When we got the message a month ago to get Richard to Houston and into the ER immediately, we had no idea how long we’d be here. We never dreamed we’d be in Houston long enough to qualify for a library card.
We received news about a week ago that an apartment was available. Today is move in day. We went through all the formalities this morning. We signed papers and I toured the facilities while Richard rested in the apartment. Our apartment is across the hallway from our first one two years ago. This time everything in the apartment is wheelchair accessible. We don’t have the nice little patio. A stark reminder that things are different. Somehow we received the one that is fitting at this time, just like we did before.
A month ago I spent hours after he was admitted applying for places for us to stay once he would be released from the hospital and then he stayed longer than expected and then there was the weather phenomenon known as a hurricane that caused myriad disruptions.
About a week prior to finding out we’d get this apartment, we received news that another apartment had a vacancy. We tried it. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t safe on many levels. We left. I decided to make a follow up call to the apartment we knew we’d feel safe and comfortable at and let the director know our dates had changed and that we were still in need of an apartment. She remembered us, told me all the apartments were full, but also told me to be waiting for a call from one of their volunteers. She did not disappoint.
The sun is setting on the day and we’re still at the hospital. It’s been a long day. We won’t get out of here until 10pm or after. Richard is getting a couple of bags of blood. To quote the nurse, “He’s getting a lot of blood.” There are premeds to be administered then the transfusion begins.
It will be a late night. However, we’re relieved not to be so nomadic as the last week or so. I can cook in our apartment–and not in a shared kitchen with people hacking and coughing everywhere (like at the unsafe “apartment”). It’s mandatory to wear masks in common areas of this apartment complex. That helps to keep all the residents safe since everyone is battling cancer here.
Even though we’re eligible for library cards, don’t worry, we aren’t moving here permanently. These apartments limit the time patients can stay here, and we don’t plan on maxing out our time eligibility.
Richard isn’t feeling as well today as he has the last few days. The nurse tells him the transfusion will make him feel better. I’m not sure Richard trusts the nurse’s optimism of what will make him feel better.
He’s been in a wheelchair since we arrived at the hospital today. Thankfully, there’s one we can use at the apartments, too-either short term or long term. He hates that I have to push his wheelchair; I’m honored to.
There’s good days and bad days in this journey. Today has been challenging for him. He’s been through so much, and the doctors keep commenting on how good he looks-especially when they read through all the notes in his chart. That last chemo he just finished was pretty hefty. This isn’t easy for him, and for those that love him.
He’s fallen asleep now watching the Olympics. They just took his vitals so he should get in a good nap before they have to come in again in an hour, and his nurse just tiptoed in as not to wake him. We’re thankful for the nurse and the blood donors. It really is a lot of blood.
This move in day will look much different than two years ago. He’ll rest or sleep while I move everything in, much as he did on move out day after his stem cell transplant. That was so long ago, yet not really.
Time moves weird.
Today is no different.
20 Years For Richard 