Hope Spot

Dearest Rachel –

It’s happening again, honey. He’s gone through a low ebb where it basically looks like only a matter of time. And yes, I realize it’s only “a matter of time” for all of us before we join you and everybody else in the hereafter. You know what I mean – at a certain point, there’s this understanding that we need to brace ourselves to say final goodbyes, make plans for funerals and tributes and whatnot. Stuff we don’t do for ourselves and others on a general basis – although, maybe we should. It’s not like there aren’t plenty of songs telling us to live like we’re dying and such.

I digress.

The thing is, when I left him on Monday afternoon, it felt almost final. I didn’t quite have the nerve to bid him “helsa hemm” and let him know I wouldn’t see him again on this side – I still wanted to get Daniel over after Sparks, so he could see him once more, too – but I had to let the leaders know about the situation. If nothing else, everyone was asking me how I was – you know, as a customary pleasantry, not because they knew what was going on – and I felt myself at a loss as to how to answer. At the time, I considered making that perplexity the topic of a letter to you, but in the middle of club, that wasn’t going to be a possibility… and by morning, I had a whole other story (if not a whole series) to tell you about, which is going to take time to lay out in its own right.

Again, I’m getting ahead of myself. We got through the usual night’s activity, and while Daniel and I make a habit of visiting the Cubbies room to observe and extract Erin once she finishes her own club duties – just like the three of us used to do, you’ll remember, but the habit has gained a different shade of color with you gone. And with the club splitting between Des Plaines and Randhurst at the beginning of the calendar year, we’re not going to be seeing each other like this for much longer, so there’s that, too. But with the knowledge of Dad’s situation, Miss Joan shooed us off to get to the hospital. “You need to be with your Dad – Daniel needs to see him.”

As much as I would have wanted to stay for a few moments of conversation, I couldn’t argue with her. We would be lucky to get there by nine, and I had no idea when visiting hours would be over at the hospital. We made a beeline there (it’s nice to have it so near to home, unlike your having to go to Springfield for your dad), only to discover the front entrance locked, and the front desk empty. Visiting hours had been over for at least an hour already. We could have stayed with Erin and Joan, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

I texted Mom about this; she was still up in Dad’s room, but she’d been there more or less all Monday. She let me know that she would call if anything happened to Dad in the night, and with that in mind, I turned my phone off of silent mode for the night. Despite the fact that I still average forty calls or so every weekday, I’ll give them credit for not calling at night. If the phone were to wake me up, I’ll know what kind of news it was.

Although… I did get a call as I was settling in for bed, from Lars. He’d left Dad’s bedside an hour before I had, and wanted to know if there were any updates I had. Given the relatively short time difference between our departures, I informed him as best I could, but admittedly didn’t have much to tell. For his part, he mentioned a point in time when we were both there when Dad’s oxygen saturation fell below 80% for a dangerously long period of time. “We came very close to losing him,” he said.

It’s not the sort of thing one appreciates hearing, honey.

On the other hand…

I woke organically yesterday without having been roused by my phone. Nothing had happened to Dad overnight; Daniel and I could still make it there to see him. Meanwhile, I found myself trying to remember some of the stories he would tell as we collectively let our Thursday evening repasts digest while I waited for Daniel to wake up so we could go (and besides, I was up well before visiting hours were likely to start). 

I had warned Daniel of the decline in Dad’s condition and appearance. While he was aware that ‘Poppa’ has been getting older and more frail over time, the change since, say, the last time he was at the table with us and Mom (which was the Thursday before last, as he slept through our meal last Thursday – which should have been an indication right there that things were amiss) would be dramatic, and he needed to be braced for that fact.

But when we walked into his room, he could recognize us, and even greet us. “Son! Daniel!” It was still garbled, as if he had mush in his mouth, but it was more than he had been able to say all of Monday. It turned out that he had been sweating profusely much of the night, and they had brought in a unit to keep the room cool so he would be comfortable. That sweat was an indication that the fever that he’d had was breaking; yesterday showed him at 37°C (give or take a tenth of a degree) for the whole time I was there, from eight-thirty to three-thirty – which is longer than I usually stay at the ‘office’ on a given ‘work’ day these days, ironically. They’d also rewired his oxygen input such that his saturation levels stayed fairly consistently above 90%, apart from an occasional hiccup.

In short, it seemed as if he was getting better. They even administered a specific experimental Covid medication that was for use specifically with infectious (as in, dealing with other infections, such as pneumonia and the like) cases – the doctor recommending the stuff spoke of a threshold that a patient would need to be to merit this particular treatment, and that Dad was so far above that threshold that he’d not seen a patient more qualified for it than him. I’m not sure how to take that, but the fact that he spoke of knowing whether it was effective based on how the next few days shook out spoke volumes right there. As of Monday, we thought it was over already; to talk about how he might be in a day or two – as though he had a day or two, at the very least – felt like more than we should be able to expect.

And yet… I don’t know how to feel about this.

We’re getting a brief glimpse of hope that he’s recovering, yes, but does that mean that he might come home from the hospital in anything other than a box or a body bag? How long will it take for him to recover – if he recovers? There are so many questions surrounding us right now.

And what about Mom? She was in his room all Monday night, barely sleeping for more than five minutes at a time. When we got there – and shortly thereafter, were joined by Jenn – she could go home, get a nap in, and get herself washed up and changed, but much of that time, Dad was calling out for her every five or ten minutes (at least, when he was awake). This couldn’t be easy on her. I think we could do in-home care, like we did for your folks, but that’s a decision for a little further down the road. He still needs to be able to function without all the life support accessories he’s currently hooked up to in a way that would make my computer rig at home jealous, if it could feel such emotions.

Meanwhile, I’m not sure what I can or should do. I find myself exhausted at the end of the day, to where I don’t engage in my usual soporifics, but it also leaves me short on the reading I ought to be doing. I woke up early this morning to tell you about all this (and I’ve put off another of Dad’s stories that I’d started earlier in order to do so); it was either this or going to the gym, so you can tell where my real priorities lie. My body is considering sending my brain a thank-you card, but it doesn’t want to call attention to the choice, either, lest it respond with a real workout tomorrow or Friday. And while Kris offered to come over to clean another day, having her over today gives me a strict schedule for this morning; I can see her in, head to the hospital for about three hours, and then return home to pay her. After that, maybe I need to do some more Christmas shopping before returning to Dad’s bedside, and spell Mom again for a while. 

I can also update myself – and you – as to how things are going, since it does seem that they change from day to day. I will admit, however, that when you’re there, at his side, there isn’t much to relate; it’s just when you step back and take a look at the bigger picture, that you see whether things are improving or not – as well as the questions that accompany each different turn.

Like I said on Sunday, honey, I really wish I could see a glimpse of what things look like a few chapters further in. Barring that ability, though, I’ll have to just keep asking you to keep an eye on us, and wish us luck. As you can see, we’re going to need it.