Neverending story . . .

Can't seem to keep up with this thing these past few days . . . Bob's still at the U, still not well, but improving every day, despite a few set-backs and issues that have developed now over the past several days . . . I started and stopped this entry more times than I can tell you, because it seemed that "one more thing" and then "one more" was layered upon layered upon Bob this week . . . Blood pressure remained high for several days, then sodium levels plummeted, liver still showed signs of the heart attack impact, then his legs started swelling to the point where they looked like enormous, hairy bloated water balloons, his mental status has ebbed and flowed—one day, I feel like the "old" Bob is back, next day, I wonder who hijacked his personality and switched it with another . . . he nearly falls asleep while standing up that I'm forever crying out, "Bobby—please lie down or you're gonna fall over!" He gets annoyed with me and my mother hen act, sometimes makes faces at me . . .

Tests upon tests have been piled on him in just the past few days, additional tests not even related to the heart attack event (at least primarily, I should say . . . residual effects) . . . medications tweaked and tampered with endlessly, chest x-ray (to check for fluid in lungs), ultrasounds on his leg and abdomen (to see if a clot is causing the immense swelling in his lower limbs), echo on his heart (to see if something there could explain Bob's massive water-logged legs), EEG on his head and a failed attempt at a neuropsych test that couldn't be completed because he kept falling asleep on the poor assistant sent up to ask him a battery of questions (the hope is that, with the test and the EEG, maybe something could be found that might explain some of the mental/behavior/memory/etc. changes when Bob suffered this most recent heart attack) . . . what else did I miss . . . as always, countless docs coming in and out, in and out, often having nothing to say except reiterations of what the previous group of docs came in and told us . . . or explaining things in a way that completely contradicts another party . . . or seems just plain and utterly useless . . .

Today, Bob's group of oncologists (whom, just this morning, I dubbed the Greek tragedy chorus. A group, 4-5 of 'em usually, saunters into his room every so often, all somber and clinical, each one spewing out verses of gloom and doom . . . I told them that maybe next time, they could try coming in with some good news for once. Even just a little tidbit. Yes, we realize you've been hit with more hard stuff today, they said to me. No, not just today, I replied. For eight months straight. . .) The results of the EEG aren't back yet; the ultrasounds found no clots, but the echo on Bob's heart showed that his tricuspid valve is not closing properly, which is causing blood to flow back up into the heart when it contracts (instead of flowing out of the heart). They tell us this is evidence of damage from the heart attack, that the right side of his heart really took a hit and became somewhat stretched out, preventing the valve from making a tight seal when it tries to close. Swelling in feet and legs is a symptom . . .We're told that it's a condition that may correct over time, and that in the meantime, they'll start Bob on Lasix, to help treat the fluid retention. . .

He's been so tired all day, that the doctors ordered that he just rest for the remainder of the day, and for his nurse to put a note on the door to let anyone know that he's not to be disturbed unless it's absolutely necessary. I swear, not an hour after they left, there was a knock at the door, PT show walked in. Bob politely said he wasn't up for anything today, that the doctor ordered R&R. PT apologized and quickly exited. Ten minutes later, a cardiologist arrives; fine, a doctor, but he basically reiterated what the oncology team already told us, nothing new, nothing remarkable or revealing. Seriously, FIVE minutes later, an OT came in while Bob was in the bathroom. I told her that Bob's extremely tired, that he wouldn't be up for anything today, doctor's orders. She said, "There wasn't anything in his charts, can I just talk to him?" I stared at her. There's a note on the door, I said. He needs his rest today. Maybe check back tomorrow. My GOD! Do people seriously NOT see the sign posted on his door, or are they simply too arrogant to heed it? I grabbed my yellow legal pad and a pen and scribbled a note in huge block letters: If your visit isn't critical, of utmost importance or pertinent to Bob's situation, DO NOT DISTURB! BY ORDERS OF HIS DOCTORS AND HIS VERY ANNOYED WIFE! THANK YOU! We didn't see anyone else, not even his nurse (unless he called her) for the rest of the day . . .

I tried to be as quiet as I could, turned out all the lights in his room and tried to let him sleep . . . he did finally succumb to zzzzzz's, and slept at least 15-20 minutes here and there . . . when he woke from one of his naps, he wanted to take a walk. I suggested getting outside, as it looked pleasant enough. We made our way down to the main floor and out into the courtyard that Bob can see from his room. We found a picnic table to sit at, and before long, Bob was sawin' logs, head propped up by both hands, elbows on the table . . . my sister, Jill, and her daughter, Amelia, called to say they were coming by for a visit and that they'll be bringing dinner. About 1/2 hour later, they arrived with a bag of grub from Noodles and Co. Bob and I split a chicken and pesto dish. Jill and Miss A walked us back up to Bob's room on 7D, hung around to chit-chat for a while then took off.

I finally left the U at around 8 pm again tonight . . . came home to a pristine house, thanks to P&J, who must have cleaned up a storm before I left. . . too tired (and too late) to walk the doggies . . . we're looking at a Sunday discharge, at Bob's request (actually, decree), if all goes well. I can't tell you how happy I'll be to have him home again . . .