Joe

Yesterday, my dear friend Joe was admitted to the hospital for a partial robotic nephrectomy. I spoke to him the night before; he was packing a bag, understandably nervous about the operation, and hoping he would only have to stay there one night. His friend, Carmel, was my contact for updates on the surgery, which started around 7:30 am. I was part of an 8 person text group so Carmel could update us all at the same time. The next text asked for prayers because Joe had a “cardiac event” as they started surgery. Resuscitation was in progress. After he was resuscitated, he was put on ECMO, and had a brain scan.

I had to look up ECMO – it stands for Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation. It is an “advanced temporary life-support machine that does the work of the heart and lungs for critically ill patients.” It makes sure the brain continues to receive oxygenated blood.

The next update said that Carmel and Melissa – two of Joe’s friends, he has no living family  – were trying to make the best decision as to his care and that he was going to be transferred to Butterworth Hospital in Grand Rapids – which is all the way across the state of Michigan from the Detroit area. They apparently have a specialized unit that can give the kind of care that he can’t get locally.

That was about 1:05 pm and we were told they would update us when they knew more.

It’s 8:06 am on Friday and there have been no updates.

I am heartsick for my dear friend. We’ve been friends for over 40 years. Joe, Jan, and I shared a house for about 3 or 4 years. I left to go to grad school. We were extremely close, the three of us. Joe was by Jan’s side last year as she fought a losing battle with pancreatic cancer. And now this, something I never expected would happen during his surgery.

Joe updated me about Jan all the time. I could text or call him and he’d tell me what was happening. If Jan was with us, she would do the same, but Jan has passed away and I only have this one contact. It’s such a powerless feeling. I’m not there, I’m far away, and I want to scream “Please, give me an update!” – which I am just about to do.

Joe is a year and a half younger than me.

From what I’ve heard about ECMO, this is as serious as it gets. And Mere tells me it’s very hard to come back from that kind of life support. It can be done, but what kind of quality of life will he have?

I know nothing more at this time.

Don stayed by my side all day yesterday. And he will today.

Please send out some prayers for my Joe.

I should add that Joe is a church organist, and many of the people on this text chain are people from his church. He is beloved there, so he has lots of support and for that I am grateful.

Stay safe.