Altar Call

Jenny here. Somewhat unwillingly today.  I want Wil to write. I offered to type for him. I hope he will change his mind soon.

Today is a tough one.  It started out with plans to transfer to the SNF. Everything was set. But his potassium and sodium levels were low. He had some IV fluids to try and correct it. But it was enough that they decided not to discharge him, maybe tomorrow.  During rounds his oncologist said he is looking good (medically). The sleep meds didn't work last night and he was agitated and getting up out of bed, leaving me crazy messages at 4 a.m. with things I know he doesn't mean. They are adjusting them again to see if we can try to correct the sleep cycle.

But his team said he is doing good!  His oncologist said it's taking some time but we are headed in the right direction.

I feel relief. I hear "we are on our way!"

What Wil feels is depression. What Wil hears these days is something completely different. He hears "I'm still sick."  His doctor senses this, kneels by his bed and holds his hand (because he won't sit up when they are here...just weeks ago he would sit on the edge of his bed to talk, insist on sitting in the recliner all day).  She looks at him and says "you can't give up now. We are not giving up. You have to fight. " He replies "yea yea yea" and closes his eyes.  He begs for the Foley catheter to be put back in because he doesn't want to get out of bed. He doesn't want to have an accident on himself. But there is no medical reason for it and at this point it was causing infection.

During PT and speech he won't complete the exercises. He just says "I'm done" or "I'm tired".

The afternoon was spent with him napping. Even in his sleep he says "I'm done. I can't do this. It's too hard."

Dinner comes. He refuses and says take it away. I have them leave it. He tells me he wants to die. My heart sinks.  My anger apparent.

Who is the crazy woman in room 321 losing it at the man with leukemia?  That would be me. But I lead with my heart on my sleeve. Only blinded by the tears I can't contain. I share so much, but he rarely sees me cry.

I melt down. And perform my own altar call on the spot. Everyone loves him. Everyone is pulling for him and his recovery. Everyone but him. If he showed half the commitment to fighting as he does to resisting we could really get somewhere. But Wil is a proud man. He rarely fails because he rarely tries anything new unless he knows for a fact he will succeed. He likes consistency. He likes life to be predictable. It's safer to stay in bed then to face the possibility of failing. Or worse yet, his own mortality.

I don't even attempt to know what he feels like to be him.  To be in captivity. But I know he will never come home unless he can turn this around soon. Every day he is losing his ground in terms of mobility.

I tell him my heart. He promised me his life. His sickness and his health. I've got his back. I'm here all extra minutes of the days at my own health sacrifice. I tell him I'm never leaving him. He's stuck with me. But I tell him I'm done feeling bad for him. I'm done fluffing pillows he can move himself. I'm done begging for him to eat when the speech therapist has said it's not a swallow issue it's a needing to try and be patient issue.  I tell him something I never thought I would say to the man I love, especially while he's sick--I tell him he's breaking my heart.

Cancer sucks. It's not fair. But there is nothing I can do until he's ready to fight this thing. He mumbles "don't cry."  He says his 100th "I'm sorry" of the day, usually followed by what he won't do, what he refuses to do.

Ironically family feud is on in the background with the question of "on a scale from 1-10, how seriously do people take their wedding vows?" You just can't make this stuff up.