Waiting for the Other Shoe to drop...

I no longer wait for the other shoe to drop. At this point I've learned that the other shoe is not going to drop. It is going to rear back in a perfect arc, achieve maximum velocity and KICK me in the ass.

I now live in the Imelda Marcos Room of Hell.

Wow, it's like this is all about me. Oh, wait. It is. Outside of this blog EVERYTHING is about Richard. Only in this blog is it about me, so yeah... this is about me.

So Tuesday evening Rich started an intermittent struggle with nausea and a bit of vomiting. Wednesday he left the content of his stomach on the seventh tee. But he was happy that he and his buddies were given rain checks for the remaining nine holes. Mainly I heard about how guilty he felt that he had messed up his buddies' golf day. He ate a light dinner and felt better. Next day it started up again. Then he would feel better for hours, then he would be sick, and the cycle continued and he ignored my plea for him to call the doctor. In our defense we both desperately wanted to believe it was just a bug or something he ate.

But I have to say—Gross Alert—that in my years of professional experience with vomit, I have never seen anything like this. For volume and velocity it scores a ten. More amazing, I cannot fathom the output related to intake. It's just plain scary.

In the past twenty four hours I couldn't pretend anymore, but Rich was adamant about NOT GOING TO THE ER. The other shoe is reaching the magic point in the arc.... So here's how stupid I am. The man has an infection to the point of sepsis without running a fever. I trust his blood pressure to let me know if dehydration is reaching critical mass. His BP is 122/78 so I trust him to sip water and keep me posted. This morning, after up all night with this I give him the choice, either he calls Dr Kelli or I call the squad. Still his vitals are good and I'm thinking maybe it is just a bug.

Follows the whoosh of full velocity shoe leather.

Long story short. I can't face another trip to the ER because the last time we were there I had to sign papers to let him die. So I call Dr McGee in hopes of a direct admit. Here's a kicker—every single time Rich has a crisis, Dr McGee is on vacation. Seriously?? !!! Can I get a fucking break?! I'm not saying McGee shouldn't have a vacation, I'm just thinking I need to get that schedule so I can prepare myself with some major ass padding. It's like they have a psychic-greater-than-golf link and the absence of McGee lets the cancer think it can rear it's ugly head.

Thank the heavens Dr McGee's office is so wonderfully awesome.

So Rich is back on the oncology floor where I can rest peacefully. (He's lost 15 pounds in the past week.) It's the weekend so ain't shit gonna happen except that they can get him hydrated. McGee is back Monday so I know he'll keep anyone from doing harm. And Dr Kelli is just plain ON IT.

Have I mentioned how much I HATE roller coasters? And the other shoe...

Do You want to Phone a Friend???

Do You want to phone a friend?

Last night sucked Humongously. Just this once I'm going to spare you the gory details on that. Today fared no better for my precious husband. I've been watching him struggle mightily for leaning on three days now and I am.... Fuck. I don't even know what I am.

I have prayed, Reiki-d, touched, massaged, eased, soothed, nurtured and nourished this man to a point of tenuous sleep. I sit now in an altered state of what I can only describe as..... Goo. It is not pleasant. It is not altogether abhorrent. I could say I don't like it except that I am no longer capable of forming an opinion that requires feeling at a point of self-awareness.

I have been here before. More times than I would have thought possible to endure. Now it is a familiar place, and that troubles me on some obscure level that I will have to explore at some later date.

The tears are flowing like an incontinent bladder as I write this with the desperate desire to anchor my boat to some port in this storm. Hot-damn. That may be a world record for metaphors.

Seriously. I am free-flowing here. So proceed with caution.

This hurts. This Sucks, this Bites, This BLOWs. And I can't make it stop. And today I had to be professional Nurse in a critical situation to a patient that too closely mirrors the nightmare I have been living.

And handle the calls and needs and demands of patients who need their little boo-boo fixed right now so that I can get home to Rich because he's “just having a bit of a rough time”. --his words.

I can hold it all together for him so easily and then I hear the steady breathing of his sleep and I have to leave the room because I'm coming undone.

This is when you're supposed to phone a friend.

I think of that often. Too many times I think of that. I think of who I would call and what I would say. In my head I'm screaming how much I hurt. The next thing I hear is that friend's voice echoing my pain, feeling my pain, and my phone call has caused that. In my head. I can hear them begging me to tell them how they can help and comfort me. I have no answer. There is nothing. There is no comfort for this that a phone call to a friend can provide. Because now I have burdened someone else with this. I have demanded a friend to be witness to my pain with NO possible opportunity to provide comfort.

That's just sadistic.

So I don't phone a friend. I contemplate phoning a friend the way a well trained dog contemplates the unattended steak on the grill well within reach. My devotion and affection for my friend is greater than the temptation for luscious, fleeting gratification of the steak. So I don't phone a friend.

And. I suspect that “phoning a friend” is not a card you can play too often without wearing out your welcome. I feel the need to hold that card.

So I don't phone a friend. Though I know I have friends who wish I would. But what would I say to you, my friend? How loud can I scream this pain without causing your deafness? How long can I burden you before I become a burden?

So I don't phone a friend.

I sit here now in a pit of despair and think in turn of phoning a friend, and feel such huge comfort knowing how much each and every one loves and cares for us so much. I send it out to the Universe, and in my heart I'm calling you, and I feel your answer, and I give thanks.

Thank you, Richard Bach--”there's no such place as far away”