Back in the ER, then up to 7D . . .

Took Bob into the ER last night because I had received a phone call from Penny just as I was getting ready to leave work for the day. She said Bob seemed to be having another anxiety attack, but this time, the Ativan wasn't doing the trick. I asked her to put Bob on the phone, he described what was happening--he said that "this one" feels different than the other attacks, couldn't articulate why, just different. . . I told them to load Bob up and head into the ER at the U, that I'd meet them there.

Tip of the day: avoid the ER on a Friday night if at all possible, or at the very least, arrive in an ambulance . . .we waited nearly an hour after arriving at the U around 6 or so. I could tell Bob was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the minutes crawled by, trying to find a tolerable position, standing, then sitting, then standing again, slowly walking around the crowded waiting area, grimacing in pain, hands trembling. . . I finally went up to the check-in desk and asked if we could get at least a bed for Bob to lie on, gave the routine explanation of the tumor, pain, etc. I was told the ER's completely filled, that they have people in hallways because there are no beds available. I asked how much longer we could expect to wait; another hour or more is possible, I'm told. "Then we need to go somewhere else taht can help us," I said, thinking we could get back to Stillwater in a half-hour at the most, with me driving . . . the triage nurse said, "wait a minute," and called someone over to us. Not sure who this guy was, but he took one look at Bob and said, "You look terrible, buddy. Gimme a minute, we'll have a bed ready for you." As quickly as he disappeared, he reappeared again, telling us to follow him.

Long story short (or even longer . . . ), after waiting in the ER for over four hours, doing more waiting around than anything productive, and watching Bob's pain escalate to a nine on the pain scale, despite my constant buzzing of the call button to get more pain meds in him (he had missed all his evening drugs), finally, the ER doc made the decision to have Bob admitted, back up to 7D, "where my homies are," Bob said weakly . . . waited nearly another hour before Bob was finally transported up to the oncology wing he has come to know so well.

Which is where we are now, Saturday, 3 p.m., and his pain still isn't managed well; it's down to a "soft 5" he told his nurse, but he still winces and flinches, even when he sleeps. He had several xrays done on his abdomen, his neck (he's been having strange pains in his neck that aren't going away. I asked the Doc who ordered the abdomenal xrays to please check out his neck, too, just to be on the safe side). Palliative care is once again on the alert and are making some more changes to his meds. . .

I don't know how sick Bob has to get, how long this needs to drag on, before something starts to happen. All I can say is that if I have any thing to say about this, which I do plenty, he will not be discharged until he is ready for surgery. He is a very sick man and needs to be in a hospital. He is not well enough to be home. We do not need to be running into the ER every other day, for quick fixes. We need some things to start happening, and my hopes, my demands are that, now that he's here, all will truly start to fall in place and surgery will be scheduled sooner than later. If I have anything to say about it . . .