Finally, a day that was better than the last . . .

Mesmerizing morning, the drive to the hospital today . . . gauzy fog draped between layers of the St. Croix valley, grey silhouettes of hot air balloons in the eastern horizon, suspended like ornaments in the early morning air . . . another 85 degree day predicted for today. Who would think, in October? And we'll be watching it from those windows at the U, those windows with the wonderful view.

I don't want to tell Bob how beautiful the weather has been these past days. Doesn't really matter to him, as he can't get outside to enjoy it. Hearing about it seems almost a cruel form of torture, reminding him of that fact. In our former life, he would have been out in the woods on a weekend like this, before sunrise, to capture images of fall, the brilliant foliage, layers of fog, sunlight playing with shadows, enhancing or subduing the effects with his cameras, his innate senses capturing, interpreting what the natural world has to say to the rest of us. Been a long time since he's been able to do that, pack a camera bag, take off into the woods and lose himself for a day, a weekend, hell, even for just an hour or two. The other day, he asked me to take his camera out of its bag, snap some pictures with it, just to give it a little "workout," so to speak. I wish I had more of his fall pictures to post here. Some of the most amazing images, his of Minnesota in fall. . .

But, I can say that today, finally, has been a day that was better than last. Not by leaps and bounds, not by even baby steps, but a subtle yet profound, improvement from yesterday, nonetheless. Bob had a new nurse for the weekend, something that makes us both a little nervous, given the dressing change of his wound and the explicit instructions that go with it, not to mention his mounting medical history. The charge nurse who was on yesterday and the day before is on for the weekend, so at least she has seen and assisted in the dressing changes and knows the drill. As soon as I arrived this morning and met his nurse for the day, all apprehensions melted. The dressing change went without a hitch, and Bob once again, tolerated it very well.

His nurse was on a mission to get Bob up and out of bed as much as possible today, given the blood pressure issues of late. "We're working for frequency, not endurance, at this point," she told Bob. "Let's try to get you up and at the very least, to the edge of your bed, maybe twice this morning, and then a few times this afternoon. Even if it's just for 15-30 minutes, that's okay, it's more than it was yesterday. . ." We succeeded in doing just that, and every time, except once, Bob was able to tolerate the upright position without having his blood pressure bottom out. He had breakfast and took his meds at his bedside, as well as a late lunch/early dinner, and was able to get up for OT for nearly an hour, along with a couple bathroom breaks in between. We'll keep that plan going for the next few days, a concerted effort to get his body used to being upright again.

Bob's appetite seemed a little better today; had a good breakfast—Cheerios, a yogurt and an apple danish (think baby-sized, not SuperAmerica-sized) and a light lunch/dinner (late lunch or early dinner, depending on perspective). Menu selections at the U suck big time, but it's been so hard to try to bring things in that he might like, sooooo . . . he's still on the TPN (IV nutrition), so he is getting "food" along with fluids that way, though his "by mouth" efforts are still a work in progress. I went upstairs to the cafe and brought down a chicken dinner, as he said it sounded appealing. Alas, both of us just picked at it, it was that bad; soggy green beans, dry, chewy chicken, overly-salty mashed potatoes—I have these fantasies that once he's home again, we'll pick up speed exponentially in the nutrition department . . . I haven't been much of a cook since Bob's been hospitalized. Not much fun to cook for one, so not much grocery shopping is done, either, as a result. As such, lots of cereal consumed on this end, lately . . . I long for the days that we share meals together again. Soon, I hope.

Bobs's pain seems to be controlled well; we've been going round and round with the docs on staff the past few days, trying to get his "breakthrough" level of oral Dilauded increased to the dose that works best (for some reason, his medications have all been eff-ed up since coming over from the acute rehab unit. Funny, not really, since they're both "U of M" facilities, and one would think all systems synced. Lemme be the first to tell you, they do not. Ever. I swear). Seems like the docs are freaked out about giving Bob the amount he's used to, and I finally talked some sense into the weekend doc, that if he'd just look through Bob's history and contact palliative care, if needed, they'd realize that a half a milligram just ain't gonna cut it. Bob doesn't need the breakthrough meds much, but when he does, a dose that's effective is a good thing . . .

My mom stayed with me this past week, and it was sofa kind awesome to have someone back at the house, hanging with the dogs, letting them out, playing with them, feeding them, so I could stay at the U all day (though that's sometimes a downfall, too . . .), and to have a delish meal waiting for me when I got home . . . wish I could have spent more time with her . . . Penny and Jim came up for a few days this week, too, to spend some time with Bob. I know if they could, they'd be here all day, every day, and I know it's a great comfort to Bob, too, having them here.

I actually got home when there was still sunlight in the early evening sky tonight, talking to

my mom (yes, I know I just spent the week with her—it's a "mom-daughter thing". . .) on my phone as I pulled into the garage. As I emerged, I was met in the driveway by a neighbor couple who was on their evening walk with their dog, Sal, a malamute, like our own Gaia. Linda apologized for interrupting, but wanted to tell me not to worry about snow plowing this winter, because their son will be taking care of our driveway once the snow starts to fall . . . I think I stood like an idiot for at least a few moments before her words registered in my pea-brain. Translation: You will not have to snow-blow this winter, Jen. My mom, on the other end of the phone was nearly crying in my ear, "I heard that! Oh my god! You have the most wonderful neighbors . . ." I told Linda to have her son drop a contract off for us, and she cut me off before I could finish—"Don't worry about that, Jen. It's all taken care of . . . " I gave her a big hug, but was still at a loss for words . . . guess that means me and Big Bertha won't be battling the snowdrifts this year . . . one less thing to worry about. And a huge one that is . . .

I'm hoping that tomorrow brings more microscopic improvements . . . xxoo to all . . .