okay, folks, don't tell anyone, but I think we may have had a good day. shh! seriously. no yippees, no cheers, no pompoms. we are not jinxing this.
Everyone promise to keep quiet? Good, I can stop [typing in a manner to indicate] whispering.
Awesome Respiratory Therapists Lon and Gary played with Jane's vent settings today, and it seems to have worked. They adjusted her PEEP setting (which helps keep the lungs from collapsing at the end of an exhalation) and her PIP (peak inspiratory pressure, which is just what it sounds like -- the pressure in the lungs at the end of inhaling), and she went from needing 100% oxygen and backup from the conventional ventilator (the jet runs with it, and the conventional vent can provide a little or no extra breaths, depending on the setting) to...
*** 60% and they're turning off the backup (as of Tom's 9 pm call to the nursery). ***
I want to put that in huge, bold letters, but I'm trying my darndest not to get too excited. Excuse me for a moment while I spit, throw salt over my shoulder and make the sign against the evil eye.
Could this be the solution or at least the balance everyone's been looking for? (knocking wood) Obviously it's impossible to say, but at least she got an easier day out of it. AND it was time to change her isolette -- just because they do that periodically, the isolette get pretty grody after a while -- and I got to hold her again! For like fifteen whole minutes. It took that long just to get Jane's wires untangled and my chair situated so that it was close enough to the machines to keep her hooked up and yet far enough from the crib that they could slide the old one out and the new one in. I would have asked Tom to take pictures of the whole proceedings but he was too busy talking to his ICN BFF, Cathy. Now you know who to blame for this photo-free post.
I won't ask you to cross your fingers again because SOMEONE out there is obviously untrustworthy in that regard. But a little "go, vent, go" chant from time to time would be nice. If you happen to think of it.
Oh, and that "A" term I couldn't come up with yesterday that describes the wandering collapse in Jane's lungs is atelectasis. Can you blame me? See, you've already forgotten it and you just read it.