I do not even know where to begin on the past month- since it was a month ago when my internal panic alarm started to sound off every time I glanced in the direction of the husband. It was the day before Thanksgiving when I first heard the soft shrill siren sounding. I thought Please just let him get through Thanksgiving intact.
I am shockingly without too many words. I could scroll back and see if I sent any interesting texts buuuuut..... what I think I might have touched on today is that it is not everything in the middle that brings the impact to this story but really more like a description of two hours after got to the ER versus two weeks later, the day I brought him home, 2 hours after he left the hospital.
Two hours after I brought him into the ER two residents burst into the room and asked him if had a DNR.
Two hours after I brought him home he was hanging out in his favorite recliner, rubbing his belly full of a fresh turkey sandwich, some grapes, sipping a diet soda and watching some television.
Here is the DNR story: ( I typed it out even though I am pretty sure it was posted in a TISMF post. I'm just being lazy and not checking. Also I love to hear myself talk. ) He did not want to make that DNR decision and kept deferring to me, and despite my attempts to alert the head resident to the fact that my demented husband is not capable of understanding the seriousness of his situation, they kept pestering him to give his own answer, so I had to step in and speak to him that way one would speak to someone with memory problems and go through the meaning of a DNR and how no one can not predict if he would be the same when revived or in really bad condition. He still wouldn't choose and insisting ASK MY WIFE so I explained how I felt, and which decision I would make, and he nodded in approval so I made that choice for him and then (I COULD HAVE PASSED OUT WHEN I REALIZED THERE WAS MORE TO COME) the resident asked him if he was having trouble breathing would he agree to be intubated and he waved that off saying something like, sure, you help me breathe for a few days and then I walk away fine indicating that he 000 ZERO 000 grasp of any single thread of medical knowledge what so ever, (which I have known since the first time I ever said I AM NAUSEOUS and he offered to go out and buy me some milk) So, I signaled to the resident that I would make the same choice if he needed to be intubated. She finally seemed to understand that not only does my husband not understand the seriousness of his condition but he doesn't understand much of anything. It's really sad.
Coming home: I will not pretend that I was actively working to keep complete panic at bay for 24 hours before he got out. Some bitch ass hospitalist came in and said she could discharge him on the spot indicating that somehow I was .. questioning her judgement? Trying to undermine her authority by discussing his situation with the resident? I have no idea how this nasty ass doctor got the stick up her ass that day, but it wasn't from me. I have replayed every word I said and I was nothing but sugar and spice, like I always am with medical professionals who I want to care about him so they can provide their best service because they're human too and I try so hard to be nice! And then there was this bitch who came in and bitched herself all over the room for 5 full minutes, including the threat., to which I calmly responded that I would prefer he stay the night so that I could do a series of errands on the way home since he would require round the clock care once I manage to get him home.
Cue: huge smile under mask so that she can see your smiling eyes sparkling.
Oh wait, I just realized while typing this out that 2 days prior I had told her I was concerned about his ability to even walk since he had not received PT since the third day he was hospitalized and she said I was wrong, and then she checked and I was correct. Was that anger inspired by her embarrassment? BWAH HA HA HA HA Be less secure! OH MY GAWD.
But, the truth is that I was sick with worry about being able to get him from the car into the house. I was even thinking through if there was a potential of a chance I'd be able to carry him over my shoulders. Maybe when I used to go to the posh club, but not 12 years of no lifting later, I was making all sorts of plans. I had chairs and wheelchairs strategically located to assist. But in the end, he wasn't that weak and he did manage to get in and truth be told now that they have taken 20 pounds of fluid out of him he is doing better than he was in the few weeks before I brought him in when he was really struggling.
King of the bounce back.
Comments