Really?/?????

s Rich is in the hospital.

He's on the oncology floor of AGMC. It doesn't get any better than that if you have to be “there”.

It's the weekend so I can rest assured that “no harm will be done”. On the weekend, everything is in the hands of the nursing staff so I'm resting really easy. On Monday Dr McGee will be back. For reasons I cannot explain, I feel peaceful.
They are hanging phenargan drips and still he's battling with nausea/vomiting. When IV phenargan doesn't control nausea and vomiting...it's like something holey unearthly is at work. They are getting lab results and nothing is making sense. I chuckle. Welcome to my world. Hours prior to his admission his vital signs denied dehydration; only blood work done in office suggested “holy moly this guy is seriously dehydrated.”

I talked to Rich just a few minutes ago. He tells me that he felt like something was wrong with his heart, so he asked the nurse to take his pulse and it was 48, so staff jumps to high alert and they do an EKG and he's in sinus rhythm but his pulse is way too slow so they adjust meds. Yay Rich!!!! Now they have him on a cardiac monitor.

I've been talking to my peeps the past few days and they all express what I am thinking. He is puking up the cancer. I'm not sure what this means. What I do know is that the thought of going back to the hospital to see him makes me physically ill. He doesn't remember his last hospital stay. I remember it in excruciating detail. The thought of returning to that place ignites a major PTSD event that alarms me in spooky ways. I'm working mightily to deal with it and it ain't easy. I feel like I need to rely on Dr McGee and Dr Peiffer and trust that they both have traveled with us far and long enough to know what the next step should be.

Please know what the next step should be, because I sure don't. I'm just so fucking tired. If I have to kick it into high gear I will, but one of the voices keeps telling me that this is okay and I can coast through it because this is just a blip.

I lie. The voice isn't telling me this is just a blip.... the Voice is telling me that Rich is puking up the cancer. The voice is telling me that I need to back away and let him “Git 'er done” Absolutely NOTHING scientific validates the voice in my head and the message in my heart that this is okay....He is purging all the poison. I've been praying for so long for a miracle that maybe I'm just a bit too anxious to jump on this. Who will suffer from this delusion other than me?

But I talked with Rich today and he's laughing and joking with me about how confused and confounded the medical staff is by test result vs. symptoms.... nothing makes sense... no clues... and all I can think is please do no harm until Dr McGee is back and we can re-formulate reality according to Rich.

This is where I float. I'm cleaning my house because that gives me comfort and a sense of control. I'm struggling between faith and “reality”. The two are becoming a liquid goo and between that and my battle with mosquitoes I'm navigating towards a hot shower.

This SUCKS, this BITES, this BLOWS!!!

When I close my eyes I meditate myself into a swing that Miss Elizabeth Bennett could lose herself in waiting for Mr Darcy. I swing between magic and reality, and I want to keep swinging because I am so terrified of where I will land when the swing finishes it's dancing arc.
If only I had the music of Melanie Safka as I did in my ancient teen years to comfort me through this. I refuse to relinquish my blind faith that Richard and I are moving deeper into the Mystery.

It's all I have right now. Thankfully, it is enough.