This is the morning we find out nobody knows anything.
They know they have no reversal because they call down to the pharmacy and are told one doesn’t exist. It never has.
The cardiologist writes in his notes, “research anecdote for pradaxa.” The cardiologist who prescribed it to her four years earlier doesn’t know there is no way to save her.
“and we have no reversal.” Looking at the notes now I realize that those five words form her death sentence. But two years ago I didn’t have time to wonder if people hadn’t done their job.
I’ve been sitting in my grandma’s hospital room for three days now. She’s white as a ghost, the blood literally drained out of her.
Dialysis is in her room. They’re making all attempts to flush the blood thinner out of her body. Her platelets are barely a fourth of what they need to be. They hook her up and I watch all of the blood that she has left circle in and out of the tubes. I watch her blood pressure drop as the machines start to beep. The alarm is set off for the umpteenth time. The continuous dialysis takes all the energy she has. Twenty four hours of filtering blood because she isn’t strong enough for a regular 4 hour dialysis session.
She opens her eyes, pulls at the tube in her throat. Im panicking. They make her wear mittens so she can’t scratch and pull. Then they’re wrapping her wrists in restraints.
She’s a prisoner for someone else’s crime.
Tonight she starts to fight. They have to sedate her so her heart rate will slow and her blood pressure will rise. Tonight we don’t know just how bad things will get. We think this is the worst, it must be up from here.
We are wrong.