I gave him the Annika Pep Talk- one that I reserve for times when I know I am stepping over the line, know that it might not be in my best interests, but, doesn't matter. I am compelled. And so, in I go, sit right in front of him and give him "the" talk. The poor guy can hardly look at me- still in pain (did not help he had stepped on his cath, as he was trying to get up...MAJOR pain, there- and well, I can only imagine. Luckily, was able to deflate and push back and things appeared okay....)
"You MUST tell us what is going on. We cannot read your mind- and you are here to get better- and we want to help." He seemed to listen, and then right before I left, I said. "Look, I want you to get better, and I care that you get better, and your wife cares, and...well, just so you know." With this, he looked up and said "Thank you."
So, the thought was he had an abdominal bleed, or something. He was to be sent to CT- and of course, I went home.
When I came in, I talked to his wife and told her I gave him the what for. She asked why, and she listened, and said he does not communicate well- and she thanked me.
This is before we found out he is VRE, and...I am not sure about the actual details, but he is throwing clots into his brain, and they fear that he is just filled with pockets of infection. I don't know why, as it was busy when Kerry told me this, and I don't understand exactly what the deal is, but whatever it is, it's not good. Not good at all. And damn it. Damn it. I sit here crying- because it's just the most horrible thing- his kids came in, and could not face him, as he had changed so. And, he is not going to get out...just not going to. And none of it is his fault at all. Younger then I am....
Before I left this AM, I went in to say goodbye and told him I'd see him in 5 days. He was still in the same place he has been for the past 2 days- sitting on the edge of his bed, unable to lay back, as he begins to choke. I just rubbed his shoulder for a moment- and tried to give him something that would make the coming week easier....
He is going to be one of those that people forget- and I don't want that to happen- because...no one should ever be forgotten.
Then the Quad down the hall- dirty young man (41), and he is PROUD of it! I could understand him as I lip read, and he was filled with things to tell me. Funny guy, been a quad for 20 years- was hanging his head out of a car and hit a guardrail. Drinking- yet, this man, in his words, shitty to have happen, but he would probably have died if this hadn't happened...in some other way that would have been a lot worse. He was sweet in his own way, and knew that his being taken care of well depended on his being a nice person. He was very successful.
The KFC lady- has a husband that is a sloth, too and she is hyper. We had good stories to share!
Then, watching the SuperBowl with my lovely txp w/u lady- (but...not to be, but she doesn't know that yet. Pressures just too high.) She wanted the Cardinals- me, too, I always like the underdog.
Then, Mr. C, at 25, one eye (he is the one that says I have a big butt- in total jest, but it's really funny- the story is just great- but for another time...) and his family- wow.
One quick thing- Black family groups have it all over us. They are so committed to each other, so intact when they are a unit. It's impressive. Care is the primary thing. I think it's because they are a matriarchal society- so the female values of care/love/compassion with a certain amount of "attitude" are stressed above all others. Just an observation from the past years of taking care of people. It's amazing.
And it's very fun to talk about the cultural differences between white butts and black butts. Apparently we have it all wrong....