Mother-in-laws are just like mothers, but different...
I am sitting in the atrium of the Mobile Infirmary. It is the ONLY place in this humongous hospital that has a wifi access point.
Grrr...
Beth is doing really well. She's focused on her sister and helping her however she can. She cried a little yesterday, but she's pretty stoic. It's odd. I am so used to seeing her as the one who needs to be cared for that when she has to hit that switch and care for others, it's kinda odd. She is facing the inevitability of being parentless, a situation I know I will one day face myself, and is holding up with the most extrodinary amount of grace. It's times like these that I really admire my wife and know that in my heart of hearts I love her more than anything.
We slept here last night. At the hospital. In the Medical ICU waiting room. I got lucky and got the good recliner. For those of you who have seen my recliner, these ain't them. They are hard, plastic and uncomfortable. But Donna stayed, so Beth stayed, so I stayed. Donna plans to not really budge from the building until Monday. Beth is taking me to Pensacola in an hour and a half to meet up with John and April so I can go home. She'll come home Tuesday, if there is no change, and come back when it's time... to, well, you know.
I wish I had more positive things to report, but I don't. Here is what we know right now.
The blood clot is sitting on her brain stem. If it swells, she'll stop breathing and die. If it moves a millimeter, she'll stop breathing and die. If she makes it through today with neither of those things happening, the chance of it happening lessens, but only some. There is still a chance she takes a breath and never lets it out.
This is the possibility we are hoping for. This is the least painful. This is more of the way Sara Williams would want to die.
The other scenario is not nice. She has pulled out her feeding tube. The tech who turned her yesterday forgot to put her arms back in the restraints, and she pulled it out. She hates things being hooked up to her, and I guess that with her throat being swollen anyway, it hurt. So she pulled it out. Now, they can't put it back in. Not only because of the swelling, but because of her advance directives. Nothing can be done to sustain her life that won't cure her and give her a reasonable quality of life. At this point, nothing will do either. So if she doesn't stop breathing, there is a real possibility she will starve to death. That could take weeks. We, needless to say, do not want this to play out.
The last scenario is the least likely, but there is a small chance none the less. She could go back to the home and live for a few more months. Maybe. It is highly unlikely that she'll survive the month. Or the week, for that matter.She would have to be hooked up to a suction machine and fed with an IV. It's against her directive and not a pretty possibility
So that's all I got. I'll know more tonight, and I'll post it as I can. I'm putting a link to this on Facebook, so I only have to type once.
Thanks again for all the good thoughts and prayers. My dad says that you just pray for the miracle to happen, and sometimes that miracle is death. We don't want her to suffer and be in pain. Her spirit and body should both be whole and happy again. Just think good thoughts for Beth and me.
Grrr...
Beth is doing really well. She's focused on her sister and helping her however she can. She cried a little yesterday, but she's pretty stoic. It's odd. I am so used to seeing her as the one who needs to be cared for that when she has to hit that switch and care for others, it's kinda odd. She is facing the inevitability of being parentless, a situation I know I will one day face myself, and is holding up with the most extrodinary amount of grace. It's times like these that I really admire my wife and know that in my heart of hearts I love her more than anything.
We slept here last night. At the hospital. In the Medical ICU waiting room. I got lucky and got the good recliner. For those of you who have seen my recliner, these ain't them. They are hard, plastic and uncomfortable. But Donna stayed, so Beth stayed, so I stayed. Donna plans to not really budge from the building until Monday. Beth is taking me to Pensacola in an hour and a half to meet up with John and April so I can go home. She'll come home Tuesday, if there is no change, and come back when it's time... to, well, you know.
I wish I had more positive things to report, but I don't. Here is what we know right now.
The blood clot is sitting on her brain stem. If it swells, she'll stop breathing and die. If it moves a millimeter, she'll stop breathing and die. If she makes it through today with neither of those things happening, the chance of it happening lessens, but only some. There is still a chance she takes a breath and never lets it out.
This is the possibility we are hoping for. This is the least painful. This is more of the way Sara Williams would want to die.
The other scenario is not nice. She has pulled out her feeding tube. The tech who turned her yesterday forgot to put her arms back in the restraints, and she pulled it out. She hates things being hooked up to her, and I guess that with her throat being swollen anyway, it hurt. So she pulled it out. Now, they can't put it back in. Not only because of the swelling, but because of her advance directives. Nothing can be done to sustain her life that won't cure her and give her a reasonable quality of life. At this point, nothing will do either. So if she doesn't stop breathing, there is a real possibility she will starve to death. That could take weeks. We, needless to say, do not want this to play out.
The last scenario is the least likely, but there is a small chance none the less. She could go back to the home and live for a few more months. Maybe. It is highly unlikely that she'll survive the month. Or the week, for that matter.She would have to be hooked up to a suction machine and fed with an IV. It's against her directive and not a pretty possibility
So that's all I got. I'll know more tonight, and I'll post it as I can. I'm putting a link to this on Facebook, so I only have to type once.
Thanks again for all the good thoughts and prayers. My dad says that you just pray for the miracle to happen, and sometimes that miracle is death. We don't want her to suffer and be in pain. Her spirit and body should both be whole and happy again. Just think good thoughts for Beth and me.