To be able to sit on the sofa in our home and have our dogs snuggle in, our grandbaby chattering away, and our kids talking … well that’s a bliss we had definitely missed.
Our week at home was busy and sped by rapidly. We cherished every second. Knowing there was a storm brewing in the Gulf, we weren’t quite sure where it would make landfall. The only certainty was we’d make it to Houston before it. We drove all day, made it to the apartment, and prepared for an early morning at the hospital. More tests.
Tuesday we had to be at the hospital by 6.30 AM, and Richard had to be awake at 3:30 AM to drink water for the upcoming test. He found it hard to go back to sleep. That made him tired. He was really nauseated and couldn’t keep down food. I was worried about dehydration. We talked about it. He didn’t feel he was dehydrated, but agreed to go to the ER if the nausea persisted.
We’d talk about visiting my mom a couple of hours away to escape the storm, but Monday night I’d decided it was best to stay, get provisions, and ride out the storm in Houston because I wanted him close to the ER.
On the way to the appointment he was winded and I got him a wheelchair to finish the waln . He told me he could make it, he just needed to rest, yet I got the wheelchair anyway. Thankfully, they’re all over the place at the hospital.
He sat in the truck while I bought groceries. We went back to the apartment. He waited in his chair as I brought in the sacks and put up everything. He was too tired to help, which isn’t like him. With little sleep and not being able to keep anything down, it was understandable.
He’d requested chili, and I was happy to oblige. After 3 bites of garlic butter Texas toast, he was done. The nausea was too much. I thought he kept down a protein drink late last night and this morning, too. But he didn’t keep down this morning’s. His medicine didn’t stay where it was supposed to either.
He hadn’t slept well again. I packed for the ER. He slept. He slept well. I let him finish out his nap and then we left.
I packed bags because he never gets the long 4 hour ER visit or the irritating 24 hour observation stay. No he gets the luxury week stay or longer.
As it stands now, this will be a 5 day stay. They took him straight to a room in the ER. I was thankful. The waiting room was full. They brought him the same drink as yesterday morning. I asked if he had to redo the same test that we didn’t have results back on yet. The doctor came and spoke with us. They could get immediate results, plus they wanted to compare the two CTscans. Okay. Well, I’m glad we consented. They found a blood clot.
This is the longest he’s gone without having labs drawn in 10 weeks. I was worried about that when I realized, but everything looked good at the last draw. On August 29th the doctor said everything looked fine. “Go live your life, but stay away from people.” That was her direct quote.
He needed a blood transfusion. It’s still running as I type. One of the great things about that is, the nurse comes in hourly and takes vitals, so we know he’s getting looked after.
One of the big questions Richard has had is when will he get a PETscan. Well, we finally know that answer. Tomorrow.
He’s not feeling too perky. Understandably so. It always takes 2-3 days for the transfusion to make him feel better. It’s never been immediate. I know he didn’t want another stay, but we both know it’s what he needs.
The hurricane missed us and landed next door in Louisiana. We hope everyone remains safe. We’re appreciative of the gentle rain here. The rain was quite strong with what sounded like bands of rain early this morning on the apartment window.
He’s resting comfortably and enjoying some sleep. Prayers for healing, as always, are appreciated.
His next chemo is in a few days. We just don’t really know anything right now, other than what I’ve shared here.
Thanks to all who took time to read this update. I always strive to make Richard laugh or smile daily. I’ve succeeded the last few days. His laughter and smiles have lighted my world. I know this is so hard on him. He’s been fighting so hard, and has so many hurdles to overcome. I’m so proud of his continued strength.
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It’s hard to believe that I wrote that last week and didn’t finish or post it. We truly had no idea what storm was truly brewing. The team determined that they’d do many procedures. they only accomplished one. We were surprised to find out earlier this week that his cancer had quit responding to the new treatment. He chose a new one and we were ready to get that started and keep going forward. He told the doctor that he’s still fighting. They only gave him the first two doses. Then we dealt with postponed procedures.
The first whole day in the hospital is usually extremely busy with people with various colors of scrubs fluttering in and out of the room. We only saw the nurse and PCT on their normal check ins. It felt odd. We tried hard not to be frustrated with his doctor for once again promising so much and never making good on what she said, along with the usual wait, wait, wait to get everything finally done in a long drawn out fashion.
She never changed the medicine from the ER, so that ran out and we had to wait hours for him to receive medications, including any for pain. His pain level was at an 8. Since nothing was scheduled Friday, next came the weekend and we both knew there’s be no action and we were informed of that, too.
He needed another blood transfusion and he felt really good after that. He had a reaction to a medication that made him super drowsy and he slept a lot. As usual, give him a day then he was fine. He colored with our granddaughter and played games on her little toddler tablet with bugs and insects. He soaked up every moment of attention and snuggles. I told everyone his best medicine had arrived when she bounded through the door calling out to him, with a baby doll in one hand and outstretched arms.
The kids came to visit for a few days then went back home. He was doing well. Still waiting for the procedures they’d promised. They had drained the pleural effusion from one lung and were supposed to drain the other side that Monday. We were patient. They put in a catheter and he stayed in bed.
A lady with a tablet rushed in and wanted consent to put the filter in to protect him from the blood clot. We were relieved to finally see forward movement. They also wanted to put a drain so the pleural effusion wouldn’t build up in his lungs anymore. They’d planned on several other things. They never did any of those things, and it became harder for him to breathe, so they changed him to high flow oxygen. Respiratory was coming in every 4 hours. An X-ray showed he had pneumonia they thought, but the doctor admitted he’d never seen anything like it before and wasn’t quite sure. His pain had returned to the normal level. He was still feeling okay.
After that, an over zealous RT created havoc for him and made many mistakes. She tried to say his oxygen had fallen and was low, but blood gasses showed differently. Richard and I both fought everyone telling them it was a sensor error. It was 96-97% when she came in and caused chaos. We had people in the room wanting to intubate and do all this stuff. Richard and I stood side by side and fended them all off. It was like we were being attacked by hungry lions. They took blood gasses and we waited for the results. It was fine. 96% and 100%-there’s two different readings and both were great. She had turned up his oxygen to 100% so the doctors had said he could not receive treatment at the level. But it wasn’t supposed to be on 100%-the chaos the RT caused was known, but no one corrected the oxygen. I fought hard, so hard for them to correct the mistakes that were made. But we had to wait and see and blah blah blah.
The doctor came in and said he didn’t have long to remain on this earth. We were both shocked. He didn’t give a time frame. We were given a preliminary PETscan result. And the next day, the doctor let me know that he only had 24-48 hours left. And probably more like 24. He wanted to go home on hospice care. A few hours after the more shocking news, he told me he was ready to go home to Heaven. He had fought valiantly. This entire journey he fought hard, with grace, strength, determination and a fierce love for his family.
He waited for the kids to arrive. His brother came, too. We had beautiful goodbyes. He let them know he was ready for Heaven and he waited for his complete healing. In ten short hours from being told he had probably a day left, he finished his hard fought journey. In typical Richard fashion, he thought of the family that was coming so they could see him one last time.
That afternoon I’d begun hearing music. I was shocked the nurses would let patients play it that loud. I was busy spending our last moments together. The music persisted and I opened the door. There were no nurses in sight and it was silent. Desolate. I returned to his side and the music was even louder. It was choir music. Beautiful choir music. Different songs. Some songs were louder than others. Others in the room heard the choir, too. Richard entered into Heaven with a beautiful choir welcoming him early the morning of the 19th.
We appreciate the love, support and prayers you have shared with us during this journey.
20 Years For Richard 