Saturday, June 29
They
took Ken for an MRI last night about 5:00 and he came back about 7:00 again
without a completed exam. He was tired and ready for dinner. They had brought a
piece of beef that I knew he would have trouble with and I knew he couldn't cut
it up with his land hand and weak right arm, so with my back to him I started
chopping and shredding. All the time I was doing it, he was talking about
changes in the print on the wall, the one of Venice, Italy with canal and
boats. He said it kept changing, and he was describing different things he
could see. He asked about whether it was a [computer] touch screen.
Then when he saw the shredded beef, he was shocked and talked about it being fish and having legs and stuff. He poked at it and picked up pieces of it. I told him he was seeing elephants in the clouds. Because he trusted me, he let me feed him, but he was completely unable to feed himself and focused on the changing picture on the wall. After he finished eating I brought the print down to his lap on the bed, and he commented that it was at the end of its cycle.
After a couple of hours of being scared, I finally emailed Dr. Rivas and told him something was wrong. A few minutes later he walked in. He hadn't read the email yet, in which I asked if there was a medication change or something. Standing in front of me he read the Email and said yes. Keppra. He had not had his night Keppra pill since Tuesday night and he was having withdrawal. Fortunately I had Ken's medication with me.
Ken told the doctor he was a disappointed not to be able to see the end of his hallucination. This morning he preferred to call them creative outbursts instead of hallucinations. Dr. Rivas said it was like drug withdrawal for addicts and that it is usually worse on the second or third day. It was interesting that Ken's hallucinations were related to the conversation we had with the doctor in the morning about World War 2 and the knowledge of the brain that came from the German extermination camps. The British also made great advances because of the inadequate helmets the soldiers wore and the many head wounds they treated. So Ken's print was full of soldiers and history, Romulus and Remus even, since it was Italy, and posters, and wagons, and trash. He explained it as a very sophisticated computer program built into the picture. It was impossible to reason with him about the picture or the shredded beef. I shouldn't have tried. He was living his strange reality wide awake.
I am amazed that they were able to even attempt an MRI. Claustrophobic conditions surely are not environment for fighting off hallucinations, especially if you are not even trying to fight them off.
Before I emailed Dr. Rivas, Ken had agreed to not look at the picture any more. I had been holding his hand and playing the Tab Choir album, Peace Like a River. It had helped him to calm down and helped me to calm down enough to realize I needed help.
Then when he saw the shredded beef, he was shocked and talked about it being fish and having legs and stuff. He poked at it and picked up pieces of it. I told him he was seeing elephants in the clouds. Because he trusted me, he let me feed him, but he was completely unable to feed himself and focused on the changing picture on the wall. After he finished eating I brought the print down to his lap on the bed, and he commented that it was at the end of its cycle.
After a couple of hours of being scared, I finally emailed Dr. Rivas and told him something was wrong. A few minutes later he walked in. He hadn't read the email yet, in which I asked if there was a medication change or something. Standing in front of me he read the Email and said yes. Keppra. He had not had his night Keppra pill since Tuesday night and he was having withdrawal. Fortunately I had Ken's medication with me.
Ken told the doctor he was a disappointed not to be able to see the end of his hallucination. This morning he preferred to call them creative outbursts instead of hallucinations. Dr. Rivas said it was like drug withdrawal for addicts and that it is usually worse on the second or third day. It was interesting that Ken's hallucinations were related to the conversation we had with the doctor in the morning about World War 2 and the knowledge of the brain that came from the German extermination camps. The British also made great advances because of the inadequate helmets the soldiers wore and the many head wounds they treated. So Ken's print was full of soldiers and history, Romulus and Remus even, since it was Italy, and posters, and wagons, and trash. He explained it as a very sophisticated computer program built into the picture. It was impossible to reason with him about the picture or the shredded beef. I shouldn't have tried. He was living his strange reality wide awake.
I am amazed that they were able to even attempt an MRI. Claustrophobic conditions surely are not environment for fighting off hallucinations, especially if you are not even trying to fight them off.
Before I emailed Dr. Rivas, Ken had agreed to not look at the picture any more. I had been holding his hand and playing the Tab Choir album, Peace Like a River. It had helped him to calm down and helped me to calm down enough to realize I needed help.
MRI completed.
He was gone from 1:00 to 2:30. It was hard for him to hold still, but he did it.
Yea! When they told him it would be a
half hour more, "They were right." He used his fingers and toes
without moving them of course, and counted the seconds. Actually the half hour
was 34 minutes, but it was okay, because when they said ten more minutes, it
was only 9.
When they brought his almuerzo [lunch], he looked up at me and said, "it must be chicken, I can see the toe nails." And grinned. He is happily eating the beef strips with his left hand. Sauce, carrots, a zuchinni potato mix and vegetable soup.
When they brought his almuerzo [lunch], he looked up at me and said, "it must be chicken, I can see the toe nails." And grinned. He is happily eating the beef strips with his left hand. Sauce, carrots, a zuchinni potato mix and vegetable soup.
I
went over to Jumbos for lunch and when I got back Ken's room was full of
people. They were moving him to the third floor. He had been in the UTI [intermediate
care wing] in a room designated as a regular room, but I guess they needed the
room. So we are now on the third floor, room 305. We had so many things to move
it was almost embarrassing. I should have been keeping more in the car.
And the new room doesn't have a painting of the canals of Venice. Hurrah! The internet seems to work a little better here as well.
And the new room doesn't have a painting of the canals of Venice. Hurrah! The internet seems to work a little better here as well.
My
letter to the President and Sister Martinez and the District President:
Finalmente Viejo Babcock fue capaz
de completar la resonancia magnética. Lo intentaron de nuevo ayer por la noche
y nos dieron un 50%. Cuando regresó a la habitación, Elder
Babcock estaba teniendo síntomas de abstinencia de su medicamento Keppra.
Sabía que algo andaba mal, pero no envié un Email a Dr. Rivas hasta las
21:00. Él vino y supo de inmediato que lo que era el problema.
Afortunadamente yo tenía sus
medicamentos aquí y le di una pastilla de Keppra. Había estado sin Keppra
durante tres noches. Esta mañana Elder Babcock estaba mucho mejor. Él prefirió
llamar a sus visiones: arrebatos creativos en vez de alucinaciones.
El brazo y la pierna están
funcionando mejor, pero sigue siendo débil. La cultura biopsia del seno no
estará lista hasta el lunes. Así que vamos a estar en la clínica para una parte
de la próxima semana, por lo menos. Han fijado el nivel de sodio en la sangre.
Y Elder Babcock se siente mejor.
Gracias por todo,
Hermana Babcock
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