Rich is not coming home. That's what he's told each of his doctors. Not unless or until they can correct this situation to a tolerable level. He explained that his wife can not stay up all night checking his sugar and then go to work all day to make sure we're able to pay the bills. He kindly stated, “I'm not going to put her through this anymore. I'm not leaving here until you get this figured out.”
His doctors agreed and are all over it. Finally my frustration is no longer strangling me. I'm not crazy because they finally get how crazy this is. None of this makes sense. His surgeon, his oncologist and his endocrinologist have all told him that none of the pieces fit into any mosaic that frames an answer. They're all searching from their respective specialties.
Dr A is struggling with the best approach. There are eighteen tumors on the latest CAT scan that could possibly be spewing insulin. Each one would have to be biopsied and sent to the lab while they keep Rich open on the operating table, and waiting for results so they know which one to take out. Dr A says Rich probably would not survive such an endeavor.
His Endo dr is researching at light speed to find anything pharmaceutical that will correct this. There aren't that many options. Dr McGee is working with both of them. All three of them are contacting Mayo Clinic, and other names that Rich could not remember but are experts in their field. All three are in his room daily with little more than encouragement and assurances that they're fighting this as hard as he is. Luckily, right now, that's enough. When all you've got is the best someone can offer, it's enough.
They put a PICC line in. Rich wasn't happy about that, as you can imagine from previous posts. He was surprised at how painful it is, and I had to explain that the last time he had one inserted, he was so “out of it” that he didn't realize it was there for the first two weeks. Yeah, it's painful. They sliced his arm open and stitched a tube into it.
I talked to him Monday around noon. He sounded so down it was all I could do not to burst into tears at my desk. It wasn't anything he said, but I could hear it in his voice all while he was trying to reassure me. Then last night he called me and he sounded like a different man. He'd had a visit from Kenny J.
It's amazing what a 20 month old grandson can do. Rich spent a good twenty minutes laughing as he detailed the visit for me—Kenny saying “bye!” as he crawled into the hospital room closet and closed the door. Waiting for everyone to ask “Where's Kenny?” Then he burst out of the closet, covering his mouth as he laughed. The highlight was when his daddy asked him, “Where's grandpa Rich?” and Kenny pointed to Rich and laughed. That's the medicine I'm talking about.
I canceled our family Thanksgiving. As much as I LOVE preparing that meal and sharing it with our family, I can't do it with Rich in the hospital and unable to be a part of it. Which is not to say that we don't have much to be thankful for. If anyone can fix this, it's his team of doctors and all the wonderful people who are praying for him, and the family and friends who are holding us up.
I'm grateful he's on the oncology floor. Claire Wilson is the best nursing director EVER. I know this because 1) she is one of the best bosses I've ever had, and 2) she has a staff that could teach angels.
I'm grateful that I now have a boss that is everything one hopes for in a boss; and co-workers that make me look forward to going to work.
I'm grateful for the many people who have helped us—emotionally, spiritually and physically. (I just couldn't crawl up on that roof and clean out the gutters!!)
I must admit that I'm not grateful for where Rich is now, twenty-four months past his expiration date not withstanding. I'm in awe of it, but I'm not grateful. He deserves better, and every time he takes another hit like this, I can't help but feel a bit guilty that he's only suffering and fighting because he knows how desperately I don't want him to leave me. You can't watch someone suffer and struggle this hard and long and feel any level of gratitude for it. “Don't piss on my shoes and tell me it's raining.”
Now the elephant in the room is this.... if they can't get this under control, Rich will have to go into a nursing home. If I quit working to take care of him, I'll lose his secondary insurance and we will lose everything so I won't have anywhere to care for him anyway. I can't afford 24 hour home nursing care for him and if he needs me up all night to monitor him, then I sure can't leave him alone while I go to work. The thought of this makes me physically ill. I can't imagine someone of his mental and emotional status surviving in that environment. I have worked in more than one nursing home and my daily prayer to my Creator is “please allow me to go out on the ice before someone can put me in a nursing home.” --it's a First Nation (aka Native American) thing.
Yippy skippy, this is where I'm at. Luckily, I have the distraction of putting in 11 hour days at work to catch up on the time I missed because insurance companies and patients wait for no man. Which leads me to our Tip of The Day......
I drive to work in the dark, I drive home in the dark.....must you wait until you are 50 yards from me to dim your brights?????? Of all the automatic, no-brainer shit gimmicks they can put on a vehicle, can they not program an automatic freakin' DIMMER!?!?!?!?!
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