Happiness is . . . Bob home . . .

A chorus of angels give to Bob from my Auntie Patty's own personal collection . . .
Brought Bob home this afternoon, after another five day stint at the U . . . it's so wonderful to have him back home, I can't even tell you . . . . Even though he spent much of the day resting while I flitted about the house, I felt so much better having him home with us, had so much more energy to do things, more motivation than I have in a very long time . . . hung out laundry, went grocery shopping, to Target, back home, made a nice steak dinner for us (we ate "al fresco,"out on the deck, it was just lovely tonight—no bugs, no humidity, no wind, Bob sat for quite a while outside with me. . . wish I had taken a picture. Next time, for sure . . .)

I miss him so much when he's not here. I don't do much of anything except cry. I cry when I walk the dogs (hence, dark glasses when I'm out walking the dogs, even on cloudy days . . .like some kind of diva), I cry when driving to work (when I worked, that is), I cry when doing laundry, when mowing the lawn, when vacuuming . . . tears are so annoying, they get in the way, make it hard to do much of anything, so I just give up on most everything else and simply cry. I pull it together enough when I'm at the hospital, so I can talk to doctors without looking like a complete lunatic, but even then, I cry some.

This most recent discharge, though, we have a new game plan. We're given a new contact person, a primary care doctor, who is to be our main go-to doc, to check in with on a regular basis (I'm pushing for weekly—we'll see), to try to stay ahead of any issues before they snowball out of control, as they did once again this week. It's easy for me to get pissed off, blame all kinds of people for what has happened to Bob, what continues to happen to him, what may happen in the future, but the hard truth is that his health is incredibly fragile right now, and truthfully, that is no one's fault. He's a delicate balance that can get tipped the wrong way with the weight of a speck of dust, the flutter of a moth's wing . . . short of a crystal ball, there's no way to predict, anticipate, know if and when things may take a turn . . . but blaming helps channel my energy, reign it in and focuses it on something instead of everything and does seem to get things done that maybe wouldn't otherwise . . .

When Bob was admitted this time, I once again, let loose on the first doc who came to see him. I (crying, of course), told this poor guy (who just happened to be on staff when Bob was admitted to the ICU on Wed; hadn't even met him before), that I can't help but think this could have been avoided—that there were so many things going on with Bob at his last discharge, things we told nurses, docs, etc. all along the way, things I told his oncologist on Tuesday, but no one seemed to see the forest for the trees, to be able to put all the pieces together—so many specialists that his care seems to get so fragmented, so piece-meal. . . why isn't there one person in charge at all times, no matter what is going on, we need someone heading the show here, who can take all the fragmented pieces to Bob's care and put them together in a coherent picture, who's astute enough to look a the various people caring for him, all the tests, the medications, the signs and symptoms, and maybe catch something that doesn't work, doesn't fit . . . right now, I feel I've had to be that person and I'm terribly sorely, pathetically under-qualified . . . I'm not a doctor and don't even play one on TV . . .

I know Bob really wanted to go home last Sunday (he'd been in the hospital 2 freakin' weeks, don't blame him), and he did show many signs of improvement, and I get it that home is the best place to fully recover, but there were so many ingredients present, and given his history, that blended together to create the perfect storm: severe diarrhea, not being able to eat because of the thrush in his mouth, being on Lasix for the fluid retention . . .

What happened is that, very quickly after discharge last Sunday, Bob ended up severely dehydrated (technically, a condition called "hypovolemia" which means low blood volume . . . many things can cause this; in Bob's case, it appears to be the dehydration from all the factors leading up to it), which can happen rapidly for someone in his condition, and can lead to serious issues—organ failure, coma, death . . .

Initially, an echocardiogram was done on his heart, to see if his heart wasn't functioning well enough to get enough fluid pumping through the body. Gratefully, the echo showed that his heart is recovering remarkably, so the next theory is that he was simply dehydrated to a dangerous point due to the diarrhea, the lack of appetite, the Lasix . . . but we're told it's easily rectified with IV fluids. Because his blood pressure was so low, he ended up in ICU for a day and a half, until it stabilized and could be moved back up to 7D, his home turf. Up there, he was continually monitored, given fluids as needed until his blood pressure remained at an acceptable level without the need for IV fluids, and remained there for another few days until it was clear he was eating/drinking/maintaining on his own.

He discovered the hospital cafeteria during this stay, which has a much larger selection of grub than the room service menu. He felt well enough to wander up to the caf on his own a few times, grabbed a personal pizza for dinner one night, a snack here and there, lunch another day (I'd left him a few bucks in case he wanted to do so). As each day passed, I saw amazing progress in Bob's condition. He's mentally back in all ways (I am not kidding when, in the two weeks following the most recent heart attack, I feared he'd suffered brain damage . . . none of that mental fog/confusion, etc. is evident anymore), his voice is stronger, his appetite is better, he has better energy . . . he still tires quickly, but doesn't fall asleep mid-sentence. And when he sleeps, he sleeps. Deep, restful, restorative sleep. Good sleep. His pain is still present, always present, but he's not on nearly the amount of pain meds he was on even the week before his surgery. No one can really explain that one . . . it may be from the embolizing of the tumor's blood supply, but they can't say for certain.

So, even though we're both nervous about him being discharged again (given the history . . . ) but at the same time, so very grateful to have him home. We have many appointments set up for this coming week and the next, lots of stuff to discuss, sort through, process, work on in the coming days . . . (car on the right seen in the parking lot at the U of M . . .)