Atomictumor

OK, so today is Mamaw’s birthday, and I told this to Pigpen.

He told me we need to have a birthday party.

That was a brilliant idea, from the mind of a four year old.

So I shuffled around the itinerary. Instead of heading to the hospital for a late 3 o’clock show, and since Crystal had already told me I’m golden for heading in whenever, I figured we’d go to the grocery store. Pigpen and I discussed what was needed, and it was decided that we’d get

• Flowers
• A donut
• Candles (to put in said donut)
• A card.

Pigpen improvised a little song, and I had lines in it. Heres how it went.

Pigpen: We’re going to the GROC’RY store…

Me: We’re going to the GROC’RY store…

Pigpen: We’re going to buy some FLOWERS…

Me: We’re going to buy some FLOWERS…

Pigpen: We’re going to buy a DONUT…

Me: We’re going to buy a DONUT …

Pigpen: We’re going to buy a CANDLE…

Me: We’re going to buy a CANDLE…

Pigpen: We’re going to buy a CARR’RD…

Me: We’re going to buy a CARR’RD…

—

A simple song, for a simple time.

Pigpen was remarkably good at remember what we were getting. He was also proving himself adept at planning. For example, on the way to Pellissippi (we’re backtracking about 20 minutes, keep with me), he was saying “We’re going to Mommy’s school, then the hospital, then to pick up MastaG, and THEN I want to go to Papaw’s house”.

Well, he was good at planning, but with Papaw at the hospital, he wasn’t good at REALISTIC planning.

—

So, we made it to the grocery store, bought a lovely bouquet that he picked out, found a nice card, bought a pack of candles that said “Happy Birthday”, looked at donuts, didn’t find any good ones, selected a little white cake, found plates and forks (the forks had animals on the handles), bought those things that you blow in that unroll (articulate, see), decided that we didn’t like the little white cake, found a yummy black bar cake, and took off, mission completed.

We headed over to Cemestos Gardens (home of Bos and Eaves, for those new to the ways of the ‘tumorites), and invited them to the deal. I called BJ’s dad (who was concerned that I wasn’t at the 3 o’clock show) and told him to keep Mamaw in the quiet room.

We embarked for the hospital after the big kids got off the bus. MastaG was all about the plan.

—

The party was a huge success. Mamaw was touched, and I think it may have really helped her and Papaw (BJs dad) feel better. So, maybe I was wrong about not being able to help them. Or maybe Pigpen is just the dude to have in party situations. Who knows?

During the party, I headed off to grab that catch up visit. Crystal had given her a bath and washed her hair. BJ looked beautiful, sleeping, sweet. She still has a tube in her nose feeding her the YooHoo, and she has the trache, and she has the vac pac in her hand, and well, 7 or 8 various tubes and wires, that I know inside and outside and backwards and forwards. I know where they’re positioned, what they’re measuring, and how long they’ve been there.

I put the side rail down to embrace her, like I like to do, and Crystal told me what she’s been finding today.

To start, I told you folks that her brain waves were looking way better this morning, right? Well, they were. No seizure activity, and seeming to indicate a bit more awareness.

Crystal prefaced what she was going to tell me by saying that it might be nothing (which is the common prefix to anything dealing with the brain, as I know all too well), but that she’s noticed something with BJ’s eyes.

When you open them, they’re fixed for a moment, and then drift downwards, discognitive. However, Crystal found that by saying BJ’s name, snapping her fingers, or moving her hand on the side opposite where BJ’s eyes were, she’d look that way.

She didn’t think much about it, and didn’t tell Dr. M this morning when she tried it. She told the brain tech, who said it sounded like responsiveness. Then she told the infectious disease doc, who said it sounded good. So she told me.

Course, when she tried it with me in the room, nothing happened. It’d be like BJ to ignore me!

—

As I was in there, Dr. M popped in to talk to me. He stuck around for a good while, and we had a nice talk. I think I can almost talk on a level thats easier for them, because I understand, on a really basic level, some of the more complicated medical stuff. Can’t give you an example, but I find myself sounding intelligent when I talk to them.

Woot.

Here are the facts. BJ’s hand is healing nicely. I took a look at her fingers on the right hand, and they don’t look good. She’s going to lose past the second knuckle on the index finger, which is sad. She’s going to lose up to the second knuckle on the bird finger. The other two fingers may just lose tips, if anything. The pinky actually looked pretty good.

Her thumb, as well, looks good. I can only imagine what a handicap losing a thumb would be.

Her toes may not be as reprived as I hope. We’re waiting to see with them, but the flesh looks pretty damn dead. Its cold. Its not black tho, its purple, which is good.

RENAL FUNCTION IS NORMAL! Her kidneys are finally doing their damn job! This was not the case yesterday. Doublewoot.

She had that trans encophaegal eeg thingy, which showed her heart being in great shape. Another big woot there, people.

Shes having a broncheal test thingy to suction the stuff at the bottom of her lungs to see if theres nastiness living there. That’ll happen tonight. Some risk of lung collapse, but minimal, I’m planning on sleeping through it.

She is getting that ‘V’ drug to treat the MRSA. She is allergic to pennicillin, so Crystal came up to us asking if the allergy is hives, or constriction, or what. BJ’s never been on pennicillin when I’ve been with her, but all I’ve heard of were hives, she never went to the ER or anything. Besides, if the throat closes up, shit, she’s got a tube in. I gave the go-ahead, one of the many things that I’m fully aware will be one my conscious in future days.

(OK, it just took me 10 minutes to try to misspell conscious.  I googled it, but google was like “dude, you’re dumb.  101010.”  Must… finish… writing… go…. to….. bed……)

Right, so things there are looking better.

I haven’t been writing as much about her stats, because the changes are so minute now compared to when we started doing this stuff.  These strange days and twisted nights.

Where were we?

—

Right, so I went back to the party, and the Bos and Eaves crowd had taken off.  Dr. M and I had talked about the kids, about her case, about my hopefulness, about my understanding of the situation.  I didn’t mention, because I didn’t see a need to, of my growing resolutness that God is bringing her back, the left hand unmarred being a sign of that.

Maybe it won’t happen.  I think it will.

Anyway, we were at the quiet room, and Mamaw was really touched.  We talked for a bit, and went to the 5:30 show.  MastaG and Pigpen stood outside the doors of the CCU with me, and they said “Hi Mommy!” nice and loud.  It made them feel better.  I’ve convinced Pigpen that only grownups can go through the doors.  MastaG understands why he shouldn’t see her (I think).

Right now, she’s not his Mommy.  She is, obviously, but she’s also BJ, healing.  Asleep.  He knows that she wouldn’t look right, and has the sense not to try to seek out that vision.  He’s a smart boy.  Made the 100% club at school today, because he did so well on his math drills.  Smart guy.

10 years ago, we were panicked, resolute, ready for parenting.  We were young, and stupid, and madly in love.  We lived in a crappy apartment…

But thats a story for another day, eh?

Over supper, a treat at the Time-Out Deli in town, I discussed BJ’s brain with G.  He had questions, so I told him about the infection, the blood.  The pressure in her brain.  He took it well, understanding about as much as what I understand from the docs, which is enough to get by.  To realize the seriousness, and the heroism.

That very, very, very rarely do Moms get that sick and live.  And never without scars.

We discussed that we’ll have to help Mom when she wakes up.  He sounded excited, and up to the task.  He really wants to help.  Such a great kid.

—

After dinner (a hamburger, untouched, by Pigpen, in favor of fries and two pickles) we came home to two suprises.

An envelope, left by a mystery person, on our back door with a Jackson and a Lincoln, and a sticker, left on the front door, by UPS saying they’ll be back with my laptop tomorrow.

I’ve got all day.

—

Sweet BJ, sweet BJ.  I kissed you again tonight at the 8:30, and it shocked me.  It electrified me.  If you can kiss me like that when you are asleep, I am thrilled at the prospect of kisses when you are awake.  You keep getting closer and closer to the surface.  You almost break the water.

I know I’ll see you soon, and when I do, I don’t know what I’ll do.  It will be the best day of my life, no matter what happens.

I love you, my lady.  I love you, mother of these boys.  I love you, my sweet little girlfriend, lover, wife.

Good night, angel.  I’ll see you in the morning.

Ah, times are strange, times are strange.  Come with me, let me tell you of my day.

So, when last we spoke, I had received two very heartfelt gifts, and was left to my own devices, kids at school, parents heading home.  I was planning out my day, and taking a little relax time.

So, I decided to bite the bullet and take care of BJ’s and my school withdrawals.  I made a few phone calls, scanned a few papers, and emailed a few people.  An email seems to be enough to appease Roane State (and the irony of this might not be lost on long timers here, who recall that I had to send an email to the VP of Financial Aid at Roane State to start the semester), and I’ve received confirmation that I’ve been withdrawn.  Woot.  Well, except for the whole not furthering my education.  Poo.

Pellissippi, well, they were going to be a bit trickier.  Evidently, they don’t believe everything they read, and I’d have to head down and beat down a little shoe leather in order to get things done.  I called some people, and figured I’d head tomorrow.  By now, it was getting close to 1, when I was going to have a Thanksgiving meal at G’s school.  I put on a nice shirt, looked at myself in the mirror, decided against a quick shave (I’m rugged), and took off.

Made it to G’s school, and had a tasty meal.  We hooked up with Bos and Eaves, along with October and Lugnut, their first and third children, and had a good time in a cafeteria filled with barely restrained youth.

While I was there, I talked to a few of you who’ve been paying attention to my rambings, some recently, one or two for a while.

I tell you what, its weird to be recognized for the things I do at home, in front of my crappy computer, drinking water out of an ancient plastic cup while the kids watch Spongebob reruns being played on, well, the same computer.

I’ve always held onto the super secret internet names, and figured if I put my real name out there it’d just give Whitey the opportunity to Keep Me Down.  And, if theres one thing we all know about Whitey, its that he Keeps Dudes Down.  That, and I have a habit of not really making sense, and being abrasive, and saying things that might be considered in “poor taste” occasionally.  Of course, normally GAC eggs me on…

I digress.

I’m not used to being recognized for anything.  I’m normally a sit at the back of the room and smile quietly kinda guy, because, while I can do the public speaking thing, I’m not gifted at it.

You can understand the weirdness I feel, then, having people, some I’ve barely known, and some I don’t know, come up and tell me that my writing has touched them, that it’s meant something to them.  Its very odd, lemme tell you.

I say thanks, and mean it, but I feel weird because I don’t have words to tell people how much it means to ME, that they get something out of this.  I’d love to see this whole experience change people.  Even if its just a handful of people realizing that the things they have may not be permanent, no matter how much you think it might be.  Maybe a handful of those people will keep that with them, and use it to treat everybody just a little bit better.  Hell, man, that changes the world.

How high handed is that?  “My blog is totally changing the world”.  GAC would kick my ass.

So, feel free to come up to me.  I’ll smile, and nod, and thank you, and listen, but I don’t have much to say.  I don’t much like talking about whats going on, because I’m very dispassionate about it, and people look at me funny when I say things like “Well, she damn near died, and she very likely will never wake up” with a smile.

—

Uh, ahem, I’m getting off topic.  So, I went to G’s school, and had a tasty school lunch of turkey, beans, stuffing (the weak link in an otherwise good meal), potatoes, and TWO (2) rolls.  Woot.  MastaG sweet talked them into a hotdog with his turkey.  He’s a charmer, that G.

Willow Brook took up a donation pot, and gave it to Eaves to give to me.  That was amazing.  Thanks, very, very much, folks.  BJ would be speechless, I can tell you.  They also ordered a Thanksgiving dinner for me, which presents a problem…

The preschool had already ordered a Thanksgiving dinner.

But I have a solution.  Oh yes, a wicked awesome solution.

Since G’s birthday is Wednesday, and we’re not having a party like I talked about, we’re going to try to have a Thanks’G'iving, and feed as many people as like to come.  My folks are coming, BJs folks are coming, Eaves and Bos are committed, and we’ll be there.  I’d like to invite some of you (although, if we get a million people, I’ll have to do a lottery).  If you don’t have plans for Thanksgiving, probably on Thursday, lemme know.  We’ll have dinner like a family.

Ponder it, while I go about my business

—

So, left Willowbrook around 2, headed back to pick up Pigpen from the bus.  I talked to a neighbor who doesn’t have internet, and answered some of the questions.  Man, thats hard to do.  I really don’t like talking about this in ‘real life’.  Again, not because I break down and cry, because emotion doesn’t play into it these days, but because

1. Its getting to be a damn long story, and I tend to keep details in, so I get thirsty halfway through.
2. I think it messes a little with people how impassionate I am when I tell them is.  Its facts, facts, facts.  Yes, a bleed in the brain.  No, they don’t know what caused it.  I could care less.
3. It just plain gets old.

So, anyway, I did that.  Then the bus came, and Pigpen and I went ahead to Pellissippi to take care of bidness.

By the time I got out there, it was getting close to 3, and I realized I’d be late to the 3.  I had missed the 1, and really wasn’t into missing another show, so I called Crystal at the hospital, and she said she had no problem smuggling me back in whenever I got back.  She’s good people, as are all of the nurses there.  We’re lucky, damn lucky, on that regard.

So, I got her withdrawn, with the help of Pigpen.

On the way home, I told him that today was Mamaws (BJ’s moms) birthday.

Oh wait, did I not mention that today was her birthday?  Dude, it totally is.

— Hang on, heading out to the 8:30 show — to be continued later.

love you babe!

I’m very thankful that GAC’s not here.

This morning, news with BJ looked a lot better.

The brainscan showed no seizure activity!  She’s still not responsive, but todays nurse, Crystal, said that a tear came down her face when doing suction in her oxygen tube.  Its tragically wonderful how the reactions to pain that she has show us that she’s in there.  The blessing of this is that she won’t remember it.  I will, but thats what alcohol is for.

Actually, I haven’t had much alcohol lately.  My beer intake has been severely affected by this.  Daco would be disappointed.

Anyway, things are looking up in the ol’ noggin today.  The pain reaction was a good sign to Dr. M, who talked to me today.

I also learned that MRSA and a staff infection are very much alike, and, in fact, theres an MRSA whomping up in her throatal area.  This is expected, and something I’ve been kinda waiting for.  Another obstacle, its OK.

Her friends Lucky and Pam showed up, Lucky with a chicken pot pie for me and the boys, and some homeopathic remedies for the girl.  She applied them, so we have big pharma working with Lucky.  I can deal with that.

I picked up the paper to inform the schools that BJ is not completeing the semester.  I reckon I’ll do that today.

When we got home, Mom and I, we found a FedEx box at the door.  It contained a healing shawl made by Vickie (califdudes), and as I held it I understood the emotion that went into every stitch.  Holding it, feeling it, I realized that this, along with the chicken pot pie, are one of the best kinds of gifts the world can give a person.

Thanks Vickie, Lucky.  You ladies are great.  Me and the boys (well, mostly me) will eat the chicken pot pie tonight, and we’ll huddle up and watch TV tonight in the shawl.

Mom and Dad have gone home, and the normal world has begun. I’m pulling my last comp day (hopefully) today, and tomorrow we’ll start our family again.

My BJ, little girl, we’re keeping your seat at the table warm.  We love you so much.

$208,000 is the tab.

I’m suprised, I was expecting more than that.  I still have $792,000 left!  Go ahead and get sick again, baby, we can afford it! Woot!

Uh, I’m just kidding.  Seriously, don’t get sick again.