Good news: Mike survived the night. He had a tube put into his abdomen and feels better.
He was complaining that his penis hurt a lot. I was afraid it might be a urinary tract infection. It was just an external problem and easily solved.
Bad news: He had dialysis. He has an awful reaction to it and suffers a lot.
Monday's news really starts on Sunday night. A surgical resident under Dr. Izawa came to see us. Mike's condition was considered tenuous, and it was appropriate that I spend the night. Because his room is too small, they couldn't fit in one of the cots they have for visitors. I proposed lying on the floor, but there really isn't even enough room for that. Then I noticed that there really was enough space in the bathroom for me to lie down. I asked for three sleeping pillows and a blanket. The hospital aide who was the sitter, Abi, pronounced as Abby, who is six months pregnant and looks like she's in her eighth month, said she would get me three chairs to sleep on. She got two with arms and one without. I put the blankets on them, lay down, read for a while, and went to sleep.
I can sleep anywhere. In fact, I can sleep better on a hard surface than I can on too soft a mattress. And, I have a conveniently located toilet. Couldn't be closer. Abi put a cloth over the toilet seat. Everyone is more concerned about me sleeping in a bathroom than I am. I remember that toilets are cleaner than the door handles to the bathrooms. Also, these floors are washed daily, and the only person using that bathroom is me.
Yes, I fell asleep by about 9:30. I woke up at 12 midnight to Mike, yelling, "Help me! Help me!" His general complaints, I find somewhat comforting; it tells me he's in there fighting, but when he cries out, "Help me!" that's too much. I did some work on his feet, which relieves his general aches and pains and then sat by his side and rocked his arm back and forth, bending it at the elbow. This relaxed him and put him to sleep.
The charge nurse came in. He's a big man who resembles a truck driver. At midnight, when I was up soothing Mike who had been calling out, he came in and told me to leave Mike alone. He said he was quiet now. I pointed out that he was quiet because of my impact. The aide said he was not good with women.
After he was asleep, I went back to sleep and slept several more hours. I have friends my age who have trouble sleeping and can't imagine being able to sleep long hours at all, no less in such weird circumstances. Mike and I are both good sleepers. I like to say it's one of my retirement hobbies. We can both sleep up to 12 hours a day, including naps.
Mike woke up early, still complaining. His vitals were good. I'd like to think that my staying the night was helpful, but who knows. I also know that there are an untold number of people out there praying for him. When I called Judy to tell her that it was a problematic night, she called Brenda, who works in the parish office. Brenda put out an emergency call for prayer, not to mention all the deacons and their wives, folks at the seminary in Ohio, my sister's knitting group, the Krishna's, the church prayer groups of various friends, etc. He is one beloved, valued dude.
Today was D Day, they were going to put the drain into his abdomen. This is a risky moment. The doctors are pleased with how well he is doing this morning. They are somewhat surprised; his vitals weren't very good last night. They took him off the TPN, intravenous nutrition, and put him on dopamine to raise his blood pressure. It worked.
Damon texted me he had called the radiologist, who would be inserting the tube who said no worries. It was a standard procedure, and he had done something like 300 of them. We were told it was a crisis moment. The radiologist could actually refuse to do it because of his concern for Mike's health. There was a serious concern that he would get an infection from the tube. They made it seem almost likely.
I took advantage of his absence to go to the car, get a change of clothes, come back up and take a shower. While I was in the shower, Mike came back to the room after they inserted the tubes. He was moaning from what I could hear, and I dreaded coming out of the shower. When I did come out, I discovered he was singing the praises of the doctor because he felt so much better. Shortly after I finished dressing, the nurse emptied the bag holding the drained fluid. She got 2 liters. And there was more coming.
He sang in joy. Mike cannot sing. We sang our crazy version of happy birthday together. He was so grateful for the relief.
Then he started complaining his penis hurt. He was yelling as loudly about this as he had about the pancreatitis attack. He said he was experiencing throbbing, pressure, and burning. He thought it was coming from the inside. I was afraid he had an infection from the catheterization. It was a frantic moment for me. The doctor came in and thought it was more probably external. They treated it externally, and he experienced relief. Again, he said how grateful he was and burst into song.
No sooner had that pain been relieved when the dialysis tech came to set up for an extra two hours. During the dialysis, he was yelling too. It has become a pattern when he is distressed. I'm not sure if there is really something wrong, or it's just that he is worn out by the endlessness of this process. And it does seem endless. The man gets no real relief. It's four o'clock now. Hopefully, he will be able to rest comfortably for a while. Unfortunately, they may decide he has to go on the bi-pap again for the night. No one likes that. Mike complains for the whole night. The nurse told me a lot of people do. In Mike's case, the bi-pap rubs his nose raw. He looks like a kid who skidded on the pavement on just his nose. I don't know exactly how someone would do that, but you get the idea.
During dialysis, Mike started howling big time. I finally told him to stop it. He had experienced so much relief during the day. What he had to deal with now was just the dialysis- and of course, being stuck flat on his back and unable to move due to weakness. I have been trying to teach him meditation techniques to help him. Even trained meditators, not meaning professional religious, have trouble meditating when the distress is too great. Mike has no training. He's been thrown into the pool of pain, discomfort, and lack of control way over his head. Mediation isn't easy, even when you're not in distress. It is so much more difficult when you are. I'd encourage him to scream and complain if I thought for one minute it would help.
Ironically, it was Mike and my friend Carolyn who taught me to stop complaining. When I was in my mid-30s I was in serious conflict with another woman. I complained, complained and complained. Talked about it close to non-stop. Mike listened for a while. Then on a Wednesday, he said to me, "I love you dearly. You have till Friday to fix this. After that, I don't want to hear about anymore." Wow! I felt so much relief. It was almost as if I thought I had to complain for some reason.
The second incident revolved around my mother, who was a difficult personality, particularly for a child. While she wasn't very easy to get along with, she was loveable, and as one woman who met her said, she was capable of love. I spent a good part of my life talking about her. Then my friend, Carolyn, said, "No More Margaret Stories." Another shock. I didn't have to talk about my mom all the time; what a relief! Freedom from constant restating of the problem; freedom from complaint. Fantastic! Life-changing.
Once the dialysis stopped, he was peaceful. Yay!!!
My friend Judy called to say she was unable to find a place for me at the Catholic retreat house. It was all book through the end of March. I had spoken to Govinda, the ashram manager, earlier in the day. He was trying to arrange for a room with a private bath. He said he hoped I would return. I had become part of the ashram family- the mother. He said he would be sad if I couldn't stay with them. He encouraged me to come for dinner. He reminded me that they had great food.
Govinda is the oldest person there at a mere 64. I am almost old enough to be his mother: Some middle-aged people could easily be my children, and some twenty-year-olds, who could be my grandchildren. Hawaiian culture is generally respectful of the elderly. It makes it a great place to retire.
Since Mike was sleeping peacefully, I decided to take up Govinda's offer and use the opportunity to wash some clothes. I drove there directly from the hospital, started the wash, and left to do some shopping at Long's Drugs. I mainly wanted to go there because they were having a sale on Hersey chocolate bars with almonds. We all have our priorities.
When I returned to the ashram, my wash wasn't done yet, so I had some dinner after I filmed "my pathway' to the bathroom from the room Govinda had arranged for me to stay in the other night room. Again, so sad, I can't share it with everyone. I met one of the middle-aged members of the temple who was visiting from the Big Island. When she heard that Govinda had put me in that room, she said, "No, no, no! You can't stay there." She said he tried to put her in that room. She said absolutely not. She also noted that the shared bathroom was a mess because it was used by the men. The men make a mess, and the women clean it. It seems like Govinda may be missing a few synapses when it comes to judging what people might consider adequate housing. My first room is just fine. It is large with a queen-sized bed and a nice private bath. Totally appropriate for a Bnb.
I didn't have too much for dinner. I haven't been very hungry. Not sure why. I had put the wash in the dryer during dinner. When it was done, I headed back to the hospital.
I was concerned about what I would find. Would he be on the bi-pap and be in discomfort or pain? Would the inserted tube have seeded an infection in his abdomen and created additional complications? Would he be in the ICU? I had left them my number, but no one had called. I feared for the worst and hoped for the best. He was on the nasal cannula and doing well. He reported that he wasn't in any pain. While he is still often difficult to understand, his speech was clearer. The pregnant hospital aide that we had last night was with us again. Mike's room was slightly rearranged, and the chairs, my bed, were set up by the window. It will probably be less convenient for me. The bathroom is darker than the hospital room, where a light is on all the time. The hospital staff is more upset by the prospect of me sleeping next to a toilet than I am.
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