We saw the Infectious Disease doctor Wednesday, and as I predicted, I could have just phoned it in. He had no comment on the fact that the drainage from the liver is increasing as opposed to decreasing. He was pleased that the CAT scan reports that the abcess has decreased in size from 12 cm x 9 cm to 10 cm x 8 cm. In two months time. I asked about the infiltrate in the right lung and he tells me it's probably not really an infiltrate--”radiologists often overreact”. I told him that Rich is now on insulin three times a day and he said that was good because “diabetes makes it harder for the body to fight infection.” So, maybe someone should have continued the insulin AFTER discharge?????
Bottom line... the guy is all smiles and we're going to keep on keeping on. Seriously. The time in the office plus the travel time—it was a three hour tour and I really could have used Gilligan's help.
Thursday we go to the lab. My bloodwork is fasting. Rich's is not. If I tell you that was the most fun I ever had cooking breakfast, would you believe me? But FIRST we have the MRI. (As I continue, please keep in mind that I have not eaten since the day before). Rich signs in for his MRI and they ask for his insurance and photo ID. This is annoying because this is the SAME place he had his CAT scan six days ago. I can understand having to show photo ID each time, but you can't cut a break on the insurance card you've already scanned? They still need it. REALLY? Then what the fuck did you put in the computer six days ago? Rich is going through his wallet repeatedly and I can sense his panic growing because he is German and always in control and organized, and the nice lady is smiling calmly because she can wait till the cows come home but she's making it very clear that nothing is going to happen without that card. This becomes increasingly annoying as we realize Rich does not have his insurance card because he remembers that they did not give it back to him the day before at the Infectious Disease office. I don't have a card for his insurance because I'm not covered under his plan. So I ask the nice lady if she will please call his oncologist's office and ask them to fax a copy of Rich's insurance card. She pretends not to hear me. So I say a little more firmly... “this was ordered by his oncologist . It is an MRI of the BRAIN. It IS going to happen TODAY. You just need to tell me what I have to do to ensure that.” She is still pretending not to hear me, BUT, suddenly she sees something on her computer screen and she begins rattling off Rich's insurance information in a question format so that he can verify. When she asked if we were still at the same address, it was all I could do not to bark, “No Miss Asshole, in the midst of stage four cancer and the current housing market, I decided to 'move it on up to the East Side' because I don't have quite enough shit going on in my life.”
I sat down and took out my knitting.
Before Rich can take a seat the nice lady calls him back to the window and hands him a clipboard with paperwork to fill out. It is the same paperwork that he filled out six days ago. He tells her this, and she explains that she needs him to fill it out again. I'm thinking maybe there is a shortage of oxygen on her side of the counter. A little voice in my head is complimenting my self control. I take the clipboard from him and fill out the paperwork because I can now do this in my sleep.
The facility we are at is a satellite of the hospital that Rich was in for 26 days. All of Rich's doctor's (with the exception of the Infectious Disease guy) are staff doctors of that same hospital. All of these sites use computers. Apparently, like the doctors, none of these computers talk to each other. I have a nagging desire to meet the person who sold this hospital their computer software, because I am fairly certain that person is the Anti-Christ.
So I knit and Rich has his MRI. Then we go down the hall for the blood work. Past the snack machine. They draw Rich's blood, and then they do mine. And they give us the containers for the 24 hour urine collection. Which will be ready to deliver Saturday morning. This facility is not open Saturday, so they tell me I will have to take it downtown to the main hospital lab. I ask for the lab order back since I will have to give that to the lab with the specimen, per the instruction sheet they just gave me. They tell me they need to keep it for their records, but the information will be in the computer so I can drop off the specimen without the actual paperwork. SERIOUSLY? The same computer that can't retain insurance information for six days?!??! Now I just feel like they're fucking with me. I'm too damn hungry to argue. I'll have to eat a good breakfast Saturday morning before I deliver the specimen to the lab who isn't going to accept it without the paperwork.
Part of Rich's lab order is a two hour post prandial. Which means I have to take him home, feed him lunch and then get him back to the lab for another blood draw two hours after he's eaten. Working around the lab's lunch hour of course. The lab techs emphasized the importance of the timing repeatedly. I actually manage this, which isn't easy because the man no longer has an appetite. I get him back to the lab, we walk in and they say to us “did you forget something?” I swear to god if I put a canary in that place, it would be dead in an hour.
Today we had our office visit with the surgeon. How lovely to be in the presence of sanity again. If it weren't for Dr McGee and Dr. A, I would lose the little sanity I have left. It was the exact opposite of our visit with the Infectious Disease guy. Dr A is not happy with the lack of progress, the amount of drainage from the liver, Rich's condition in general. In short, where we're at is not okay and he presents options. Not only do I not have to update him on test results, he's on top of everything and he's explaining results to us. And he's not happy with the fluid in Rich's lungs and no, it wasn't misread by the radiologist any more than they would misread a bone fracture.
Option One is to flush antibiotics directly into the liver via the drainage tube, which will require hospitalization to monitor for any problems. Option Two is for Dr A to surgically clean out the necrosis and abcess and fill the space with adipose tissue. He's going to discuss this with Dr McGee and we'll decide next week.
It was not a pleasant ride home. I'm relieved that someone is actually becoming proactive. All Rich heard is “more pain”. And... oh yeah... they may have to drain the fluid in his lung with a big needle inserted through his rib cage.
It pains me to see the despair and exhaustion that permeates his entire being. I no longer have any food or cooking skills that tempt him. He wants nothing but sleep. Finally today he confessed that his silence is the result of the tremendous guilt he feels for all he is putting me through. Like to break my heart. I am knitting.
I knit like I am knitting our lives back together. I knit like each stitch is a bead of the Rosary. I knit like I'm stitching his heart into mine where it will be always safe and ever present.
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