A Plan

Tomorrow came. I needed a map to find his room in PCU (Progressive Care Unit.) I was so optimistic. He had to be “Better” didn’t he? What was this place? Where was his nurse? He’s asleep. He doesn’t do that. Why is he here? Again there was a frenetic movement in this place like the emergency room. Hey, I am here. Talk to me. He is my husband…the love of my life. Why does he look so frail? He drove to work on Monday and today is Wednesday…what happened.

His nurse, I think, ignores me. She looks frantic and overworked. I think she hates her job…perhaps her patients, too? Practiced eyes ignoring my silent plea – stop…talk to me…explain what is going on…why does he have an IV…what is in it…how is it helping…please. I just want to know. Don’t I have the right to know? We both signed those papers that let us make decisions for each other…does that matter?

Wait. She is walking toward us. Is she really going to come in the room? Talk to me? Us? He just woke up. Groggy and not sure what is going on. That makes two of us. She is quick. Her eyes were cold. Her heart, too? Procedure done this morning. Fluid in chest. Worse than pneumonia. Procedure tomorrow. Broncho….what? To do what? She has to go….after two minutes tops? Really? That’s it. Wait…a doctor…who is his doctor….please. Gone.

W starts talking crazy talk. I think he is seeing people who are not in the room. What’s with that? He goes in and out. Doing a lot of dozing or crazy talk. Today is Wednesday. He drove himself to the restaurant on Monday. Yes his driving had been a little sketchy lately, I think his red truck found the restaurant for him, but he made every shift.

And by the way…his problems up until now had to do with neuropathy, vertigo, kidneys…but lungs? No. What do I do?

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Time passes. Nothing happens. Who will talk to me? No one. Wait some more. He is asleep. Dogs have been home all day. Must go. Want to stay. Tired. Stressed. Anxiety overload. Go. Stay. Go…the dogs need you.

OMG. The car. Where is it. Parking lot is so big and confusing. Remote beeps the horn. At least I am thinking…a little.

Home. Dogs taken care of. Phone calls made. I don’t know….REALLY…I don’t know. Cry. Wine. Whine. What do I do?

I seem to have no control or ability to ask for answers. But I can write. I can keep a journal so when he gets “Better” he can read what went on. We can open a good bottle of wine and say…remember when this happened.

A journal. No need for a big one because tomorrow will be better. I go to bed with a plan.