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.

This entry was posted on Thursday, November 16th, 2006 at 10:31 pm and is filed under Pain, Love. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.