Well. Hello. It’s Thursday morning and I’m actually not at the hospital yet because when I woke up I could hardly move or think or function. I talked to Ernie and one of the doctors had already been in so I told him I’m going to come in a little later today.
Yesterday was a rough day with my back and walking. I got valet parking but by the time I got into the lobby I was hurting so bad that I asked for a wheelchair to bring me to his room. So a lovely volunteer a good 20 years older than me energetically pushed me all the way. Honestly, laugh, cry? I have no idea which is more appropriate. Leaving his room is not as long a walk so I was ok but it was a tough day. When I got home I got into the house and sat at the dining room table wearing my coat and put my head down on the table and cried for a bit.
It looks as though he will be staying another day. I pray he can come home tomorrow, catheter or no catheter. He got another blood transfusion but his white blood cells are still too low. Today they’re going to give him some platelets. They moved him into a private room yesterday evening because of infection concerns, which is nice despite the lousy reason for it. He texted me later:
Damn I love him. Yesterday after one visit with a doctor, I don’t even remember who at this point, she told him he had to stay at least another day. I know he was really upset and sad but after she left he looked at me and in a deep voice he said, “I will be home when the owl calls my name.”
I love him. I just love every bit of him.
He was a bit perkier yesterday but didn’t sound great this morning. He’s struggling with nausea and eating and just feels, well, horrid.
My mind is so scattered these days that random memories float into my head. I remember one night at Mabel’s, about a million years ago, when after a show Milktoast had played (I think it was for one of those Record Service parties) I went and got his jacket for him from where it had been stashed, his beloved American Legion jacket. I teasingly wore it over to him. He was wearing a vintage pink shirt and looked so beautiful. I don’t remember what he said but we were both laughing. The person he was talking to (Brian from the Cellar maybe?) looked at us and shook his head and said, “Cutest couple in Champaign.” And we laughed because of course we weren’t, but we were so happy. We were excited about music and excited about life. We felt electric and young. Cancer and the inequities of life were the furthest thing from our mind. I just have that moment, that scene frozen in my mind.
It was roughly this era:
He did end up getting his liver biopsy done yesterday after being told yes/no/yes/no/yes/no. When I got there yesterday I was so happy to see his catheter bag clear that I took a picture of it (poor Ernie)! Sadly, by the time I left there was blood again. Today he said overnight it was clear, but blood again this morning. Sigh.
My beautiful boy.
Oh, and yesterday when I managed to get in the back door, clutching my walker, Bob was there on the steps waiting anxiously and chirping. As soon as he realized it was me you could almost see his little shoulders slump and he turned and mournfully walked away. Poor Bob.