It's 3:00pm Saturday afternoon. Most folks are enjoying the warm comforts of a Colorado summer -- tooling about on their road bike this weekend instead of their mountain bike, or sipping iced chais on the "banks" of confluence park while their dog splish splashes in the quiet rapids. For us, we are back in the cold comforts (thanks to the blasting air conditioner) of the 11th floor oncology unit. We've been passing the day sitting quietly, peacefully reading a book or writing as Craig sleeps with his mouth wide open -- flies could take shelter and he wouldn't be the wiser. I'm watching his eyes pace back and forth, locked in an REM cycle; his brow is soaked with sweat. A nasal cannula pumps 3 liters of oxygen into his nose to supplement his oxygen intake since the tumor bulk in his belly has compressed (and diminished) the lower part of his lungs, preventing them from inflating fully. On occasion, he breaks his sleep with a loud whimper; we respond in concert with an "are you OK?". He just woke up and noted that he feels like there is a hole burned into his stomach.
This has been our Saturday just like so many Saturdays in the past. There's no place we'd rather be than by his side, but I guaran-damn-tee Craig would much rather not be there. As Jill noted, it took a heavy dose of patience and careful prodding of the palliative care representative before the details of his infection finally struck a chord. The conversation seemed to drip along like wet cement and the two options seemed just as permanent. It came down to life and death -- whether he was ready to let the natural course of things take flight or whether he wanted further treatment. I remember thinking to myself that 'Craig isn't getting it' and wondering how we could present this simply, honestly, and in a way that wouldn't absolutely panic him. It was a heartbreaking and startling conversation, through and through. We weren't talking about a simple earache or an angry looking splinter; we were talking about his very fragile life -- one that is increasingly challenged each day. Fortunately, we know Craig well and know that he would have wanted antibiotics if he fully understood his present condition -- even if it meant going back to the dreaded hospital. I finally just asked how critical his condition was and what would happen if he didn't go -- point blank.
So, here we are, lounging in room 1102. Two empty antibiotic bags hang from Craig's IV stand with more on the way.
~E
The whole family, Maman included, is here in Codalet. We all think of you so hard. I wish Craig could make it here again some day. Whatever happens, good or bad , I know some of us will get together one day , in Codalet hopefully, to talk about good old times and about all the peole we have known and loved so much.I want to start a photo album of Mary and send it to you . Love to you all, and be sure to tell Craig all the French people he met would like so much to help him. Chris and her family
ReplyDelete