Part 142 Too weak to stand?


July 2011 is coming to a close, with hurricane Don petering out somewhere off the coast of Padre Island. My weight has suddenly shot up to a still paltry 153. I wonder how this is even possible. I sleep pretty well on the last night of the month, but still run to the bathroom on two occasions to throw up. Becah leaves in the morning to get the kids from CC’s house. While she is gone, I give myself water, electrolytes, and food. I manage to get out of bed and bathe unassisted. My voice is good. Vital signs are impressive (blood pressure 116/82; pulse 88; temperature normal). All in all, positive.

I get a call later, though. My mother must return to the hospital for bladder surgery. They are taking no chances with the suspicious particles they detected there. Not with her history.

By evening the positive vitals are looking less so, with blood pressure and pulse dropping to (respectively) 97/50 and 73. I am popping a few Tylenols to keep the temperature in check too.

I begin August in this shaky condition as I drive to the speech therapist’s office for a session. I am tired and don’t feel very confident behind the wheel. My voice is erratic, and the tube is slightly leaking. At the office, the therapist continues to stimulate my throat electrically and work with me on swallowing exercises. She looks at me earnestly, but I have a bad feeling that I am not getting anywhere with any of this.

At home I drop to my knees in front of the bedside table to move a magazine, only to realize that I am too weak to stand up. I manage to pull myself up with support. I knew I was in pretty desperate shape, but never realized how much. My j-tube starts stinging, so I lay down again.

Later I solicit Becah’s help in tossing out magazines that have accumulated for months. I am suddenly struck by feelings of the purposelessness of all the things we store up in this life, and how little they really matter. Since I’m a “keeper” by nature, Becah worries if my sudden discarding of objects means I think I don’t have much time left. I have had days where I wondered this, but today, even though I am far from my best, is not one of them.

To prove my point to myself, I work out with Becah, using meager five pound weights, which is at least something. I have no fever all day, again a positive sign.

The next day I creep onward, making a few work-related calls, doing some light exercising. I actually feel stronger today, despite my low blood pressure. Then I make the mistake of checking on our financial status. Some missing statements, and some unexpected bills. I bring all this up to Becah at the wrong time, and suddenly I find myself in combat again. Another money battle. But eventually I see we have acquired some checks that I had not accounted for in financial estimates, and it looks better than I thought. After the smoke clears, we drive downtown to meet with Dr. Bl-, Jacob, Jim, and Allison – the “A” team. They think I look great (or do they believe that just saying it will make it so?). After checking out my tube and neck, the latter which they feel is closing well, someone writes a prescription for antibiotics and Becah and I head home. The car is filled with our talk of hopes, fears, frustrations, and tears that are the remnants of all this.