Another late night round of helping Jan, who was deathly ill last night. After repeated bouts of vomiting and severe pain in her lower abdomen, we both realized her symptoms were beyond us. Not just the virus that’s been going around, but something much more grim. I called 9-1-1 and they were at our front door five minutes later. So by 8:00 this morning, Jan was in the ambulance on her way to The Dalles Hospital, and after I dressed, I followed not far behind. When I arrived at the emergency room, Jan was hooked up to a variety of machines; her face screwed up in intense pain. A few hours and several tests later, the team determined that Jan’s lower intestines had somehow come loose from the abdominal wall and twisted enough to cut off the blood supply. Potentially fatal. Doctor also admitted his hesitancy to operate on Jan at all, due to the poor condition of her lungs.
Through all this, I’m sitting in the tiny emergency cubicle with Jan, observing the comings and goings and listening to the declarations of each of the nurses and doctors. Shakier and more emotional by the moment, no one seemed to notice; and of course, they didn’t offer me any sedative at all! So I pulled out my sketchpad and began doodling and drew whatever my eyes could find. Got several good sketches and felt a bit calmer too.
Though he said it was indeed risky, the doctor advised us that immediate corrective surgery was the best route. By then, Jan was so doped up that she would have agreed to jump off a cliff, had they suggested it. They also wanted to know if she had a Living Will, which we thought we did, but decided to sign another one on the spot.
The best part of the day was when Elaine and Dick, Jan’s parents, joined us. I had phoned them before the surgery, so the three of us could be there together for the wait. And the doctor’s visit with us afterwards. The surgery was successful. We breathed sighs of relief. Jan has to stay in the hospital a few days to recuperate, but we’ll be visiting her each day and talking on the phone. She already called me tonight. I had decided not to call, for fear of awakening her. When I picked up the phone awhile ago and it was her, I got all choked up. I’ve been scared to let myself feel anything all day, but now I know how badly I’ll miss her if she dies. Jan, don’t die! Live forever. At least ten or fifteen more years! I love you more than my heart wants to admit. It’s not time to let go of you yet.
Through all this, I’m sitting in the tiny emergency cubicle with Jan, observing the comings and goings and listening to the declarations of each of the nurses and doctors. Shakier and more emotional by the moment, no one seemed to notice; and of course, they didn’t offer me any sedative at all! So I pulled out my sketchpad and began doodling and drew whatever my eyes could find. Got several good sketches and felt a bit calmer too.
Though he said it was indeed risky, the doctor advised us that immediate corrective surgery was the best route. By then, Jan was so doped up that she would have agreed to jump off a cliff, had they suggested it. They also wanted to know if she had a Living Will, which we thought we did, but decided to sign another one on the spot.
The best part of the day was when Elaine and Dick, Jan’s parents, joined us. I had phoned them before the surgery, so the three of us could be there together for the wait. And the doctor’s visit with us afterwards. The surgery was successful. We breathed sighs of relief. Jan has to stay in the hospital a few days to recuperate, but we’ll be visiting her each day and talking on the phone. She already called me tonight. I had decided not to call, for fear of awakening her. When I picked up the phone awhile ago and it was her, I got all choked up. I’ve been scared to let myself feel anything all day, but now I know how badly I’ll miss her if she dies. Jan, don’t die! Live forever. At least ten or fifteen more years! I love you more than my heart wants to admit. It’s not time to let go of you yet.
2 comments:
breathe. Live. Feel.
You are in my thoughts and prayers.
Oh, Recie, what a harrowing experience. So glad the surgery went OK and Jan should be home before you know it. Your sketchbook has turned into a real sanity saver. I am praying for you both.
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