Day Seven
Tonight is the eighth night of Hannukah. Sinai Hospital had menorrahs everywhere, from a big industrial-looking one on the front lawn, to a twisty, beautiful one in the lobby, to the plastic, blue-bulb ones at every nurse's station. My sisters and I took it upon ourselves to keep the one in CICU up to date when it started falling behind, and I thought of that as I lit my Advent candles tonight.
Today Mom called me right after breakfast. She was wanting to track a Christmas package, but the info was in Dad's email account, which I've been keeping track of this week (since I was the one who was able to recall his password). This is one more thing that Dad did for her that she's having to cope with, like filling the gas tank and managing the big financial picture (though she has always been the one to pay the bills). When this first started and we were told how sick Dad was, that normal heart patients go home within a week but he'd be in there longer, I think we all had it in mind that he'd be in CICU a week or so and home by Christmas. As the reality of "it's going to take some time" is setting in, we're realizing there's a good chance he won't even be out of CICU by Christmas, and we all have a nagging fear that he could be in there forever. Then I remind myself of Sunday's readings: Hope and healing, but Patience. And Faith. Maybe if I repeat this to myself I'll get it eventually.
There was very little update this morning when she called. I called her after the lunchtime visit and got another non-update. Mom has asked the surgeon to call her, since we haven't managed to corner him since Friday, but she didn't leave her cell phone number with him, so it may be a day or two of phone tag before they connect. I talked to Amy after the 4:30 visit because I knew she'd remember the details that Mom (and I) always forget to mention, but her update wasn't much of an update, either. She did say Dad was on 70% oxygen, so I guess that's progress, but it's hard to feel like it is, because on Friday he was at 50%. But, then again, his fluid levels are down and his balloon is out, so clearly we should feel that we're moving forward. But Dad was so sedated during visiting times that it felt like he wasn't there, and he'd needed another pint of blood today. And his blood pressure dropped below the level they're trying to maintain. So it feels like we're not getting anywhere. Amy said it's all very discouraging. We wish we knew if there was progress going on inside, because we can't see it from the outside.
Mom read to Dad again today. I hope that's helping him! It does help him for his family to be close by, I am sure of it. Even the nurse last night (I think it was) said she didn't think it tired him out.
I spent the day running around finishing Christmas shopping and doing a few other errands. I knew I was unstable when I nearly burst into tears when the shoe repair guy said polishing wouldn't make Alexander's dress shoes look a whole lot better. (They're white and blue saddle shoes, and you can't get white shoe polish these days -- only scuff cover, which doesn't do any good if there's a dent in the leather, and there are many.) I was fine so long as I kept moving today, but every time I sat still I could hear Christmas music. I am prone to weepiness over parades, musicals, sappy movies (even terrible ones), and Christmas music all year 'round. Today when I'd get weepy at hearing a Christmas song it kept turning into real distress, because then I'd remember I had a reason to be weepy. And on hearing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" I got weepy and angry. It's supposed to be wonderful, but instead I'm distracted, worried, and grouchy at my children.
Today Mom called me right after breakfast. She was wanting to track a Christmas package, but the info was in Dad's email account, which I've been keeping track of this week (since I was the one who was able to recall his password). This is one more thing that Dad did for her that she's having to cope with, like filling the gas tank and managing the big financial picture (though she has always been the one to pay the bills). When this first started and we were told how sick Dad was, that normal heart patients go home within a week but he'd be in there longer, I think we all had it in mind that he'd be in CICU a week or so and home by Christmas. As the reality of "it's going to take some time" is setting in, we're realizing there's a good chance he won't even be out of CICU by Christmas, and we all have a nagging fear that he could be in there forever. Then I remind myself of Sunday's readings: Hope and healing, but Patience. And Faith. Maybe if I repeat this to myself I'll get it eventually.
There was very little update this morning when she called. I called her after the lunchtime visit and got another non-update. Mom has asked the surgeon to call her, since we haven't managed to corner him since Friday, but she didn't leave her cell phone number with him, so it may be a day or two of phone tag before they connect. I talked to Amy after the 4:30 visit because I knew she'd remember the details that Mom (and I) always forget to mention, but her update wasn't much of an update, either. She did say Dad was on 70% oxygen, so I guess that's progress, but it's hard to feel like it is, because on Friday he was at 50%. But, then again, his fluid levels are down and his balloon is out, so clearly we should feel that we're moving forward. But Dad was so sedated during visiting times that it felt like he wasn't there, and he'd needed another pint of blood today. And his blood pressure dropped below the level they're trying to maintain. So it feels like we're not getting anywhere. Amy said it's all very discouraging. We wish we knew if there was progress going on inside, because we can't see it from the outside.
Mom read to Dad again today. I hope that's helping him! It does help him for his family to be close by, I am sure of it. Even the nurse last night (I think it was) said she didn't think it tired him out.
I spent the day running around finishing Christmas shopping and doing a few other errands. I knew I was unstable when I nearly burst into tears when the shoe repair guy said polishing wouldn't make Alexander's dress shoes look a whole lot better. (They're white and blue saddle shoes, and you can't get white shoe polish these days -- only scuff cover, which doesn't do any good if there's a dent in the leather, and there are many.) I was fine so long as I kept moving today, but every time I sat still I could hear Christmas music. I am prone to weepiness over parades, musicals, sappy movies (even terrible ones), and Christmas music all year 'round. Today when I'd get weepy at hearing a Christmas song it kept turning into real distress, because then I'd remember I had a reason to be weepy. And on hearing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" I got weepy and angry. It's supposed to be wonderful, but instead I'm distracted, worried, and grouchy at my children.
posted by Emily @ 9:00 PM
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