A very quiet Sunday and a very amazing friend.

Steve came out on Steve-time. He was the only person to visit on Sunday and I am lucky that he came.

I'd told Steve that he could stay inside while the nurse visited and we had our discussion of plans. He always went outside to be out of the way.

Ariel, Steve, and I were the last ones to exchange a conversation with Rich. With the systems shutting down gradually, the verbal communication had left him. He still would open his eyes when spoken to but rarely respond vocally to any questions.

Muscle twitches and movements were random now. It seemed that Rich was reaching and grasping for things. [This is a normal part of the body shutting down the control over muscle movements]

His breathing was comfortable. The nurse and I washed him up a bit and changed his briefs. There is a trick to changing sheets and briefs with a patient that can't assist you anymore. I had no idea. Perhaps I should have been watching YouTube for a tutorial.

The nurse decided that we were low on one medication, so we searched for an open pharmacy. I was exhausted from the long night of watching over a very animated Rich who often tried to climb out of the safety rails and pulled off his cannula.

Steve volunteered to run to town only to come back and tell me that the only open pharmacy in our little town had none of that med. The Hospice nurse at the 'hot' line searched and called pharmacies and found one an hour away that had the meds we needed for early morning.

Steve grabbed his keys and set off for a 2 hour journey to get medications for his best friend.

The rest of the afternoon was pretty quiet. My neighbors to the west [the one who brush hogged the pasture] came over with a wonderful array of chopped vegetables, crackers, and cheese. I snacked on those items most of the afternoon. The rest of the day was spent reading a book and nodding off for short naps between medication doses to keep him from having pain in the struggle to breath.

By evening I felt as though I was becoming an expert at catnapping between two hour med doses. 

I kept moving the cannula back on his face and talking quietly to him. 

I told him that Fred [his beloved mule] was waiting for him as well as his father. I retold the story of our meeting and our long distance courtship and asked if he'd greet me on the other side too so we could one day be together forever.

He settled down and finally seemed comfortable.

Progressing

I'm there, I finally made it.

Made it where?

He smiles at me and flutters one hand as if directing someone. It is 3AM, what a magical time.

Later, he stares intently at the the bedroom wall.

Hey. The chair moved. Who moved it. It moved.

I look and the chair is there where I left it earlier. I just nod because no answer is needed, he is just talking about random things. 

Charlie slips into the room quietly and asks to get up on the bed. He lays next to Rich's feet quietly for hours. 

Don't lose the keys.

Ok.

Later.

Wait until things hard up. He nods. I nod back.

We attempt some coffee and some cereal. Then he insists on getting up and I tell him he can't and explain why. It crashes his 02 and rockets his heart rate.

He thinks a while then says.

When CAN I get out of bed?

I'm not sure how to answer this as we've been through it for the past 3 days. He starts to try and get up and I have to tell him.

Not now.

Then when? He gives me a hard stare. When can I go fishing again. What day is it? I want to go fishing tomorrow. When can I go fishing again?

I'm not one to lie so I say.  You may not be able to.

I'm stuck in bed now?

Yes.

Then I may as well be dead. 

I don't know what to say.

Am I dying?

Yes.

Good, then lets get it over with.

We'd had this conversation yesterday about Hospice about dying and how they were making sure this part was not painful. I'd asked him if he was okay with it. He was. I asked if he was afraid. He wasn't. We talked about it for a while because no one else was around to bother us. 

Things changed rapidly from Monday to Tuesday morning. The signs were there. The vacant stares and looks, the non-responses. Yet guess what, we still could eat ice cream or a few bites of it for breakfast. Because. 

Why not? Because ice cream is his weakness. He loves his sweets.

Steve spent the most time with him after the nurse and social worker left. The two old coots chatted and laughed and life seemed almost as if it were normal if Rich hadn't been stuck in a hospital bed. Since the guys loved hunting together for years, Steve brought Rich an unusual pistol with a 16 inch barrel for him to admire.

By Tuesday night he didn't know who I was at times but still let me give him his liquid meds. Lucidity comes and goes. Sometimes he knows who I am and other times not. At least he still lets me attend him.

Alli who has seen him twice a week since he started Hospice came out 'off duty' last night to see Rich and to just give me some company and support. Some people go way above and beyond.

The progression continues with something like a wave of up and down. Good, a little less good, a little more good, a little less good, and eventually ending.

His daughter did show up late in the afternoon with a chiffon cake which made Rich bright eyed. She handed me a piece that she cut and put on a plate and I told her to take it and help her dad eat it. She gave me a side look when I handed the plate back to her. 

Rich loved it and made a right mess of things while eating it. I handed his daughter some paper towels while I went back to washing dishes and folding clothes.

Her husband sat at the kitchen table most of the day at the kitchen table and stared at his phone. His daughter joined him while I tended to things. They had to leave early so they could go out to eat. [meow...never asked if I'd like something...😼]

I'm pretty sure I had some sort of expectations of them other than them parking themselves in my kitchen for the day.

So it goes. Family Dynamics can be strange at times.

The Progression continues. It could be a couple of days or a couple of hours. But I am here and that is what is important to me.