On the woods and being out of them

I’m stealing a moment on the ICU computer to get an update into the ether. It’s warranted. It’s a good one.

The doctors put off surgery overnight to just observe Krissie and see how she would do on her fluids and meds. She’s on a saline drip and some antibiotics — not freaking Cipro, which is what probably caused this awfulness — and she is slowly, so slowly improving every time we see her, which is every four hours or so during the day. We have to get suited up in gloves and gowns (but not masks since the bacteria in question aren’t airborne) and then toss that shit before exiting. Then we scrub up with soap something fierce. C. diff is a nasty bug and Clorox will kill it but who likes taking Clorox baths? Not me.

The not having to have surgery thing is huge. It is the difference between being able to sit leisurely on the toilet for your constitutionals and having to shit into a bag through a hole in your side. Huge difference.

At this point, still, any little thing could go wrong and trigger emergency surgery. Her doctor told her, “You’re not going anywhere this weekend” so that’s that. Her ICU bill is going to cost more than several of my houses and she doesn’t have health insurance. I don’t want to politicize this horribleness but I really hope this makes some of the more “poor people don’t deserve a free ride!!”-leaning people in and around my family think twice about the implications of that statement.

I’m venting. I shouldn’t vent. I’m exhausted. I’m tired of every television in this place being tuned to FOX and seeing Glenn Beck’s pasty jowls spewing badly acted untruths. I’m tired of bitchy old ladies enforcing the rules (lights out! give me your linens! no running! you can only come through this door once after 10!) because it’s the only thing that gives their lives meaning.

I just want her out of these woods; I want her clear to the other side of the meadow. I want her to ride a unicorn across a rainbow peoplemover into the next field, even further away from these woods that are frought with IV drips and beeping monitors and people with clipboards. I had to stand there and listen to her tell my mother her end-of-life care decisions and who she wanted to raise her children were she to die this weekend and my face was dripping wet because I wasn’t allowed to wipe my eyes with my gloved fingers. These are things you never imagine you will ever have to confront but they are moments just hanging out and waiting for their time.

The nephews are handling this pretty well. They’re goofballs and act silly rather than show any fear or pain. They have new shotguns to play with. My dad knows how to placate adolescent boys with firearms. He is a professional dad.

He’s worried, though, about mom. She has been here the whole time and sleeping on the super-hard pullout recliner things. She had a rough morning today, with a bit of a headache and some stiffness, but she worked it out and felt better midday, even though she’s clearly exhausted. She is coasting on mama-bird instincts and she is not leaving the nest. Dad’s worried that she is going to crash when she eventually lets herself come home for the night. That crash, if it happens, will be bad. And dad will lose it if he has to take care of her and Kris. I am here with mom to help prevent that crash.

When I was little, she used to say, “Be my legs!” and get me to run piddly errands for her. Now I look at her when I can tell she needs something, and smile and say, “Be my legs!” and she knows better than to argue with me about who is going to make that three hundredth trip back out to the car. Every little bit I can do for her helps, I hope.

I have been trying to keep the dozens and dozens of family and friends updated about what’s happening but cell service is so, so spotty in our waiting room and internet’s even more sparse. I feel like I’m forgetting people or falling behind or not saying thank you to everyone who needs to be thanked but we are all just blown away by the outpouring of love we’ve felt. All of you who’ve wished my sister well — we are so grateful and it has meant so much. I told her the internet was rooting for her and she smiled big and then rolled over and asked me to harvest her crops on Tap Farm. That is a good sign, friends.

Krissie has been a trooper’s trooper through this whole ordeal. She is one of the strongest people I have ever known and I am so very fortunate to share her blood and her raising. She has taught me so much and I want to remember her strength through this ordeal the next time I think I am hurting. I don’t know pain. I don’t have any clue about pain.

Tonight we sleep in the hopes of no overnight phone calls from her doctors.

Tomorrow, if Kris stays stable and/or gets better, I might go home if for nothing else than to change out of this dress, which I’ve been wearing since before noon Wednesday, through sweat and sleep and other vastly more fun things. So suck on THAT, Bonnaroo.