2000
| August 30, 2000 ...begins at 5:45AM when the alarm goes off. It has to go off that early since I will roll over, after turning on a light (100 Watts) in my face and turning on the TV (disturbing the dog). I will flop around for 15 -45 minutes unless I am really tired, in which case I will simply pass out for an hour. I then wake up, mad at myself yet again, and climb over the dog (sleeping as close to me as possible), shoo the cats (yowling at the door as soon as the alarm goes off), and stumble to the kitchen trying to remember where I am to go today. I must have coffee. Decafe it may be but I still require it - and I am addicted to the French Vanilla mix from General Foods. Seems to be a requirement for me to function. Must be the flavor since I always forget and use tap water and Fremont tap water is not to be believed. I pop the cup of water into the microwave just as my bladder declares war. It wakes up slower than the rest of me. At my age, this nudge means I must scurry down the hall back to the bedroom, scattering cats and leaping over the dog, who is now confused because I didn't put her out yet. If I am lucky I have moved things (read litter) out of the narrow hallway and if I am not I will invariably trip on something. Once this task is accomplished, during which I frantically try to remember where I left my watch, my badge, my shoes and my bra, I return to the kitchen and put the dog out, back-sliding the cat with my foot since he feels he can escape anytime he wants to and be damned with the rules. Oh no you don't! The dog looks pathetic because I didn't run into the backyard in bare feet and old ragged nightgown. (I have a drawer full of silk from Victoria Secret - I will only wear them if I trash the old stuff. We mothers tend to hang onto the old stuff because it is familiar. This gown is held together with a safety pin even though I have three sewing machines in this house.) I ignore the dog's stare (she's gotten good at it) and mix my coffee, which I ritually drink while checking email and watching the morning news. Once I do this chore, I start the rounds. Feed cats. Something. When out of cat food (the canned kind) they will accept chicken. Salmon. Steak. They get dry food in the morning (I stir the dish if it is full and fake them out). They nag me if I don't do this. No, Ranger trips me if I do not do this. Water the cats. Check. Then the chinchilla, who starts a wierd crooning on my arrival in the kitchen,. She gets food, water and a square of shredded wheat. Check. Now I go barefoot into the back yard in my ragged gown because it is now light enough for the neighbors to see and I water the rabbits and the dog. I may choose to water the lawn, what the dog has left of it. I then feed the rabbits, one we raised from birth and one I rescued when it was loose in the yard. I contemplate turning them both loose. And I feed the dog. And ease my guilty conscience about leaving her alone for so long every day by tossing her dog bones as well. She still thinks she is about to be attacked by alpha dogs from the ranch and scurries off to munch on her bones. You can give her a nervous breakdown if you give her one bone and then offer a second. She will not know what to do and stand there with one in her mouth and a pathetic confused expression on her face. Scattering a few bones works better. I turn off the hose and run back in, skating the cat away from the door. By now Ranger has ascertained that I have not placed canned food in the offering bowl and yowls at me. Occasionally he comes right up on the counter. Which means he gets right back down on the floor with assistance. I now am free to drift around assembling laundry (I wash the snap gowns that my son is wearing at the hospital because if they went in the laundry there they would not be returned to pediatrics). I round up towels and my change of clothes and check that I packed comfortable shoes and a bathing suit. (I have to assist him to bath and therefore I wear a bathing suit and pool shoes. He splashes.) Something for dinner? Maybe. Breakfast consists of 26 pills (mostly vitamins but some five are daily Rx meds) and lately (since I am out of Medifast at the moment) 1-2 eggs, cheese and a roll. Yesterday I added sliced tomatoes from my front yard into the mix. Sometimes I breakdown and have low fat peanut butter and sugar free jam on a toasted English muffin. I consume this standing up and making lists in my head for what else I must remember. Bills? Deposits? Books? Contracts? I pack a novel for the nights are long and the TV boring. My son chooses to bore me with wrestling and tennis. And Monday night football. My 6" B&W TV set only receives a few stations if pressed to the window and those not well. I shower - the temptation to climb into a tub sometimes overwhelms me. But I must be careful or I will fall asleep and then be really messed up. I find clothes, not too restrictive and not too casual. I pull the fat curlers from my hair - I like to start the day looking neat. I find make up - which I had left in the suitcase in the hall by the door. I run for it and try not to trip. I make sure I have the laundry in the suitcase and the dirty stuff in the machine. I add jewelry. A little. I am now skipping (exceptions are days I teach) nylons and girdle. I do wear them when in the classroom since on those days I wear a long dress and a suit jacket. Some semblance of the professional I am. If I am not teaching, it's Susan Graver slacks and tops. Sandals from easy Spirit. Or slip-ons from same. Or barefoot in loafers. I have never worn pant suits and the like so much before. And when I did, I always had nylons on. I am simplified now. I have to be. Rounding up any other tasks that will need my attention, and checking the mail I was too tired to deal with last night, I head for the freeway. I almost always drive the truck. Because the van has no radio. Must see to that. I check gas - I go through two - three tanks a week. And I go play in traffic for an hour or so. At work I am editing and learning the Advanced Chip Synthesis seminar cum workshop. 480 pages plus about 10 labs. I type and edit and answer email and set up web pages. Today at least I had no meetings. But I had to email a file I forgot to send to Romantic Times for the October centerfold ad. My last ad for this project. I need to touch base with Banta who seems to think I owe them money (Oh no I don't!). I need to call someone else for help on the commercial site which I have not put up yet. After a reasonable time at work - I go through lunch to make up time - I pack my suitcase and bag and head for the second shift - the hospital. First I need to run to the bank. Since I am out of food at home, I will also stop at the supermarket and grab dinner and snacks . I choose apples and a grapefruit, angel food cake, chocolate cake mix, almonds, Lean Cusine (I did call Medifast today). And a few chocolate cookies (SnackWells). It's another 35-45 minutes commute down busy streets to the pediatric ward wherein my son resides. During which, having skipped lunch, I eat a hunk of dry angel food cake, eat a few almonds (salty) and drink a diet Pepsi while driving. (Actually while waiting at stop lights.) I am now no longer hungry and my hands are now sticky. I no longer desire Angel food cake. I need a new weekly pass at the parking lot gate (I had my money ready). And then it's a hunt for parking. Try putting an extended cab pickup into a compact space with large posts. (I have hit three so far.) It's 4:30PM. And I arrive these days to find my son sitting up in his old recliner one of the nurses rounded up for him and waiting - he will not shower without me. I change into the bathing suit (you thought I was kidding) and use Saran wrap to cover the IVs. We get a heperin block on the two IVs so that he can be disconnected for bathing. Freedom if only for a fleeting moment. Into the shower we go, I have a towel in the tub (he has a scar from falling before), a towel on the floor (so I don't slip) and a bath chair. For the past two days, he has been able to stand and shower. I shampoo what is left of his hair. I wash his back and arms and legs. His private area he can wash - I have my limits. Also, I want him taking over this task a step at a time. I must be there (in case he is dizzy) and he has restricted motion with swollen hands and feet (from not eating for so long). Tonight I get sips of Ensure - strawberry flavored - into him. It will be a start. Maybe we can get to soup soon. Or scrambled eggs. I am wearing sterile gloves - purple ones. Very sexy looking. Slippery when wet. We joke about the gloves. The doctors and nurses in the OR have purple shoes too. When they are not wearing teddybears. This is the pediatric wing of Stanford after all. For now I stand holding the shower curtain while he enjoys the water running over him - set as high and as hot as possible. I know he likes this because we only got him in the shower two days ago after weeks of being bedridden. His eyes closed in ecstacy. When he is done he bangs on my hand because he cannot talk much at the moment. After 20-30 minutes of cleaning (special soft wipes and Lever 2000 skin moisturizing liquid soap) I lend support to his climbing out of the tub. I wrap him up in big bath towels from home (part of the daily laundry ritual) and pat him dry. He sits in a special chair brought in for him (he's bigger than the usual ones). I rub (gently) Aveeno on his skin - the parts where the drug reaction rash has faded from. And Aquapor on the blisters and where the skin is shredded - the drug reaction resembling a horrific sunburn. The skin looks like it is boiling and then the blisters break and the skin falls off. It is not thin like a normal sunburn - but thicker. The water balloon that formed on his backside during his shower the other day is still visually in my mind. I looked down and couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was as big as a balloon (looked like a jelly fish sac). I touched it and the water took a flap of skin along with it. The blisters had run together, broken and the skin was now peeling off. When he was laying down, there was this big circle on his hip where there was no blisters and no peeling skin. We have passed that stage on his backside but the sides and legs are still peeling. I have to have help with him - because his skin is so tender they have to use a spray foam to clean his bottom - and I get him back on IV and into a clean gown (one I washed) and back into bed. Today he was up sitting and walking from 1:30 - 5:30. I had arrived to find him pleading for me to hurry. He was tired. Longest he has been up. I got him to raise his arms in the shower - so I could do his arm pits. And he lifted his legs (one at a time) to rest his foot on the tub edge so I could clean his legs. More motion than I have seen in a long time. That's encouraging. I tuck him into bed and fetch him warm blankets. He takes a slight chill after the long shower - the room is an isolation room and drafty. Also, the IV is room temperature and it chills him. I consult with the doctor about his swollen feet and hands. Lack of protein. He must start eating, He threw up all day. But they have reduced the drugs he is on - so that is progress. Now I sit and wait for him to sleep, and wait past that for the Amfoterrible - as they call the fungal drug - to flow through. Last night he threw up at 10:45. He makes me feel guilty if I leave when he first dozes off - because I must be there when he wakes up. He sleeps with wrestling running - I had the little B&W TV set but it gets few stations to compete with all this. Sometimes I can sneak a channel change on the hospital TV - but if he wakes up...... He wants me near by. I remind him I need to be home. I need to sleep. I need to feed the furry children. If the night is bad, I stay until 4:30AM - dozing between calls. He summons me by banging the call button-remote on the side rail of the bed. He throat is not recovered from the biopsy. They shoved tubes in so they could selectively collapse a lung. They start the bolis and then the Amfo and I wait. By the time the Demerol is in, he is throwing a fever, lightheaded and sweating. (I put cool clothes on his head and pull off blankets). His blood pressure is lower. The nurse and doctor and I consult. Slower drip on the pain medication tomorrow. The Demerol is to prevent the convulsive shaking that accompanies the Ampho. Drink Ensure - 1/2 can before the drugs. I got 4 sips into him tonight. By 11:30PM I am on the Dunbarton bridge, and headed for Fremont. I bring in the dog, the suitcase and drop out of my clothes. I'm not sure where I put my shoes, my badge or my bra. I take a final check of email - if my eyes are not too crossed. I crash in bed too tired to read. If I am able, I roll up my unruly hair. Mentally making a list for whatever. I sleep half way through the night - what is left of it - with a TV set on and the lamp running in my face. About 2-3AM I will roll over and turn them off. Perhaps. And then it starts all over again. I am so tired I sleep through Ranger yowling at the door to come in. He must not (come in) because then he would torment the dog. And leap on me. I am in no mood for a playful 12-lb cat. He'll have to make do with the occasional pat and with the occasional cuddle. And the occasional tripping over him in the hallway (when he runs between my legs in a typical male attempt to control a woman's movement). I know he misses my chasing him with the water gun. This week-end. Maybe. Better yet, I'll take him to get groomed. That should be enough water to hold him for a few days. |
For information about this file or to report problems in its use email dewhite@best.com