We try to keep the conversation light and normal feeling. But, deep down inside, we knew this was not normal. We could feel the shift. The wind was blowing and we could hear the wind chimes. He started to push himself up on his cane. He headed through the living room and insisted on walking outside to take in the view. I walked outside with him and we sat on the chairs on the front porch. His blue eyes looking around and looked like he was soaking up the details.
 |
| In this picture, he looks like he waiting for something as he watches the street. |
He began looking for a specific set of wind chimes. I asked him if they were on the other side of the car.
"Wind chimes are my favorite" I told him. "You've told me that like 100 times" he said. "Well, now I have told you 101" I replied. "We have that in common" he answered He got up leaning heavily on his cane and used the truck as support.
I can hear them, he said, ding ding ding. Ding, ding, ding. The ones that were hanging, he said, were not the ones he could hear. I suggested maybe they were outside his window in the back of the house. He said they weren't and went back to sit down. I stayed outside with him saying nothing. His color was getting more ashen and the spot on his shirt was getting larger where the bag again was leaking. "Steve, let's go change your shirt before the transport get's here." He allowed me to help him back into the house. He stopped in the kitchen at his chair and I continued back to his room. Steve had stripped his bed but Betty and I cleaned his bed and put fresh white linens and pads on the bed. Two of his pillows were soiled and we simply threw them away while adding them to our mental shopping list. Opening his drawer, I found a clean shirt and turned to leave the room to go to Steve and he was right behind me and it gave me a start. He was trying to get to his bed (and he wasn't using his cane) and he couldn't go any further. Usually he walked around the bed and slept on the left side. His strength gave out and he fell onto the bottom of the bed on the right side. I told him he was fine where he was and to just rest before he scooted around to end up on top of the pads. The phone was ringing. My grandmother walked the phone back to Steve's room and she placed it on speaker. His nurse, Nicki, was going to walk us through changing the urosomy bag. I put on my gloves on and I lifted his shirt to look underneath. I finished pulling the bag completely off and was trying to follow directions. She made up her mind and just told us to cover him with a towel and she was going to come over. I held his head in my lap and stroked his head while we waited.
He told me his dad was there with a beer list. "Order up then Steve" I answered.
Nicki helped us with a new bag and I was watching carefully how to do it so I could do it by myself next time. She helped get him cleaned and changed again before the transport arrived. The infection was oozing from his body in newly opened wounds. I was glad that he was going in. They needed to give him IV antibiotics or shots to get that under control or he wouldn't make it. She checked his vitals 104/61 (not so bad) and his pulse was a little high but not real far out of whack. She was glad he was going in because he needed it. He was exhausted after being changed for the third time today. His pain was high and it was time again to give him more morphine. The doorbell rang.
The transport was here. They came through the house and looked at the different accesses, they realized the easiest way was to go right out his door and walk the sidewalk next to the house and across the front lawn to the van. Betty went to get the keys. When she returned she began working the lock. It was obvious she was having issues with it. So, one of the men walked over and said "let me try." He continued to shake the lock and twist the key so hard he thought the key might break. "We'll have to take him through the house," he said. I walked over and said I would mess it while they brought the stretcher in. I couldn't get the lock to budge and gave up. They brought in the yellow stretcher and took it back to his room. They lifted him with a sheet and buckled him securely onto the gurney. They wheeled him out through the kitchen. They loaded him like they had for hundreds of other patients. We all pulled into traffic. Betty and I followed the white van closely to the hospice. As they pulled him out of the back of the transport, I asked him "How are ya doing there, Steve?" "I'm alright" he said. "Watch your elbows Mr. Veatch." said the deep voice of the black man. Steve crossed his arms across his chest like they would in your coffin if you lived in the pioneer days. As I walked through the front doors, I heard the receptionist telling the transport his room was D1 and we continued walking straight to it. The nurse stopped us at the station and said to sit in their waiting area while they got him settled.
Grandma hadn't eaten all day so I thought it was a good time to feed her. They had a little cafe down the hall that we could grab a sandwich and a drink. I am a bad girl and I bought me a Dr. Pepper. For the most part, I have quit drinking pop. However, today I needed more caffeine to keep pace with today. When the nurse said he was settled, we went back to his room. The nurse practitioner was assessing him when we returned to the room. She had started a Delontin (I know I am spelling that wrong but it's the one that is a synthetic morphine) drip complete with a "joy buzzer" for self administered pain medication. She explained to us before she left. "I need to use the restroom" he insisted. Agitated and taking the blankets off him and trying to pull himself up on the side rails. The nurses had placed a bright blue mat (like we used to have in kindergarten for our nap times or a tumbling) on the floor next to his bed. Apparently they've been through this before that the patient tries to get out of their beds without assistance in some way trying to confirm they can still do it themselves. We called the nurses back into his room and they walked right on top of the mat as they came to walk him to the restroom and assist him with his needs. When they walked out, we walked in to speak to him but he was already asleep. We sat in chairs reading magazines and I pulled out my laptop to work. Grandma finally said, "Okay, let's go home. He is deeply sleeping and he is so exhausted, we should go. Let him stay here and get his symptoms under control and we'll come back." I felt trepidation but I am here for her every need. In God we trust. So, I got up to kiss him and I returned to his bed side and again held his head to my chest and kissed him and kissed him and kissed him on his head. " I love you so much Stevie." His mother walked up behind me and I moved for her to reach him. "I love you, Son."
"I love you too" he responded with much effort. I was walking and looking through the window and he was leaning up to get a good look at us. I held up my hand and he held up his to say "see ya later."
That is my last memory of Steve.
No comments:
Post a Comment