You might want to avoid me. I'm feeling a little edgy tonight. A little mean. A little bitchy.
Someone told me today that we've been in their prayers.
That's what made me grouchy. "You've been in my prayers."
It wasn't really the words. It was the circumstances, the delivery. The niceties were observed with "you've been in my prayers" and the topic was exhausted for the friend on the other side.
I wanted to say, "WHEN? When do you listen enough to know what's going on in our lives, in our minds, in our hearts?"
I know I sound ungrateful. I don't want to keep score. "Sorry, pal, but you owe me more than that. It's going to take some uninterrupted listening, a wet shoulder and a couple of chicken casseroles before we're close to even. And, by the way, I'm three prayers for you up on your one for me."
I guess I do keep an emotional tally.
I don't want to discount prayer either. We've counted on the prayers of many many people through this and continue to do so. We'll take all we can get.
But what I counted on from my friend was to be heard. To be listened to. To be active, be engaged. To give a damn about my feelings, my hurts, my fears, my loss. To be physically present for me.
I don't "get" prayer, I'll admit it. In some ways it remains an enormous struggle for me.
I do get this much though--if God hears all prayers, then he knows a thing or two about listening. Sometimes the best prayer is listening to someone.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Forbidden Closet, Chapter Two
Kevin is at work today. Which leaves me and the closed door of The Forbidden Closet in a stare down.
As tired as Kev feels, The Forbidden Closet is bad enough that he insisted on getting out the vacuum himself when he learned Paige was coming over. Housework hasn't been at the top of our list lately so sweeping the floors was long past due.
When something has to come out of the closet, Kevin shuts himself inside while he digs for it. I can hear mumblings, thumping and an occasional curse from within. Once he's laid hands on the item, he eases himself out through the barely opened door.
I promised him that I wouldn't go into the closet; that I would give him "time to handle it."
Curiosity propels me toward the door. But sanity keeps me from opening it. I don't want to hear the chaos calling out "clean me" in the middle of the night.
As tired as Kev feels, The Forbidden Closet is bad enough that he insisted on getting out the vacuum himself when he learned Paige was coming over. Housework hasn't been at the top of our list lately so sweeping the floors was long past due.
When something has to come out of the closet, Kevin shuts himself inside while he digs for it. I can hear mumblings, thumping and an occasional curse from within. Once he's laid hands on the item, he eases himself out through the barely opened door.
I promised him that I wouldn't go into the closet; that I would give him "time to handle it."
Curiosity propels me toward the door. But sanity keeps me from opening it. I don't want to hear the chaos calling out "clean me" in the middle of the night.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Meeting the Ick Factor
With tests, preps, surgeries, treatments and side effects I thought we had pretty much covered any detail that might fall into the leftover modesty or 'ick' range.
I can now say there is no part of Kevin's body I do not know in full color detail.
The good news is that we made it through the nasty details and we came home together.
I've met the ick factor full on and I still like him.
I don't know who is more surprised, me or Kevin.
I can now say there is no part of Kevin's body I do not know in full color detail.
The good news is that we made it through the nasty details and we came home together.
I've met the ick factor full on and I still like him.
I don't know who is more surprised, me or Kevin.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Living Prayer
Kevin is resting. He went to work this morning then fell asleep here during his lunch.
He does feel much better. Weak as a kitten. Ravenously hungry though. He dropped around 20 pounds in just over a week. There is alot of healing for him to do, but he's coming along, he is healing.
Living bedside in someone's hospital room for 23 1/2 hours a day (30 minutes from hospital room to home to return to hospital) for 5 days gives you a lot of time to think. And since you're tired, worried and grouchy, the thoughts aren't necessarily of the kind and generous variety.
More often though--with a nod of thanks to a God who helps me prioritize after I bitch a little and stop to listen--my hospital middle of the night thoughts were about all of the prayers surrounding Kevin from so many directions. My family. (Heck, I had no idea some of them ever turned to prayer. None. I was astounded to hear it from them. And grateful.) Friends of friends. Friends of our daughters. People we aren't likely to ever meet. And their notes, emails and phone messages reiterating the ongoing work of that prayer.
St. Tom's--our parish in Indiana--celebrates each daily Mass for the intention of someone on the prayer list and Kevin was the Mass intention Wednesday. The gospel was about the healing power of Jesus. Our friend, Patrick, offered a prayer petitioning that healing power for Kevin and that, with God's will, we all move in life as witness to that healing. Deacon Patrick was there along with Joan and Bill.
And something incredible came together...Friends across the country coordinated their schedules to be in prayer at the same time as the mass. From Washington DC to Oregon, Florida up to Massachusetts...all of these people praying for the same effort at the same time.
It wasn't coordinated. It happened.
Some people were able to go to Mass near their home or work, some stopped work at their desk and spent the time praying the Rosary, a college class in Massachusetts paused for prayer even as friends gathered in West Lafayette to pray.
Inmates and the chaplain at a correctional facility in Washington state have been praying.
I am awed. Stunned at the life of this prayer effort.
And we are very appreciative of those prayers--the life, the thoughts, the effort and the faith which inspires them.
Thank you.
He does feel much better. Weak as a kitten. Ravenously hungry though. He dropped around 20 pounds in just over a week. There is alot of healing for him to do, but he's coming along, he is healing.
Living bedside in someone's hospital room for 23 1/2 hours a day (30 minutes from hospital room to home to return to hospital) for 5 days gives you a lot of time to think. And since you're tired, worried and grouchy, the thoughts aren't necessarily of the kind and generous variety.
More often though--with a nod of thanks to a God who helps me prioritize after I bitch a little and stop to listen--my hospital middle of the night thoughts were about all of the prayers surrounding Kevin from so many directions. My family. (Heck, I had no idea some of them ever turned to prayer. None. I was astounded to hear it from them. And grateful.) Friends of friends. Friends of our daughters. People we aren't likely to ever meet. And their notes, emails and phone messages reiterating the ongoing work of that prayer.
St. Tom's--our parish in Indiana--celebrates each daily Mass for the intention of someone on the prayer list and Kevin was the Mass intention Wednesday. The gospel was about the healing power of Jesus. Our friend, Patrick, offered a prayer petitioning that healing power for Kevin and that, with God's will, we all move in life as witness to that healing. Deacon Patrick was there along with Joan and Bill.
And something incredible came together...Friends across the country coordinated their schedules to be in prayer at the same time as the mass. From Washington DC to Oregon, Florida up to Massachusetts...all of these people praying for the same effort at the same time.
It wasn't coordinated. It happened.
Some people were able to go to Mass near their home or work, some stopped work at their desk and spent the time praying the Rosary, a college class in Massachusetts paused for prayer even as friends gathered in West Lafayette to pray.
Inmates and the chaplain at a correctional facility in Washington state have been praying.
I am awed. Stunned at the life of this prayer effort.
And we are very appreciative of those prayers--the life, the thoughts, the effort and the faith which inspires them.
Thank you.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Home
We are home.
Kevin was paroled about an hour ago. Not completely free because his surgeon still thinks the constriction will return within weeks. He is hoping though for some time for Kevin's radiated tissue to heal before surgery is necessary.
"Mush" was how he described things as being after radiation. And you can't reconnect mush so surgery too soon means a certain colostomy.
And we're waiting for the pathology results from the biopsy.
But we're home now.
Kevin is sleeping. I am curled up in front of the fireplace.
It's a peaceful night.
Kevin was paroled about an hour ago. Not completely free because his surgeon still thinks the constriction will return within weeks. He is hoping though for some time for Kevin's radiated tissue to heal before surgery is necessary.
"Mush" was how he described things as being after radiation. And you can't reconnect mush so surgery too soon means a certain colostomy.
And we're waiting for the pathology results from the biopsy.
But we're home now.
Kevin is sleeping. I am curled up in front of the fireplace.
It's a peaceful night.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Peaceful Night
It's a peaceful night.
Kevin is sleeping.
He's a lot stronger tonight and feels better.
It looks like surgery may be able to wait for at least a few weeks.
I watched from his window as a group of deer strolled out of the woods and through the parking lot.
It's a peaceful night.
Kevin is sleeping.
He's a lot stronger tonight and feels better.
It looks like surgery may be able to wait for at least a few weeks.
I watched from his window as a group of deer strolled out of the woods and through the parking lot.
It's a peaceful night.
Afternoon Update
And another doctor enters the scene.
Kevin now has a gastroenterologist here in Ohio. I was a little concerned when some of the Nurses and Medical Assistants actually warned me that the guy has a difficult personality. They characterized him as "a screamer" who doesn't listen to nurses or patients. Lovely. We didn't have any of that; he was all business which was fine with me. Got through a couple of sentences and said, "You seem calm about this; c'mon back and let me show you instead of trying to just tell you."
That works. And I got to see live action shots of Kev's reluctant insides.
There is scaring at the surgical site that had pretty much closed the passage. That constriction brought about everything that spiraled down so bad in the last week. It's possibly a combination of scaring from the August surgery and damage from radiation therapy this month.
The constriction has been cleared for now. It may or may not stay open. There is a lesion near the surgical site. The lesion was biopsied. The gastroenterologist is concerned it may be new cancer growth. He was pretty negative on that subject and gave the indication he thinks there's a good chance it's cancer. It's nasty looking but just as likely to be radiation damage or a blood flow problem as cancer.
Kevin now has a gastroenterologist here in Ohio. I was a little concerned when some of the Nurses and Medical Assistants actually warned me that the guy has a difficult personality. They characterized him as "a screamer" who doesn't listen to nurses or patients. Lovely. We didn't have any of that; he was all business which was fine with me. Got through a couple of sentences and said, "You seem calm about this; c'mon back and let me show you instead of trying to just tell you."
That works. And I got to see live action shots of Kev's reluctant insides.
There is scaring at the surgical site that had pretty much closed the passage. That constriction brought about everything that spiraled down so bad in the last week. It's possibly a combination of scaring from the August surgery and damage from radiation therapy this month.
The constriction has been cleared for now. It may or may not stay open. There is a lesion near the surgical site. The lesion was biopsied. The gastroenterologist is concerned it may be new cancer growth. He was pretty negative on that subject and gave the indication he thinks there's a good chance it's cancer. It's nasty looking but just as likely to be radiation damage or a blood flow problem as cancer.
Half full, half full.
Cancer or not, the gastroenterologist thinks the area will need to be resolved with another surgery.
Kevin said later that when the doctor decided to do a full colonoscopy instead of just the lesser sigmoidoscopy, he didn't wait for the additional sedative to kick in. Kev's gotten used to the invasions so it wasn't a traumatic event but it wasn't comfortable either.
Thankfully the encounters with the gastroenterologist should be few and far between for Kevin.
We're waiting to see what the surgeon says about the lesion and scaring.
CT Results, Another Test
It is incredibly miserably outrageously cold here. Nine below zero cold. Before windchill.
Even my inside window perch in Kevin's room is cold. I'm glad we don't have to be outside today.
The CT scan showed no kinks, twists or other gymnastics within. Something is going on, though, at the surgical site (anastomosis is the technical term for that area) in his colon.
Not exactly a surprise.
So a sigmoidoscopy has been ordered to tell us what's happening. The surgeon says surgery is still likely.
Overall, though, Kevin feels much better this morning even without pain medication.
There's yet ANOTHER hospitalist on shift who is hung up with some irritation showing up in Kevin's esophagus. He wants to order an endoscopy.
Bitch Lorri is going to have to intervene here. The man vomited non-stop for 5 days and he has a naso-gastric tube crammed down his throat.
Of course his esophagus is irritated. And now I'm irritated as well.
Even my inside window perch in Kevin's room is cold. I'm glad we don't have to be outside today.
The CT scan showed no kinks, twists or other gymnastics within. Something is going on, though, at the surgical site (anastomosis is the technical term for that area) in his colon.
Not exactly a surprise.
So a sigmoidoscopy has been ordered to tell us what's happening. The surgeon says surgery is still likely.
Overall, though, Kevin feels much better this morning even without pain medication.
There's yet ANOTHER hospitalist on shift who is hung up with some irritation showing up in Kevin's esophagus. He wants to order an endoscopy.
Bitch Lorri is going to have to intervene here. The man vomited non-stop for 5 days and he has a naso-gastric tube crammed down his throat.
Of course his esophagus is irritated. And now I'm irritated as well.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Waiting
Still waiting.
Surgery still hangs as a possibility.
Through much of last night it was an hour by hour thing of weighing "is he well enough for surgery, is he getting better and maybe won't need surgery."
He is definitely resting better than he has the entire week.
A social worker came in and got on my bad side by wanting to wake Kevin and ask for a copy of his end of life directives. 'You want to wake him up to ask what he wants to do about dying? I don't think so....Listen to me, I am tired and I am too grouchy to deal with either you or The Grim Reaper. You can both wait. You may come back when the nurse wakes him anyway for vitals.'
I'm fairly certain there's now a notation in Kevin's chart--"Bitchovawife"--and we won't see the social worker again. She probably figures life with me is reason enough for the man to embrace death.
A new hospitalist is on shift. I definitely do not like that program. I like the individual doctors. They all seem skillful and personable. But they are very pulled in different directions throughout the entire hospital. You wait a lot. And you start over every 12 hours with a new one.
A CT scan has been ordered and we'll see where it goes from there.
I've been on the phone with our girls and left email messages for friends.
Surgery still hangs as a possibility.
Through much of last night it was an hour by hour thing of weighing "is he well enough for surgery, is he getting better and maybe won't need surgery."
He is definitely resting better than he has the entire week.
A social worker came in and got on my bad side by wanting to wake Kevin and ask for a copy of his end of life directives. 'You want to wake him up to ask what he wants to do about dying? I don't think so....Listen to me, I am tired and I am too grouchy to deal with either you or The Grim Reaper. You can both wait. You may come back when the nurse wakes him anyway for vitals.'
I'm fairly certain there's now a notation in Kevin's chart--"Bitchovawife"--and we won't see the social worker again. She probably figures life with me is reason enough for the man to embrace death.
A new hospitalist is on shift. I definitely do not like that program. I like the individual doctors. They all seem skillful and personable. But they are very pulled in different directions throughout the entire hospital. You wait a lot. And you start over every 12 hours with a new one.
A CT scan has been ordered and we'll see where it goes from there.
I've been on the phone with our girls and left email messages for friends.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Time to Wait
Met with the surgeon. Bob was here when the surgeon came in--turns out he knows him. It was comforting to get a good reference.
He thinks it a twist in the colon which sometimes just happens. You move just so, whatever, and there it is. Says relieving the pressure on Kevin's digestive system with the nasogastric tube may be enough to let it relax back into place.
I still think it's related to the surgical site from last August. Seems like simple deductive reasoning to me.
Whatever the reason, if it doesn't resolve on it's own, Kevin will need additional surgery. Possibly yet tonight.
So we wait to see if he improves.
In the meantime, Kevin is sleeping.
Bob showed up with the promised sandwich and the surgeon showed up soon after. With both surgeon and sandwich dispatched, Bob agreed to stay while I ran home for a quick shower.
The nursing staff is very good. There is a new hospitalist on shift now, an innovation I think I'm not fond of but we'll give it some time.
So we wait.
He thinks it a twist in the colon which sometimes just happens. You move just so, whatever, and there it is. Says relieving the pressure on Kevin's digestive system with the nasogastric tube may be enough to let it relax back into place.
I still think it's related to the surgical site from last August. Seems like simple deductive reasoning to me.
Whatever the reason, if it doesn't resolve on it's own, Kevin will need additional surgery. Possibly yet tonight.
So we wait to see if he improves.
In the meantime, Kevin is sleeping.
Bob showed up with the promised sandwich and the surgeon showed up soon after. With both surgeon and sandwich dispatched, Bob agreed to stay while I ran home for a quick shower.
The nursing staff is very good. There is a new hospitalist on shift now, an innovation I think I'm not fond of but we'll give it some time.
So we wait.
Sandwiches and Surgeons
We are in the hospital here in tiny town. The very place we were warned not to go by numerous locals.
That was my one question this morning for Dr. Skinner. "Is this the BEST place for him to be; we will go into the city if you think he'll get better care."
We ran into Dr. Ling as we got to the clinic this morning. She was surprised at how much worse Kevin was from yesterday and went to talk to Dr. Skinner.
Dr. Ling came back and did a cautious wind-up...he may need to be hospitalized...he may need surgery...this may require a colostomy. I think she was treading lightly to see how I would handle the news.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've already considered all of that. And talked to Kevin. Truth is, he's too damn sick to care. All he wants is relief, however it comes.
Dr. Skinner was less cautious but still careful...are you ok with....
That was my one question this morning for Dr. Skinner. "Is this the BEST place for him to be; we will go into the city if you think he'll get better care."
We ran into Dr. Ling as we got to the clinic this morning. She was surprised at how much worse Kevin was from yesterday and went to talk to Dr. Skinner.
Dr. Ling came back and did a cautious wind-up...he may need to be hospitalized...he may need surgery...this may require a colostomy. I think she was treading lightly to see how I would handle the news.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've already considered all of that. And talked to Kevin. Truth is, he's too damn sick to care. All he wants is relief, however it comes.
Dr. Skinner was less cautious but still careful...are you ok with....
Yes. If this is a good place for him. She assured me she wouldn't sent him anyplace she wouldn't go herself.
So here we are. We came straight over from the cancer center. Dr. Skinner arranged to have him admitted without going through the ER. A room was waiting when we arrived. I am able to stay with him and have no intention of going home at this point.
Kevin is no better really, but he feels better. A combination of pain relieving drugs and a nasogastric tube to take some of the pressure away has given him considerable relief. He is alternatively sleeping and asking me questions. A lot of this week seems to be pretty blurry for him.
Coming with no "regular" doctor of his own, he's been assigned to the 'hospitalist,' a sort of generic doctor who sees patients without their own doctors. The hospitalist was a personable woman who has called in a surgeon to evaluate things.
My assbackward optimism of having a plan paid off--I was able to produce colonoscopy, surgical and CT reports from the depths of my computer bag. This has gone a long way toward getting things moving quickly.
The only thing I forgot was food. Since radiation is minutes a day and we weren't doing IV chemotherapy there are no snacks in the bag! No supper last night, no breakfast today and no lunch is making me cranky. With Kevin resting comfortably my mind is now noticing the growlings of hunger.
I don't want to risk missing the surgeon by taking the time to locate the hospital cafeteria.
Kevin's friend, Bob, called from work. He wanted to come over. He is bringing me a sandwich.
I don't pray for sandwiches. At least I hadn't gotten to that point yet. This probably falls within the range of my life is a lot of coincidence theory (aka 'shit happens'). But I'm open to the possibility that sometimes God meets our needs before we get around to asking.
I'm waiting now for Bob, the sandwich and the surgeon. I hope the sandwich gets here first.
Don't Confuse What It Means To Be Nice
I was never so glad to see morning come. Kev's no better. He did finally drop off to sleep for an hour but he's not better. Vomiting, abdominal pain are worse. He's lost more weight but his stomach is rock hard to touch.
We were raised to be too polite. Or I was anyway. Kevin must have learned it on his own; the rest of his family doesn't have this tendency.
No, I was raised with a confused perception of what being nice means.
Don't out guess the doctor. Don't call and insist. Don't say, ask nicely and accept the answer.
I am far better at figuring out what I can do to change a situation than involving someone else in making the change. Sometimes it's my controlling quality, this time it was my wimpy be nice quality.
It's not Dr. Ling's fault--he's been here just over a week. It's flu season--there are plenty of intestinal "bugs" going around right now. She doesn't know his history well enough or personality enough to recognize that he is much more sick than he shows. He's been too sick to make it clear how bad he feels. We needed to be more proactive.
I need to be more proactive. That's why I am here.
So I remedied that this morning as soon as the clinic opened. Sleep deprivation apparently works wonders to turn a wimp into a bossy wonder.
I've exerted my caregiver authority over him and called Dr. Skinner, his medical oncologist. The receptionist didn't hesitate about getting him worked in as quick as possible this morning.
I expect him to be sent to the hospital, he's that sick. I'm certain Dr. Skinner is going to agree. Or we're going to get a referral to an internist or gastrointerologist. But I'm not confusing wimpy with nice and we're not coming home today until I have a clear explanation of why they aren't looking for an intestinal obstruction and what the plan is to make him well. This isn't going to improve on its own.
We were raised to be too polite. Or I was anyway. Kevin must have learned it on his own; the rest of his family doesn't have this tendency.
No, I was raised with a confused perception of what being nice means.
Don't out guess the doctor. Don't call and insist. Don't say, ask nicely and accept the answer.
I am far better at figuring out what I can do to change a situation than involving someone else in making the change. Sometimes it's my controlling quality, this time it was my wimpy be nice quality.
It's not Dr. Ling's fault--he's been here just over a week. It's flu season--there are plenty of intestinal "bugs" going around right now. She doesn't know his history well enough or personality enough to recognize that he is much more sick than he shows. He's been too sick to make it clear how bad he feels. We needed to be more proactive.
I need to be more proactive. That's why I am here.
So I remedied that this morning as soon as the clinic opened. Sleep deprivation apparently works wonders to turn a wimp into a bossy wonder.
I've exerted my caregiver authority over him and called Dr. Skinner, his medical oncologist. The receptionist didn't hesitate about getting him worked in as quick as possible this morning.
I expect him to be sent to the hospital, he's that sick. I'm certain Dr. Skinner is going to agree. Or we're going to get a referral to an internist or gastrointerologist. But I'm not confusing wimpy with nice and we're not coming home today until I have a clear explanation of why they aren't looking for an intestinal obstruction and what the plan is to make him well. This isn't going to improve on its own.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Up and Back Down
I don't think we'll make it to morning without having to go to the emergency room.
This isn't the flu. Or if it is the flu, it's beyond home care.
The endless vomiting is back and the abdomincal pain has increased. He looks awful.
He looked a lot better this morning when we went for radiation. Still felt rough but slightly better. Could hold down small sips of juice or water and ate some applesauce--the first food he's had since Monday morning. We all felt he was starting to come around and they even de-accessed his port thinking he wouldn't need it.
Since early evening though, it's been a steady downward slide. I want Dr. Skinner to see him. I know she's going to agree with me that this is something serious.
I know part of his hesitation about just going to the ER tonight is our lack of experiene with the hospital here in Tiny Town. It got some unfavorable press from his co-workers about the skill level and patient treatment. And we have nothing to compare that to so I don't blame him for wanting to wait to have Dr. Skinner oversee things rather than taking the luck of the draw in the ER.
I'll be surprised, though, if we can make it until morning.
This isn't the flu. Or if it is the flu, it's beyond home care.
The endless vomiting is back and the abdomincal pain has increased. He looks awful.
He looked a lot better this morning when we went for radiation. Still felt rough but slightly better. Could hold down small sips of juice or water and ate some applesauce--the first food he's had since Monday morning. We all felt he was starting to come around and they even de-accessed his port thinking he wouldn't need it.
Since early evening though, it's been a steady downward slide. I want Dr. Skinner to see him. I know she's going to agree with me that this is something serious.
I know part of his hesitation about just going to the ER tonight is our lack of experiene with the hospital here in Tiny Town. It got some unfavorable press from his co-workers about the skill level and patient treatment. And we have nothing to compare that to so I don't blame him for wanting to wait to have Dr. Skinner oversee things rather than taking the luck of the draw in the ER.
I'll be surprised, though, if we can make it until morning.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Stories, Books and Life--January 2008
January 2008--The bookshelves in Ohio are groaning under their new load. Claiming this part of ourselves--readers--was a priority in unpacking. Living it is another thing. Kevin's side of the bed has a Bible, several rosaries and his iTouch. The rosaries are the only thing looking used. My side of the bed has research on a new chemotherapy drug and radiation side effects. The new edition of Reader's Digest peeks, untouched, from the front pouch of my Waccom bag. Kevin isn't feeling well and the glaring witness of how sick I think he may be is in that bag--copies of his latest tests, a list of phone numbers and the Reader's Digest because I've learned a hospital stay will require reading I can toss down quickly and pick up on later.
Prayer as a Verb...
Kevin is really sick. He's in tremendous pain and vomiting horribly. Unable to be still long enough for a 10 minute radiation treatment. Too sick to keep down his chemotherapy drugs. The radiation oncologist was out of the office today and the radiologist tech agreed Kev should stay home and rest.
They think he has a virus.
Tomorrow I am going to insist he see his medical oncologist. This isn't a virus. I don't know if Kevin thinks he might be making too big a deal out of nothing or if he's just too sick to want to make the effort to go.
Nine days in and I'm reminded again of why I'm here. To intervene insistently when he won't do it or is too sick to do it.
I always wrestle with the prayer thing. I would like God to step in and handle this. I don't even want Him to show me what to do, I would like Him to do it.
I think too often I pray in nouns; "say a prayer." Sometimes I need to remember prayer as a verb; something in action.
They think he has a virus.
Tomorrow I am going to insist he see his medical oncologist. This isn't a virus. I don't know if Kevin thinks he might be making too big a deal out of nothing or if he's just too sick to want to make the effort to go.
Nine days in and I'm reminded again of why I'm here. To intervene insistently when he won't do it or is too sick to do it.
I always wrestle with the prayer thing. I would like God to step in and handle this. I don't even want Him to show me what to do, I would like Him to do it.
I think too often I pray in nouns; "say a prayer." Sometimes I need to remember prayer as a verb; something in action.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Expect to be Blocked Along the Way
Kevin still feels miserable. Beyond miserable.
Dr. Ling (radiation oncologist) agreed he was in rough shape this morning. She thinks it's some sort of flu or virus. I still think it's a intestinal blockage. He's too sick and it makes sense given the New Year's Eve problem.
She ordered blood work. They couldn't pull anthing from an arm vein, he is so dehydrated, so they accessed his port. We were all certain enough he would end up being admitted to the hospital that they left the port accessed and taped up.
He's lost 12 pounds since Thursday.
Lab work looked screwy so we spent the afternoon at the hospital lab for another round. They had him wait for results because Dr. Ling thought he would need treatment. Came back clear and they sent us home.
She prescribed suppositories for nausea since he can't hold anything down. And as laxatives because of the severe abdominal pain. The endless vomiting has stopped so he can at least lay down a little to rest.
He wants to give things a little more time. I want some answers now. So now I decide if I respect Kevin as a roadblock or drive around him.
Dr. Ling (radiation oncologist) agreed he was in rough shape this morning. She thinks it's some sort of flu or virus. I still think it's a intestinal blockage. He's too sick and it makes sense given the New Year's Eve problem.
She ordered blood work. They couldn't pull anthing from an arm vein, he is so dehydrated, so they accessed his port. We were all certain enough he would end up being admitted to the hospital that they left the port accessed and taped up.
He's lost 12 pounds since Thursday.
Lab work looked screwy so we spent the afternoon at the hospital lab for another round. They had him wait for results because Dr. Ling thought he would need treatment. Came back clear and they sent us home.
She prescribed suppositories for nausea since he can't hold anything down. And as laxatives because of the severe abdominal pain. The endless vomiting has stopped so he can at least lay down a little to rest.
He wants to give things a little more time. I want some answers now. So now I decide if I respect Kevin as a roadblock or drive around him.
Monday, January 14, 2008
ONE WEEK!
I've lasted a week. Which is a full weekend longer than Kevin feared I might last! I think his greatest fear is that he will come home and find me gone.
No, his greatest fear is that I will truly, miserably hate it here and stay anyway.
Well, I've no plans to cut and run just yet. Admittedly, that is in part due to being unable to locate a suitcase and my winter coat in this mess. I suppose I could pack my necessaries into one (or twenty!) of the many now empty boxes but a winter coat is essential for a serious escape operation.
I wonder if he's more cunning that I realize and he's hung my coat in The Forbidden Closet. He knows I won't venture inside even to ransom my coat.
We did a little wandering this weekend, but not too much. Kev isn't feeling great. He's not eating much and just looks done in. Radiation finally making a visible show or a touch of the flu? I'm not sure. I'm a little concerned it's something more.
We'll be certain to see Dr. Ling tomorrow after his radiation treatment. For once, I'm glad he goes to the clinic every day.
No, his greatest fear is that I will truly, miserably hate it here and stay anyway.
Well, I've no plans to cut and run just yet. Admittedly, that is in part due to being unable to locate a suitcase and my winter coat in this mess. I suppose I could pack my necessaries into one (or twenty!) of the many now empty boxes but a winter coat is essential for a serious escape operation.
I wonder if he's more cunning that I realize and he's hung my coat in The Forbidden Closet. He knows I won't venture inside even to ransom my coat.
We did a little wandering this weekend, but not too much. Kev isn't feeling great. He's not eating much and just looks done in. Radiation finally making a visible show or a touch of the flu? I'm not sure. I'm a little concerned it's something more.
We'll be certain to see Dr. Ling tomorrow after his radiation treatment. For once, I'm glad he goes to the clinic every day.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
This Sucks...
Being married to an enginerd has its advantages.
While Kevin would resist a full frontal attack on his lack of organization, I am pretty certain I can hook him into an organizational effort disguised as gadgetry playtime.
The plan involves the vacuum cleaner and some of those vacuum shrinking bags that are advertised on late night infomercials. I found them at the Big City Walmart and imported them here to Tiny Town. Tonight's goal is to shrink a massive pile of comforters and extra blankets into a manageable stack of neatly shrunk bags.
If the blanket thing works out well, Kevin may get an entire new system for filing those tax records.
While Kevin would resist a full frontal attack on his lack of organization, I am pretty certain I can hook him into an organizational effort disguised as gadgetry playtime.
The plan involves the vacuum cleaner and some of those vacuum shrinking bags that are advertised on late night infomercials. I found them at the Big City Walmart and imported them here to Tiny Town. Tonight's goal is to shrink a massive pile of comforters and extra blankets into a manageable stack of neatly shrunk bags.
If the blanket thing works out well, Kevin may get an entire new system for filing those tax records.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Employment Impossibilities
...topping the list of Jobs I Don't Want to Have to Consider...Ever is the little gem advertised to the left. These signs were all over the place one day when we were nosing around the Mason area.When chemotherapy is over, if I make this mypermanent residence, I'll be job hunting. Since the list of jobs I don't want and the list of jobs I'm not qualified to hold are each much longer than The List of Jobs Lorri Can Do, I am feeling pretty down. I don't know what would be worse...getting one of these jobs or finding out I am not qualified for it either.
It says something to the financial stability of the area that people are willing to PAY someone to clean up after Fido and Fifi. On the other hand, perhaps it says more about the instability of people that they will pay for this service. I'm not sure...
In either case, I will be posting occasional photo updates to this list of employment impossibilities.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Good News, Relatively Speaking
It's tough for Kevin to think of anything associated with chemotherapy as "good news." However, relative to how things go in that realm, there was good news this week. He is able to use a different chemotherapy for the radiation period.
He began chemotherapy again today in addition to the 5 day a week radiation treatments. He is taking Xeloda (Capecitebine) 5 days a week. Xeloda is metabolized by cancer cells (and some healthy cells too) into 5-FU, the intravenious drug Kevin was receiving last fall. Xeloda is supposed to come with fewer side effects.
Xeloda is taken as a pill. A fat handful of pills twice a day. For Kevin, it's 5 after breakfast and 5 more after supper. Lots of water throughout the day to help his body get rid of the drugs.
He's supposed to minimize the consumption of folic acid. Extra folic acid may encourage the Xeloda to stay in his system longer and, thus, increase side effects.
Check labels as you walk down your grocery aisle--folic acid is in a lot of foods. It's not easy to avoid so common sense is the simple rule. Don't eat 4 bowls of cereal a day, that sort of thing.
One of the side effects Xeloda is known associated with is hand/foot syndrome, a drying and peeling of hands and feet. It can become very painful very quickly from what we've read. There's some of that associated with the 5-FU Kevin was on before so he's already in the habit of moisturizing hands and feet a couple of times a day. The oncologist suggested slathering them up at night and wearing light weight socks and gloves to bed. Kevin's feet are cold and sensitive anyway so he's willing to go the sock route.
The gloves may take some talking.
The big plus with Xeloda is not having the constant infusion pump for 5 to 7 weeks of radiation treatment. 24 hous a day/7 days a week/5 to 7 weeks was going to be a physical and mental challenge for Kevin to endure the infusion pump.
And the hated port will not have to be accessed/used for this treatment period. It had become more itchy and sore throughout the weeks of treatment last fall. Kevin thinks it's partly his body complaining about the invasion and partly due to some leakage when the needle was removed each time.
So even though chemotherapy re-enters the scene, in the big picture the appearance of Xeloda is a good thing.
He began chemotherapy again today in addition to the 5 day a week radiation treatments. He is taking Xeloda (Capecitebine) 5 days a week. Xeloda is metabolized by cancer cells (and some healthy cells too) into 5-FU, the intravenious drug Kevin was receiving last fall. Xeloda is supposed to come with fewer side effects.
Xeloda is taken as a pill. A fat handful of pills twice a day. For Kevin, it's 5 after breakfast and 5 more after supper. Lots of water throughout the day to help his body get rid of the drugs.
He's supposed to minimize the consumption of folic acid. Extra folic acid may encourage the Xeloda to stay in his system longer and, thus, increase side effects.
Check labels as you walk down your grocery aisle--folic acid is in a lot of foods. It's not easy to avoid so common sense is the simple rule. Don't eat 4 bowls of cereal a day, that sort of thing.
One of the side effects Xeloda is known associated with is hand/foot syndrome, a drying and peeling of hands and feet. It can become very painful very quickly from what we've read. There's some of that associated with the 5-FU Kevin was on before so he's already in the habit of moisturizing hands and feet a couple of times a day. The oncologist suggested slathering them up at night and wearing light weight socks and gloves to bed. Kevin's feet are cold and sensitive anyway so he's willing to go the sock route.
The gloves may take some talking.
The big plus with Xeloda is not having the constant infusion pump for 5 to 7 weeks of radiation treatment. 24 hous a day/7 days a week/5 to 7 weeks was going to be a physical and mental challenge for Kevin to endure the infusion pump.
And the hated port will not have to be accessed/used for this treatment period. It had become more itchy and sore throughout the weeks of treatment last fall. Kevin thinks it's partly his body complaining about the invasion and partly due to some leakage when the needle was removed each time.
So even though chemotherapy re-enters the scene, in the big picture the appearance of Xeloda is a good thing.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Day Three aka Wednesday
Day Three. When I used to take a week off work and stay here in Ohio, Day Three was my YIKES! day because it meant the week off was half gone. Today I woke up and thought "Day three....DAY THREE" I've got to quit counting the days as if they are going to use up and life will get back to my formerly comfortable concept of 'normal.'
We ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto. To borrow the current culture phrase of the day, this is the new normal.
I'm playing hookey from the boxes and sorting and putting away of stuff. That's all I can call it. Stuff. Thirty years of accumulated stuff being culled from a 4 bedroom house to a 2 bedroom apartment.
My organized system for packing and labeling the boxes worked well in Indiana when I was the only one on the production line. It took a nose dive when we started loading the moving truck and suffered further during the unloading. So much for my plans of bedroom boxes in the bedroom, kitchen boxes in the kitchen....you get the concept.
We have a cleared place to eat, sleep and we can each reach our computers. As far as Keivn is concerned we can now exist indefinitely.
Today I made a couple of discoveries. The first one was Kevin's unique file/storage method for 17 years of tax files. Plastic bags, brown paper bags, gift bags, shopping bags and manila envelopes. All shoved into one another then shoved into the darkest recesses of a closet. I have condensed the archives into 2 well labeled boxes and returned them to their dark dwelling place. Apparently the 4. 5 years of living weekdays on his own gave Kevin a false sense of safety regarding how I react to chaos and disorganization. Or maybe he thought I would be so busy unpacking what I brought with me that I wouldn't have time to take a look at what was already here. Anyway, in sympathy to the fact that he has to adjust to having me around as surely as I have to adjust to being around, I've granted him Immunity on this one, for which he is very grateful.
Which leads to my second discovery of today. The hall closet. I saw the fear in Kev's face as he glanced at it during my diatribe and instruction regarding the tax records. I'm not sure how it's happened that in 4 years I've never been in there, but it's clear he doesn't want me venturing in that direction now.
I'm off now to pick him up at work for our second trip of the day to the cancer center. Radiation treatment a couple of hours ago, a visit with Dr. Skinner in 20 minutes or so. She wants to double check his chemotherapy medicine before he begins taking it. I'll write more about all of that later.
We ain't in Kansas anymore, Toto. To borrow the current culture phrase of the day, this is the new normal.
I'm playing hookey from the boxes and sorting and putting away of stuff. That's all I can call it. Stuff. Thirty years of accumulated stuff being culled from a 4 bedroom house to a 2 bedroom apartment.
My organized system for packing and labeling the boxes worked well in Indiana when I was the only one on the production line. It took a nose dive when we started loading the moving truck and suffered further during the unloading. So much for my plans of bedroom boxes in the bedroom, kitchen boxes in the kitchen....you get the concept.
We have a cleared place to eat, sleep and we can each reach our computers. As far as Keivn is concerned we can now exist indefinitely.
Today I made a couple of discoveries. The first one was Kevin's unique file/storage method for 17 years of tax files. Plastic bags, brown paper bags, gift bags, shopping bags and manila envelopes. All shoved into one another then shoved into the darkest recesses of a closet. I have condensed the archives into 2 well labeled boxes and returned them to their dark dwelling place. Apparently the 4. 5 years of living weekdays on his own gave Kevin a false sense of safety regarding how I react to chaos and disorganization. Or maybe he thought I would be so busy unpacking what I brought with me that I wouldn't have time to take a look at what was already here. Anyway, in sympathy to the fact that he has to adjust to having me around as surely as I have to adjust to being around, I've granted him Immunity on this one, for which he is very grateful.
Which leads to my second discovery of today. The hall closet. I saw the fear in Kev's face as he glanced at it during my diatribe and instruction regarding the tax records. I'm not sure how it's happened that in 4 years I've never been in there, but it's clear he doesn't want me venturing in that direction now.
I'm off now to pick him up at work for our second trip of the day to the cancer center. Radiation treatment a couple of hours ago, a visit with Dr. Skinner in 20 minutes or so. She wants to double check his chemotherapy medicine before he begins taking it. I'll write more about all of that later.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Marked For Healing
Day Two...I'm still approaching this with a "winter over" mentality. Some people spend the winters in Florida or Arizona. I--and our houseguest from hell, cancer,--are wintering over in Cincinnati. Or thereabouts.
Boxes and homesteading aside, the daily reminder of why I'm really here is the trip to the clinic for Kevin's radiation treatment. Radiation is usually considered the "no brainer" side of cancer treatment. Doesn't come with the fast and obvious baggage of chemotherapy, it's quick, it's painless on a treatment by treatment basis...15 minutes in and out the door of the clinic.
My mother instilled in me many moons ago that anything which seems too good to be true, probably is. I don't believe for a minute that radiation is going to be our new best friend.
He gets "zapped," as he puts it, from 4 angles each time--each location being marked on his body with permanent felt marker dots and crosses that are covered by clear tape. Then there are the intersecting lines drawn to further narrow the field of treatment. Of all the things which have visibly happened to him, this temporary tattooing of his body leaves me the most uneasy.
It's such a tangible sign that something is going on in there.
And it's more nerve wracking to NOT see what is going on with his body. Chemotherapy leaves a quick and visible imprint that lets him easily chart "how" he's doing. Radiation's footprint is more subtle and sneaks in more slowly.
I think I've gotten a handle on those Xs, Os and intersecting lines though.
I remember his anointing last August, before surgery. Marked by the blessed oil and prayer, he not only survived, he thrived.
I try to embrace the mindset of this being a technological anointing. Once again, he is marked for healing.
Boxes and homesteading aside, the daily reminder of why I'm really here is the trip to the clinic for Kevin's radiation treatment. Radiation is usually considered the "no brainer" side of cancer treatment. Doesn't come with the fast and obvious baggage of chemotherapy, it's quick, it's painless on a treatment by treatment basis...15 minutes in and out the door of the clinic.
My mother instilled in me many moons ago that anything which seems too good to be true, probably is. I don't believe for a minute that radiation is going to be our new best friend.
He gets "zapped," as he puts it, from 4 angles each time--each location being marked on his body with permanent felt marker dots and crosses that are covered by clear tape. Then there are the intersecting lines drawn to further narrow the field of treatment. Of all the things which have visibly happened to him, this temporary tattooing of his body leaves me the most uneasy.
It's such a tangible sign that something is going on in there.
And it's more nerve wracking to NOT see what is going on with his body. Chemotherapy leaves a quick and visible imprint that lets him easily chart "how" he's doing. Radiation's footprint is more subtle and sneaks in more slowly.
I think I've gotten a handle on those Xs, Os and intersecting lines though.
I remember his anointing last August, before surgery. Marked by the blessed oil and prayer, he not only survived, he thrived.
I try to embrace the mindset of this being a technological anointing. Once again, he is marked for healing.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Day ONE
OK. I'm here. For real. In Ohio.
The proof of this fact was waiting to greet me when I woke up this morning.
Boxes. Boxes everywhere. Each packed to bursting with an assortment of 'stuff' we just couldn't live without.
And the scary part is the still very full home we left behind in Indiana. It's full of the stuff we knew we could live without--at least temporarily.
I've always thought of myself as a minimalist. A term I now realize is relative to the user. Compared to most of our friends I am not a great keeper of things. On the other hand, the mountain of boxes gives lie to any honest claim of minimalistic living.
Alright...we have to eat so the kitchen is the first wave of attack. Now if I could just find the path to the kitchen....
The proof of this fact was waiting to greet me when I woke up this morning.
Boxes. Boxes everywhere. Each packed to bursting with an assortment of 'stuff' we just couldn't live without.
And the scary part is the still very full home we left behind in Indiana. It's full of the stuff we knew we could live without--at least temporarily.
I've always thought of myself as a minimalist. A term I now realize is relative to the user. Compared to most of our friends I am not a great keeper of things. On the other hand, the mountain of boxes gives lie to any honest claim of minimalistic living.
Alright...we have to eat so the kitchen is the first wave of attack. Now if I could just find the path to the kitchen....
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Last One Out the Door,
...Turn Off the Lights.
We are in Ohio.
I am in Ohio. Let's be honest here; that's what's giving me pause.
I am in Ohio. I live here.
Did one last round of kisses, hugs and goodbyes at St. Tom's this morning. One last walk through in the house.
Set the thermostat back and locked the doors behind us. Turned of the light. You know, the light you always keep on when you're leaving so you don't come home to a dark house. Turned it off.
Welcome home. We're in Ohio.
We are in Ohio.
I am in Ohio. Let's be honest here; that's what's giving me pause.
I am in Ohio. I live here.
Did one last round of kisses, hugs and goodbyes at St. Tom's this morning. One last walk through in the house.
Set the thermostat back and locked the doors behind us. Turned of the light. You know, the light you always keep on when you're leaving so you don't come home to a dark house. Turned it off.
Welcome home. We're in Ohio.
Friday, January 4, 2008
More to Miss
We squeezed in one more "last" dinner with Patrick and Joanie. And Brother Patrick.
Brother Patrick was a student intern at St. Tom's 4 years ago. And he's back now. He will be ordained a priest in June and will be serving St. Tom's. He's an amazing and wonderful man; very kind and caring. St. Tom's is truly blessed to have him joining the Dominican community there.
And he's back just as we're leaving.
We were lucky though. With Kevin working from Indiana this week we are able to spend a little time welcoming him back. And a little extra time with Joan and Patrick as well.
More to miss. We are blessed, I know, to have such special people in our lives., even long distance.
Brother Patrick was a student intern at St. Tom's 4 years ago. And he's back now. He will be ordained a priest in June and will be serving St. Tom's. He's an amazing and wonderful man; very kind and caring. St. Tom's is truly blessed to have him joining the Dominican community there.
And he's back just as we're leaving.
We were lucky though. With Kevin working from Indiana this week we are able to spend a little time welcoming him back. And a little extra time with Joan and Patrick as well.
More to miss. We are blessed, I know, to have such special people in our lives., even long distance.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Storing Memories
What is going with us now is gone; already moved.Kevin is working in Noblesville during the day.
The daycare is closed and I am at loose ends about how to fill my daytime hours.
I drove around the city and county today. Took a lot of photos. Some of my favorite "go to" places when I want a particular type of shot. Some from my "going to shoot one of these days" list."One of these days" is now.
Stored up a lot of memories.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
If It Ain't Broke, Don't Fix It
Kevin is tired but feeling much better today. He went to Noblesville to visit a vendor today.
I went to work calling his doctors to see what we need to do about our New Year's Eve ER visit.
The CT scan showed a narrowing at the surgical site. With the effects of the contrast dye, things are cleared and working now and there seems to be a general attitude of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Kevin concurs. He reminds me that this is HIS ass I am so generously offering up for exploration.
The point it well taken although I'm concerned about why it happened and when it may happen again.
I went to work calling his doctors to see what we need to do about our New Year's Eve ER visit.
The CT scan showed a narrowing at the surgical site. With the effects of the contrast dye, things are cleared and working now and there seems to be a general attitude of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Kevin concurs. He reminds me that this is HIS ass I am so generously offering up for exploration.
The point it well taken although I'm concerned about why it happened and when it may happen again.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Nothing Good Happens After Midnight
Apparently a lot of people have never been told that nothing good happens after midnight. It was a mantra of my mother; I don't know how so many other people failed to get it.
An intestinal constriction sent us to the Emergency Room yesterday evening. Kev's better now, resting here at home and we'll call his regular doctors tomorrow to see if there's more to be done.
We're going to have to talk about timing too. New Year's Eve through the wee hours of New Year's Day in an emergency room is a trip.
Driving him to the hospital late on New Year's Eve, I was acutely aware that an ice storm was in the forecast, it was rookie night for all the uninitiated drunk drivers and anyone with any seniority (read "experience") in the ER had the night off.
We would be getting the reserve team. It was a night shift on a major holiday--this might be the reserves of the reserve team.
Even the Assbackward Optimist in me was having trouble spinning the possibilities into a positive outlook.
There was one overworked medical assistant doing initial work ups and a waiting room filled with snot, ace bandages and exhausted looking people. The MA impressed me by recognizing that Kevin was in bad shape and bumping him up the priority list. Got a very good radiologist and a decent doctor too. Not bad at all for the reserves, good actually. Was a little disconcerted to get a nurse who had never accessed an implanted port before and didn't know how to do it.
Kevin resisted the urge to take the huber needle from her and pop it in himself. Nurses were in short supply last night and once we had one in our grip, we weren't letting her escape to leave us waiting for another.
She could be taught.
I had a laminated card in my bag with printed instructions, hours of online reading to teach myself how to handle his port and countless times of watching other nurses do it. Piece of cake, we assured her. Kevin closed his eyes and tried to convince himself he was anywhere but in an ER on New Year's Eve with his wife explaining to a nurse how to do a medical procedure on him.
His eyes were wide open after that though. We arrived before midnight and were on hand to see the array of humanity which tripped through the doors as midnight drew near and then passed.
At least it provided some distraction through the long hours.
From around 11:45 to 4 a.m. a steady stream of former revelers filled the beds. A guy in cuffs and leg chains who spat at his police escorts and kicked out at anything or anyone he passed. A drunk college girl who flitted between singing rowdy songs and crying for her mother. Victims of knifings and street fights. Drunk drivers.
Just after the clock had ticked down to midnight and the New Year, Kevin was hearing the now familiar sound of a latex glove snapping onto a hand and a voice saying, "Roll over on your side, I want to check your..."
I wasn't surprised. Nothing good happens after midnight.
An intestinal constriction sent us to the Emergency Room yesterday evening. Kev's better now, resting here at home and we'll call his regular doctors tomorrow to see if there's more to be done.
We're going to have to talk about timing too. New Year's Eve through the wee hours of New Year's Day in an emergency room is a trip.
Driving him to the hospital late on New Year's Eve, I was acutely aware that an ice storm was in the forecast, it was rookie night for all the uninitiated drunk drivers and anyone with any seniority (read "experience") in the ER had the night off.
We would be getting the reserve team. It was a night shift on a major holiday--this might be the reserves of the reserve team.
Even the Assbackward Optimist in me was having trouble spinning the possibilities into a positive outlook.
There was one overworked medical assistant doing initial work ups and a waiting room filled with snot, ace bandages and exhausted looking people. The MA impressed me by recognizing that Kevin was in bad shape and bumping him up the priority list. Got a very good radiologist and a decent doctor too. Not bad at all for the reserves, good actually. Was a little disconcerted to get a nurse who had never accessed an implanted port before and didn't know how to do it.
Kevin resisted the urge to take the huber needle from her and pop it in himself. Nurses were in short supply last night and once we had one in our grip, we weren't letting her escape to leave us waiting for another.
She could be taught.
I had a laminated card in my bag with printed instructions, hours of online reading to teach myself how to handle his port and countless times of watching other nurses do it. Piece of cake, we assured her. Kevin closed his eyes and tried to convince himself he was anywhere but in an ER on New Year's Eve with his wife explaining to a nurse how to do a medical procedure on him.
His eyes were wide open after that though. We arrived before midnight and were on hand to see the array of humanity which tripped through the doors as midnight drew near and then passed.
At least it provided some distraction through the long hours.
From around 11:45 to 4 a.m. a steady stream of former revelers filled the beds. A guy in cuffs and leg chains who spat at his police escorts and kicked out at anything or anyone he passed. A drunk college girl who flitted between singing rowdy songs and crying for her mother. Victims of knifings and street fights. Drunk drivers.
Just after the clock had ticked down to midnight and the New Year, Kevin was hearing the now familiar sound of a latex glove snapping onto a hand and a voice saying, "Roll over on your side, I want to check your..."
I wasn't surprised. Nothing good happens after midnight.
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