Well, he had to go back on Fentanyl
because of terrible back pain. He had a
bad night with only bits of sleep.
Between the drugs and the lack of sleep, he is basically out of it. During the night, he started pulling on the
oxygen telemeter, and then his nasal oxygen supply, and this morning, he tried
to pull out his IV.
His night attendant (yes, there is
someone sitting in the room 24/7 watching him) tried to explain why he couldn't
do all those things. Mike would say,
"Okay," and a minute later, go to work again. We got some respite when I told him the
Bishop ordered him to stop, and if he started up again, I would report it to
Fr. Lio, the pastor he works under. That
bought us some respite from his antics.
The surgeon was here this morning,
who is the person in charge of this disease.
I asked him outright about Mike's chances. He said he has seen people die from the
disease and the aftermath of it, and Mike has a very bad case. I started to cry. Mike had the best reaction in 24 hours. He said, "She's trying to kill me
off." This is somewhat of an in-joke with us. Since I lost my dad at 15, I expect people to
die if they are not where they are when they are supposed to be there. This has been going on since we were 30. He'd
come home late and find me curled up crying.
I would say I was ready to put on my widow's weeds.
I know that close family members
have already proposed coming out to help me.
I don't think there is anything they can do while he is in the hospital,
and it would be very inconvenient more than helpful. However, when we get home, since we may still
be dealing with the aftereffects of this problem, I think everyone should come
out. We'll work it out.
If anything critical happens in the
hospital, I will put out an APB, no worries.
I stay hopeful. It's still
inconceivable that he should be gone from my life.
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