Moondance

It's 11:30 and not more than an hour ago we had an on-call hospice nurse pay Craig a visit. Craig had several bowel movements today. This, of course, flies far from Craig's once in a blue moon norm and we were concerned that something was amiss or at the least, that he was dehydrated. But it wasn't just moving bowels that took a toll; it was the the energy he expended and the anxiety and shortness of breath that surfaced pivoting to the side of the bed and then on to the commode.  

Other symptoms surfaced, too. I left the cats and wandered into the apartment around 7am this morning. Craig was bright-eyed, but otherwise out of it. I waved to him, flashed a smile and said good morning, and thought to myself, "probably hallucinating". That moment painted the theme for the remainder of the day. His eyes tracked back and forth at a faster clip; his jaw moved as if chomping on gum; his breathing appeared more shallow and erratic; and his speech, inaudible. The guy was worn out and it showed. Too weak to talk and even weaker to swallow, he mustered the energy to express fear of swallowing water and an Ativan pill Jill and I had recommended to ease his distress. He took it and, shortly thereafter, he was able to sleep at last, free from his raucous bowel reflex.

But tonight, things took a turn to the point of having increased difficulty waking him up and watching his pupils dilate, then constrict to pin size, then dilate again.

The nurse came, offering helpful insight into his hydration status, pulse, and blood pressure.  Before bidding adieu, she told us a familiar phrase, that she felt "he has begun the dying process". It's a surprising reflection of what we've been through that we didn't flinch or overreact. Apart from tears from the understanding that we've turned another corner, we held to the adage "take one day at a time".  We've been told he's nearing his end for the past month.  Call it calm resolution, but we're not sure that this is really 'it', not for Craig and his will power. Granted, Craig is slowing down, and something changed today, though we're not quite sure what, and, if it means anything.   

Shortly after her visit, Craig surfaced from his drowsy state to inquire about the night's event and its results. He quickly fell back asleep, but at least he was coherent, present, and audible. There is no license on tomorrow, we have no assurances. His weary body clearly turned another corner, and that inevitability may have moved closer in this game of "red light, green light". But, he's still with us and that's our compass for the night.

The ups and downs, the uncertainty, going one way just to turn the other, it's all very exhausting and emotionally draining. So goes life for the last 13 months; it seems we've learned to weather the storm, come what may. ~E