same questions.

• What is the biliruben count? How long has it been this high?
• Does he get dizzy? Is he clear thinking?
• Does he have a fever? Can he walk?
• He sounds dehydrated.
• Have you thought about taking him to the Mayo Clinic emergency room?
• I'll drive to St. Paul to pick him up myself.
• I'll call the emergency room and tell them to expect you.

I never did finish that LWR project. Just closed my lap top and entered into the panic zone. It was clear we needed to take Bob to Rochester. Tom would come to pick him up, a four-hour round trip for him. I started packing. My neighbor, Maren, prepared the kids. This was before the Speirs delegation from NYC came to be with us. My panic was telling me that Bob would die before Tom could get here . . . By 3:00 a.m. Bob and I settled into a room on the GI (gastro-intestinal) Unit at Mayo. Me, on the first of my series of little cots, thinking about the comments I would have for the morning round of dressed-to-the-nines team of doctors; thinking how I would assert my authority in my groggy, wrinkled yoga suit and without badly needed make-up. The first thing I did when I woke up a few hours later is sob.

Some people say that God works through coincidences. I have no idea. But I think a lot about that night, when out of the blue, in separate phone calls both my brother Tom and Dr. R contacted me about Bob's condition and worked their respective know-how to get Bob into a very competitive health care system. It was surreal. Surely, I made it through in some part due to deep breaths. With sighs too deep for words to express.

*

Today Tom is making his way back from the biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. I'll post pictures if he has any.

With love, T