A long week

It's been a long week.

By Monday the Reglan seemed to have cleared his system. Up until then we were still at the carnival. Thanks to everyone's prayers, the problem was the medication, and due to the stress on his liver it was just taking longer to clear it. The coughing has stopped, except for the random need to clear his throat which is never successful. He cannot walk twenty feet without getting winded. We're trying to do strengthening exercises of his major muscle masses, but it is very slow going and wipes him out. He's eating better, but still losing weight. He's down to 172 lbs. He started at 225.

As scary as it was to deal with his hallucinations, this new phase is breaking my heart. He looks in the mirror and he cries—not from vanity but from loss. Many people arrive at where he is, but the trip usually takes longer than three months. What he sees represents what he feels and the total lack of energy. The ability to make it from the couch to the toilet in the five seconds requied often fails.

Tuesday we saw Dr McGee. It's good to get an update, but the encouragement he gives us is ten times greater. He promises nothing but somehow makes us believe that we'll get through this and there will be something good for us on the other side of this struggle. He shares Rich's hope and belief that there is still golf in his future. He talks to us about patience and continuing on.

Friday we see the new and improved Infectious Disease doctor in the morning, and the surgeon in the afternoon. Everyone's on the same page. It's just going to take a long time. “For every day you spend in the hospital, it takes three days to recover.” Doing the math, we've got a tough row to hoe.

But there was a bright spot... Rich was approved for a shower. I thought for sure he'd want me to run every red light on the way home and start the water. Oddly, it was a full day from permission granted Friday afternoon to stepping under the hot running water Saturday evening. I sensed he was a bit nervous that he would be steady on his feet, imagining how a fall in the shower would impact our program. I also wondered if he wanted to savor the expectation. The man had not had a shower since July 15th. Such a journey into bliss deserves proper anticipation.

By Saturday evening I had his shower as carefully prepared as possible without totally emasculating him. His PIC line was bandaged with plastic wrap and fully occluded; drain was properly secured; all items in easy reach, safety precautions in place. The first time I put each of my sons on the school bus was no scarier or heart wrenching than watching this terribly thin, frail man step into the shower as I closed the door on the steam filled room.

The first gutteral moan emanating from the bathroom was one of pure pleasure, and I was half expecting it. It sent the cats scurrying upstairs to hide. Half an hour later the cats are sitting at the top of the stairs whining for me to make the strange animal/rain forest noises stop. Since I knew for a fact that he was in there alone, I figured he wasn't having sex. I assumed it was a religious experience. Now I know what the Rapture sounds like.

I sat on the couch and enjoyed another person's shower in a way I never knew was possible.

Every day I learn another lesson on Love.