February 7, 2022

I actually had enough time at home later this day to get some yarn dyed. Not for good reasons, though; it was actually a frustrating, back-slide kind of a day. I don’t remember but I must have left early just becasue I was feeling pretty overwhelmed. I think at this point I hadn’t had a day off since his family had come down right before New Year’s. (I did wind up taking the next day off, and I didn’t go into the hospital.) I thought something was up when I came in and saw all this gobbledygook written on his sliding glass door… but I tried to write it off as them using Tim as a case study a lot when there were new students, because his case was just so flipping WEIRD.

All the snow has turned to water
Christmas days have come and gone
Broken toys and faded colours
Are all that’s left to linger on
I hate graveyards and old pawn shops
For they always bring me tears
I can’t forgive the way they robbed me
Of my childhood souvenirs

This is what I wrote to family, and if you are poop-phobic, you might want to skip this part and go down to what I wrote on Caring Bridge.

Looks like Tim had kind of a rough night… his fever came back, it’s been about 103 all night. And he pooped, the nurse, said, EIGHTEEN TIMES. Yesterday a doctor told me he wants to get Tim tested for CDiff, I think that’s a good plan. They put him on a new antibiotic, upped the Vancomyacin, and ID will be in some time today to look him over and, if it’s like it has been, tell me they don’t know why he’s still running a fever. They’ve stopped his tube feedings for now, just to get him empty (seriously, EIGHTEEN TIMES????), and they also had to restrain him again because he got pretty agitated during his fever last night and tried to pull a bunch of stuff out again. Sigh.

That’s all I really know so far today, and that’s just from talking to the nurse. Doctors are still doing rounds so hopefully someone will be by in an hour or so to tell me anything else. The nurse didn’t know if PT/OT and RT had anything planned for Tim today — I’m guessing not, what with the fever, but if that changes I’ll let you know.

Every time I unclench my jaw a little at night and let myself hope we’re going to have a good day tomorrow, we get this. So frustrating.

Memories, they can’t be boughten
They can’t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years to get those souvenirs
And I don’t know how they slipped away from me

Here’s what I wrote on Caring Bridge.

Well, I had to jinx it by unclenching my jaw a little this weekend, and hoping for a good week ahead.

Looks like Tim had kind of a rough night… his fever came back, it’s been about 103 all night. And he’s having some things that, well, let’s just say that yesterday a doctor told me he wants to get Tim tested for CDiff, I think that’s a good plan.

Let’s see… last night they put him on a new antibiotic, upped the Vancomyacin, and ID will be in some time today to look him over and, if it’s like it has been, tell me they don’t know why he’s still running a fever.

They’ve stopped his tube feedings for now, just to get him empty… they had to restrain him again because he got pretty agitated during his fever last night and tried to pull a bunch of stuff out again… they put him on a steroid and also something to keep his blood pressure up, because it keeps getting lower than they’d like. Sigh.

That’s all I really know so far today, and that’s just from talking to the nurse. She didn’t know if PT/OT and RT had anything planned for Tim today — I’m guessing not, what with the fever.

Broken hearts and dirty windows
Make life difficult to see
That’s why last night and this morning
Always look the same to me
And I hate reading old love letters
For they always bring me tears
I can’t forget the way they robbed me
Of my sweetheart’s souvenirs

I’m trying not to admit I’m feeling as discouraged as I feel. I wish I knew why he keeps getting a fever for about three days at a time, once a week or so. I wish I knew what was going on in his head, what he’s thinking and feeling. I wish I knew why sometimes he gives me a thumbs-up but sometimes he just stares at me like I’m not there. I wish I wasn’t worried about how much he’s sleeping, even when I know that sleep heals, and that people, post-stroke, can sleep upwards of 18 hours a day. I wish I didn’t get this untethered, dizzy, Twilight Zone feeling when I’m at home, that this whole thing isn’t real, that it’s a weird too-much-pizza-before-bed dream that I’m having. I wish I had a timeline and a checklist and a plan and could put things on a calendar, in pen, like “Tim moves to rehab” and “Tim comes home”. But I know that’s not how crisis works. It’s a sine wave, not a climbing graph. It’s an improv show, not a scripted piece.

In other news? Meh, not much. It’s Monday. I’m tired. I’m touchy. I’m a little down. I’m half expecting there to be another ticket on my car when I come out today, even though I spoke to the Information Desk Dude about making sure the Parking Lot Cops know that I’m there every day to see my husband in the HVN tower, you know, the designated parking lot that I’m parking in that they warned me about not parking in because it’s for visitors to the HVN tower. My lunches are still good. My dinners are still good. The tortoises want some attention. I finished spinning those four ounces of Polworth and got it plied last night. Tonight I think I want to start on some BFL.

So when I got home, I dyed some yarn, I went for a walk in the woods and looked at texture, and later that night I got my first good look at the rando I started calling Chonkosaurus Rex. LOOK AT HIM. HE IS HUUUUUUUUGE. And he’s baby daddy a lot for Mama Shitten, so, thanks for that, my dude.

Memories they can’t be boughten
They can’t be won at carnivals for free
Well it took me years to get those souvenirs
And I don’t know how they slipped away from me

Lyrics by Prine/Goodman
Souvenirs