Continuing

Dad is still in the hospital.

It’s getting harder and harder as it goes. Mom goes twice a day and is trying hard to keep his spirits up, but poor Dad, every time they touch him it causes him pain.

His skin is like tissue paper. They have to move him every couple of hours so that he doesn’t get bed sores. He’s got cracked ribs, a surgical incision and a drain in one side. They take off all of his covers, and roll him this way and that. But he has no insulation, no padding. He’s cold and it hurts. His arms are covered with bruises from taking blood or putting in IV’s.

He hardly gets comfortable when they come in and hurt him in some other way. When we went in this afternoon he was crying. He was tired. He hurt everywhere and couldn’t get comfortable. Mom had talked him into letting them wash him earlier and he was exhausted and cold. He couldn’t get comfortable

Both Mom and Dad seem confused more often than not. Today Dad told us that a couple of nurses would come in and tell us what had happened that day, but the doctor came in and gave us an outline of what was done. Mom kept asking when the nurses were going to come and tell us what happened. I couldn’t seem to get across that the doctor had already told us. Mom wanted those two nurses to come in and tell us. One finally did come in and go over what happened and gave us exactly the same story as the doctor had. I feel like I need to be there just to act as interpreter. Between being hard of hearing and the accents of the different people it seems like neither of them understands half of what is happening.

I still remember that the surgeon said that the emergency room staff did a good job on his resuscitation. No one else does. When I asked the doctor if he had been resuscitated the doctor tried to tell me his ribs were cracked because of the myeloma. He didn’t answer my question at all. I got the feeling he was afraid that I was going to try to blame someone for something. I’ve had CPR trainiing. Cracked ribs are almost inevitable.

I keep getting the feeling that what we’re doing or asking to have done is wrong. I touched his hand today and he gasped and pulled back. Every time anyone touches him it’s to hurt him. Poke a needle in him, take his covers off, pull tape off his skin. Every touch is another assault. What makes it worse is that he seems more and more lucid. He is actually getting better. Whether he can stand what it will take to support his body long enough for him to heal, I just don’t know.

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