Friday, June 14, 2019

Friday Morning

For the first time, I awoke in the waiting room with someone gently nudging me and letting me know Handy Man was asking for me.  I think this was about 12:30.
When I returned last evening, he looked great, color was good, enjoying his ice chips. He asked couldn't I stay. I told him a few more things had to happen for me to be able to stay in the room, but I'd be close by.  He then asked me to be sure and tell that nurse where I would be.
I scurried on back and he said, "I just wanted to hold onto you for a minute."  I guess so, what a wild ride this has been.  Since they've pulled back sedation, while he is sleepy all the time, any little thing wakes him up and there is no end to the million  of little things going on around him all the time.
So, after a while he wanted  me try and get some more sleep, so I slept a bit more and returned at 3:30.
During the night, he graduated from ice chips to water.  I don't know if they'll add anything to that today or not.
So, maybe the heart pump in the leg can bid us adieu sometime today.  If so, it will still be eight hours before he can move around much or attempt sitting up.
He remains the world's best patient.  He coughs on schedule, doesn't try to move that leg, generally behaves really well.
On the one hand, he looks the very best he has looked thus far -progress is definitely underway, on the other hand, we still have a far distance to go.  I am thrilled with each step in the right direction, but that array of meds being pumped into him at a steady clip reminds me that his recently repaired ticker, isn't yet up to ticking independently.  Getting there, without encountering any other roadblocks, will remain the challenge.
Waiting Room culture challenges you on so many levels. Not just your own fears and worries, but by it's nature,  being brought into the medical crisis of one family after another.  If you have even a little empathy, your heart breaks to look around at teary and confused faces, though you may never get to know the outcome or lay eyes on these folks again.  You pray and hurt for strangers. I dislike TV in the best of times, it blaring all over during the worst of times makes me crazy.  My love of reading goes out the window when my mind  remains in the CVCU room down the hall no matter where I sit. Let's suffice it say, the furniture surely lacks the comforts of home.  Food is a problem because you don't want to eat junk all day, but you don't want to leave to grab a better choice.  You know you are always disappointing someone because you can't turn loose of this less than homey spot in your journey. Rightfully, they care and want you to go somewhere to find better nutrition, a comfortable sleeping place, some beauty or rest and you want that too, you really do, but- somehow there's a strong and invisible attachment to me and that man down the hall.  While this room of endless waiting is in many respects strange, lonely,  scary and uncomfortable, it is less so being close, it is too big and too scary when I am far.  You know, you think too highly of yourself, like that attachment, though invisible, somehow is making a difference,  perhaps a difference that is beyond what this millions of dollars of equipment and these highly trained and skilled people have to offer that man.  That maybe that midnight attempt to hold onto each other is what is really holding us here.  I don't know.
There is a different kind of skill that requires no fancy equipment, no expensive drugs.  It shows up in a warm smile and a big hug.  It sits right down beside you while you wait, cries a tear with you, prays a prayer, offers a special treat, makes you laugh, rejoices at every step forward in this journey, or feels a stab when there is a set back.   It listens when you repeat scary words you've heard that keep showing up to bang around in your bruised head until you say them again,  somehow lessening their strength. Perhaps it comes in a message, or a card, or a call, or the knowledge that your critters are fed. As minutes seems like hours and hours seem like days, all these things come to you in this waiting place and make you grateful.
Every. Single. Little. And. Big. Thing.
So I'll return and see what our day holds.


2 comments: