Mick McKellar Update--Day +34
The last remnants of a crystal day are passing away outside my window. I do not remember much of the bright day -- I spent most of my time coughing.
Marian had a chance to go shopping at the local mall. So it was "caregiver recreation day." She could not spend very much, but really enjoys the shopping (and a few hours away from me).
Care-giving has to be one of the most stressful jobs in the universe. I admire as well as love my wife for being my shadow and my support since this roller coaster ride began. I doubt any of you would recognize me when I am in "full patient mode" and any and every little pain must be mollified and ministered-to. She hears the same medical reports and the glowing results with my numbers...but she also sees me sitting in the dark at 3:49 AM, trying desperately not to cough anymore so that I can get a little sleep. She sees, because all the noise I make, wakes her up as well.
Mealtimes are the worst. She will cook something for me, something I "used" to love...and I will push it away after a single bite. She asks me what I want, and I can only say: "Nothing." We both know I have to eat, to fuel the body, but I feel no hunger at any time. Most things taste awful or like sawdust mixed with ashes. Yet, she keeps on trying to find things I can eat. During all of this, I am surly and disagreeable. These are the times Darth Mick goes over to the dark side of the force.
The unthinkable...
A gentle man at the transplant house, caregiver to his wife, a lung transplant success, had accompanied her here for a regular check up only a few days ago. He lost her last night when they had to "pull the plug." It really can happen that quickly, to any and all transplant survivors. It's beginning to look like I will survive my transplant and I am doing well (if a bit leaky and noisy at the moment). But, truly I could take a nap any afternoon and not wake up again.
I can live with this because I have faced death twice already in this illness, and found nothing of which to be afraid. I fear the cough more than death. But I worry about leaving her after more than 39 years of marriage. You become attached on so many levels, from physical to spiritual.
Death watch...
I stood the death watch in 1990, when my mother passed. She was in an hepatic coma and would never come out. A cancer survivor, a bacteriological infection picked up in hospital killed her in a week. My Dad decided to pull the plug and we waited for her to stop breathing. When they finally declared her dead...it was the only time I saw the great stone face crumble into dust and weeping.
So, when I start feeling sorry for myself, I think of that death watch, I think of the gentle man -- now alone, and I think about my caregiver.
Tomorrow will be another long day of tests and meetings. I have to fast tonight (no big deal) and drink no water after midnight (big deal). I hope to finally get some more details on their blood testing tomorrow morning.
Sunday means no post, but I still get messages, e-mails and calls. Thank you all for connecting with us. Thank you all for praying for us. Thank you all for thinking about us.
God bless you all, and good night
Mick