I've taken a hiatus from the keyboard recently, going on what seems to be a cross between autopilot and ghost mode. My physical energies have been waning and my emotional energies at a near stand still. I breathe in...breathe out...some days that's as good as it gets.
Three-and-a-half weeks ago I had taken Ira into ER because of chest pains and numbness in his ring finger and pinky. Along with cohabiting with autism, Asperger's, and ADHD, another permanent resident in our home is diabetes and Ira has been battling it since 1996. He has had retinas reattached, cataracts removed, and multiple MERSA infections. He has had to have a device placed in his stomach to aid in the processing of his food, since his stomach no longer seems to want to cooperate with this function. Seven years ago his kidneys shut down completely and he became a dialysis patient. Four years ago this October his right foot was amputated. On Memorial Day weekend he lost three toes on his remaining foot because of an infection caused by a 2nd. degree burn. Every trip to the ER has been an emotional roller coaster, wondering what would or wouldn't they find and would this be the time he doesn't come home?
But...I digress....
Because of his history, the doctor was hesitant to send him home and so, he was kept for testing. His stress test showed the right side of his heart was enlarged. At some point, and why this wasn't done while he was still a patient, they talked about going back in and checking around his veins. Why? Though it was not detected on the EKG, they believe he has a blocked artery.
What does all this mean?
Excess fluid...
Overexertion....
...and Lord knows what all else....will send him into full on congestive heart failure.
What else does this mean?
Any chances now for him to receive a kidney transplant are out the window...
...86ed....
...scratched....
...not even up for discussion.
And between his heart and the lack of a kidney, we're looking at maybe within a year, two tops, he could be gone.
I've known for a while now that something has not been right. We moved from a smallish, resort-style village into town this past February and since then, he has gotten sicker harder, faster, for longer periods of time and his recovery does not come as quickly. His mornings, not all but a good chunk of them, begin and end with him throwing up. He cannot walk from the front yard to the back fence without being physically wiped out. Shoot, most days it's all he can do to go from room to room. This dance isn't new to me. I watched him care for his mother when she was going through this exact same thing. She was 57 when she passed nine years ago. He turned 46 this past June. Now I listen to him say, "I'm on borrowed time!" Now I watch as he dies one piece at a time in front of me knowing full well there is nothing I can do to stop it. And I am not ready!
I am not ready in my heart.
I am not ready in my mind.
I am not ready in my finances.
I am not ready in my emotions.
I am just not ready for what I know is coming.
It may not be tomorrow.
It may not be next week.
It may not be next month.
It may not be a year from now....
....but it is coming!
And it is the hardest, most bitter pill I've had yet to swallow.
My thoughts are overwhelmed with trying to get the ducks in a row, trying to plan and figure. I have no clue how I will manage it all, how I will keep everything and us together when that day does come. I have no clue how I will face the world each day.
I'll breathe in...
I'll breathe out...
And some days, that will just have to be as good as it gets!
