March 2004

If I was a drinker ...

... I wouldn't be sober right now.

Kelli's loosing her kidney transplant. The doctors are fighting to keep that from happening, but she is definitely showing signs of rejection.

My parents, as well as an aunt and uncle came to the hospital today. It was a three hour drive for them, but I'm glad they came. They were a welcome distraction, and the food didn't hurt. (Except for that spicy chicken my Mom & Dad ate. 50 year old stomachs don't handle that stuff well.)

Empty Inside

I can't take much more.

Today marks the first day in over four weeks where I have not gone to the hospital to see Kelli.

It's not because she's home. I wish with all my heart that she was here with me.

It's not because I can't afford the $6+ I have to pay for parking every time, although money is running low.

It's not because I'm heartless - quite the opposite, in fact.

Kelli is the love of my life. When she's not well, I'm not well. I can't sleep when I should, and collapse from exhaustion later, only to wake up after a few hours and repeat the process. If she needed money, I could help. If she needed help with housework, I could do that. If someone was bothering her, I could intercede (Not that she'd need my help there - Kelli's always been formidable). But there is nothing I can do right now.

The nurses have informed me that she is heavily sedated to control her breathing. When they try to cut back on the sedation, she has the equivalent of an anxiety attack and no one can calm her down. I know, I've tried. So there she sits and sleeps, while the doctors try to make her better. There is nothing I can do, and it tears me up.

When she was awake now and then, I was there for her. I could comfort her, and in doing so I comforted myself. Now that option has been taken from me. When I go in to see her, she just lays there. Still, except for the respirator pushing air into her through the tube they inserted into her neck. Every bodily function has it's own tube, with more to measure heart rate, blood pressure, and blood gasses. On top of that, her kidney is slowing down. It is still doing work, but not as it should. This is her third transplant, and it terrifies me that she might loose it.

Every time I see her like that, knowing there's nothing I can do to help her, I feel I loose a piece of my soul.

Friends, family, doctors and nurses have all told me to take care of myself. I should, I really should, but I don't know how. I feel like an empty shell most of the time, and when I don't, I feel as if some great beast were sitting on my heart and clawing at my brain. How can I escape that?

I fear for Kelli's life, and my sanity.

TV does not entertain me. Music does not console me. Video games do not amuse me. Art does not amaze me. Reading does not let me escape. Sleep will not come to me. Even my teaching and graduate work serves only to distract me. I can find refuge in prayer, but God never promised us an easy life. I cannot demand relief from Him.

Gretchen and Beka came down this past Saturday. They did not see me like this - well, they might have seen a little, but I did not let it show much. I was very grateful that they made the long drive down here, It really made my week.

It rained while they were here. A cloudburst that sent sheets of rain cascading across the glass ceiling above us. It was a beauty to hear and behold.

I want it to rain again. We had rain last night, but not as it should be. I want it to come down in torrents, pounding the earth, plants, and any soul who dares to step out and face the wrath of nature. I want lightning and thunder to fill the air and make atheists wonder if they were wrong to doubt God's existence. I have always liked the rain. When it doesn't improve my mood, then it suits it well.

I don't have much more to say right now. I know that if you're reading this, you're probably a friend or family member. I know you care for us, and I appreciate that, I really do. You don't need to ask what you can do to help. What I need, only God can give me.

I can't see my keyboard any more. I have to go.

Out of the loop

Do doctors learn from their mistakes?

I've learned that Doctors do not like to keep patients or their husbands in the loop. I repeatedly ask to know what's going on. I understand which levels of what measurements are good and which are bad because I ASKED and cared enough to remember.

My wife has several infections right now. One of which is Herpes Type I, which as some of you may know is the variant that causes cold sores, not the STD that everyone thinks of. Right now it's in her lungs and is contributing to her inability to breathe on her own.

I found out about this on Saturday. The Doctors knew about it a week before I did, and never bothered to tell me OR the nursing staff. Heck, the nurses found out from ME! This is an infection that will require Kelli to take (more) medication for the rest of her life. The least they could have done was informed me. I made my displeasure known in no uncertain terms, then let it go at that.

This evening, as I was finishing up the equity paper no less, I received a call from the hospital asking consent to inject a radioactive dye to aid in some tests they would like to do. I see the need for the test but am concerned because such a dye has been known to shut down healthy kidneys, let alone transplanted ones. The nurse told me that she had been given this dye before and had survived it just fine.

Remember, I had already bitten off a few heads for not keeping me informed. Now I had just been told that they had done procedures in the past without even telling me that they had done them until long after the fact. Procedures that could make Kelli loose her transplant.

Right now I am a very angry young man. They will not want to see me tomorrow, but then maybe the Doctors at this TEACHING HOSPITAL will learn from their mistakes.