the report from Dad and David

The medical crew continues to work on Mom, but there's been no improvement. They're giving Mom some sort of medicine to alter the composition of her blood gases, perhaps in the hopes of finding out more about what's happening inside her lungs. Ultimately, they'd like to perform a lung tissue biopsy, but Mom's in too delicate a state for that.

Mom continues to fight to breathe on her own. The problem, though, is that her attempts at breathing over the ventilator follow the same sort of sharp, shallow pattern as she had shown when the paramedics took her away last night. The desired breathing pattern would be slower, deeper, and more measured.

Dad and David are back from visiting Mom; they had spoken with a certain Dr. Lee, who gave them the update I've just presented to you. Sean's about to hit the sack and I'm going to wander over to the hospital to stand with Mom for a few minutes (last I recall Mom's berth had no chairs in it). After that, I plan to come back and call it a day.

With the depression I'm feeling, sleep seems to come more easily. My fear, though, is that I'll be asleep when bad news arrives. I don't want that to happen.


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