Last flight
The ambulance ride to the airport was uneventful. But Mr. R’s oxygen saturation level plummeted during the quick ascent from the Hawaiian coast to an altitude of 7,500 feet. We quickly switched from a nasal cannula to a non-rebreather mask with little improvement. It was time to get greative.
My partner and I converted our transport ventilator our and the mask from a bag-valve-make device into a crude continuous positive airway pressure device. It leaked like crazy but provided pressure ventilation to stop the plunge in oxygen saturation that occurred as the plane climbed.
In an over-land flight, simply dropping to a lower altitude would have been an option to improve oxygenation. But we were over the Pacific with just enough fuel and reserves to reach our destination.
The pilots were adamant that we couldn’t fly lower or slower. My partner and I were determined to honor Mr. R’s stated wish to “never have a breathing tube” so endotracheal intubation was out of the question.
Despite maximal oxygen supplementation, Mr.R’s condition slowly deteriorated until he was bradycardic, hypotensive, and unresponsive. Mrs. R’s loud sobs filled the plane as she grasped her husband’s hand and repeatedly implored him to “just hang on” until they reached home. After 2 hours, however, agonal respiration and a widening QRS complex told us this was clearly not to be.
Having arranged for hospice services in California, Mrs. R had her mind set on a scenario in which her husband died at home, in his own bed. This grieving wife desperately clung to the comforting mental picture she’d constracted, one that conformed to her own timetable for Mr. R’s . Now, I had to think quickly about how to deal with this distraught, soon-to-be widow at 40,000 feet, still 1,000 miles from land. It was clearly time to take about letting go.
Last flightThe ambulance ride to the airport was uneventful. But Mr. R’s oxygen saturation level plummeted during the quick ascent from the Hawaiian coast to an altitude of 7,500 feet. We quickly switched from a nasal cannula to a non-rebreather mask with little improvement. It was time to get greative.My partner and I converted our transport ventilator our and the mask from a bag-valve-make device into a crude continuous positive airway pressure device. It leaked like crazy but provided pressure ventilation to stop the plunge in oxygen saturation that occurred as the plane climbed.In an over-land flight, simply dropping to a lower altitude would have been an option to improve oxygenation. But we were over the Pacific with just enough fuel and reserves to reach our destination.The pilots were adamant that we couldn’t fly lower or slower. My partner and I were determined to honor Mr. R’s stated wish to “never have a breathing tube” so endotracheal intubation was out of the question.Despite maximal oxygen supplementation, Mr.R’s condition slowly deteriorated until he was bradycardic, hypotensive, and unresponsive. Mrs. R’s loud sobs filled the plane as she grasped her husband’s hand and repeatedly implored him to “just hang on” until they reached home. After 2 hours, however, agonal respiration and a widening QRS complex told us this was clearly not to be. Having arranged for hospice services in California, Mrs. R had her mind set on a scenario in which her husband died at home, in his own bed. This grieving wife desperately clung to the comforting mental picture she’d constracted, one that conformed to her own timetable for Mr. R’s . Now, I had to think quickly about how to deal with this distraught, soon-to-be widow at 40,000 feet, still 1,000 miles from land. It was clearly time to take about letting go.
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