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Archive for April, 2013

Day 13–Waiting

It would never be said of me that I am patient.  If I can’t figure out something which I’m supposed to put together on the first or second time (can you say, “Ikea?”) I’m tempted to just curse it and pout and mutter.  If the muffins are supposed to take twenty minutes to bake, I’m opening the oven and sticking a knife in them at twelve minutes just to be sure.  When airplanes are late and I’m stuck in the airport at the gate, I’m the one pulling out my hair and standing in line at the ticket counter seeing if there is anything that can be done, because I can’t bear the delay.

Which is strange, really, because there are lovely things which can be done while one waits, while one practices patience, things I actually love to do…read, cross-stitch, do a crossword puzzle, twiddle my thumbs (seriously, I kind of like the repetition of the thumb thing).  

This is all the long way around saying that we are still waiting.  We are waiting to slowly watch the ventilator levels decrease.  We are waiting to see Dick open his eyes.  We are waiting for antibiotics to take effect.  We are waiting for the slow process of healing.

Today was a big day in room 3126 (a day we’ve been waiting for).  Dick was moved from his rotating bed into a regular hospital bed.  AND, he kept his oxygen saturation levels in the 90th percentile while it happened, and they even pushed upwards of 95% in the hour or so afterward.  It is good to see his face again, to be able to hold his hand.  Sedation is decreased for about twenty minutes each day to start to see if an assessment of mental functioning can be made.  We got to see his eyes open today, just briefly.  

So we wait.  And one of us learns patience.  As my mom said today to the nurse, “Dick is one of the most patient people we know, and he’ll teach us how to take things one step at a time.”

 

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Easter Sunday

We’d sure love to see him rise…

Daily update from Dick’s bedside: My Mom was called back to the hospital early this morning at 1:45. Dick had had some heart irregularities (PVCs for those in the healthcare world who understand this, I confess that I always thought PVCs were pipes). My dear Mama tried to sleep there at the hospital then, but got no rest. It was a trying and rough night and I’m still feeling guilty that I didn’t join her there at that time (but was trying to balance preaching at Peace in the morning, trying to be Super-Daughter, and Super-Mother and Super-Pastor [all roles I want to fulfill for people I love] creates a lot of ambiguity in my head). I arrived after worship and spent the afternoon with Dick to spell mom so she could go home and sleep, and then she spelled me at suppertime so I could go home and be with Robert and Gray. 

Here’s what I’m learning (and I knew this intellectually when I worked as an ICU chaplain but am living it anew), there are a million and one ups and downs. And the lovely and difficult thing is that the world goes on. Our world is contained to this hospital room with these thousand and three IV tubes and for the rest of the world (which we love hearing about) things continue to unfold. Groceries still need to be purchased, laundry still needs to be done, children still need to be fed, dogs still need to be walked, taxes still need to be filed. This is actually quite comforting, that life goes on, but it still complicates the lives of those of us who are in limbo (and may be for weeks and months [if we are lucky it will be this long]).

So, my request to my Facebook friends is simply this: please continue to hold us in the light. We need some light. And thank you for all you’ve done to send us love; we feel blessed.

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