Accident and Emergency
[Note Accident and Emergency is what the call emergency rooms in the UK]
have you been here waiting long?
--from Accident and Emergency by Lucy Wainwright Roche
What a weekend. Can I even remember all the events, I'm not sure. So, Ill just touch on a couple of things. Yesterday Jenny and I spent the day together all around Seattle and Renton, ending up at the Jacob Lawrence Exhibition at SAM in the afternoon. We went with Jane and Mike. I like SAM much more than I used to, both its standing and traveling exhibits.
 |
| Benedict Arnold |
In the evening, we continued hanging out, watching What About Bob, one of the great Bill Murray movies, with Leiney.
We were out again this morning, Sunday, the two of us running around before we met with a financial advisor, who us helping us understand how to better plan for retirement, and who
Jenny had been planning on leaving for the day to help her best friend paint the interior of her home, in preparation of sale. Amy, her closest friend, is moving to Rhode Island, where her husband has landed a job at Brown University. I know the sting of losing a best friend. Amy was diagnosed andsurvived osreosarcoma when in junior high school, losing a leg in the battle. She is an inspiration for Jenny. Amy is the only child in her cohort at Ronald McDonald House to survive the deadly disease. She has been a rock in Jenny's world.
So Jenny went to her bedroom to change into painting clothes and collapsed on the bed in pain. Abject pain. Excruciating pain. Agony. I went to her. She was almost unable to speak. "We are going to the ER," I told her. She argued, or tried to argue with me, anyway. She promised Amy she would help her paint. She had to know that would be impossible. Her sense lf obligation to her friend, however, was bona fide and understandable. Togwther, the two have been through thick and thin. I suggested she call Amy and let her know she had to go to the ER, and Jenny relented. I got her in the car, and drove like a January 6th protestor fleeing a warrant. We were at VM in no time.
Jenny sobbed all the way, the pain was so awful, clearly wanting to scream. It was the kind of pain I am pretty sure I wouldn't survive, but she is Jenny. In the waiting room, aptly named at any hospital, the staff initially moved with the speed of a 95 year old DMV employee on valium. Jenny cried in unalloyed agony. I put her in a 👩🦼 wheelchair, so she didn't fall over. The medical records clerk, seeing Jenny's affect, finally came to help the one admitting representative. Sunday downtown during COVID-19 is empty as a ghost town, the 8 or so people who showed up as we waited to be seen, likely comprised a large contingent of those city-dwellers.
Staff were really noticing Jenny now. The triage nurse was impatiently pacing, and lookong around the corner at Jenny, clearly wanting to help, but hamstrung by the waiting room bureacracy. I held Jenny's hand, the admitting rep, finally free to help Jenny, hurriedly puts a wrist band on her, and the triage nurse all but sprinted to get us to triage. We were in an exam room a very few moments later.
The CNA, the nurses, the rad tech and doctor who were in the ER were all . incredibly helpful. I held Jenny's hand as the doctor interviewed Jenny, as the nurse started an IV with lactated Ringer's, and they got morphine on board. Her pain was a 10. They believed her, and went to fix that ASAP. Meanwhile they told herna CT was in order, and soon they took her to get filmed.
The CT scan results came back while Jenny was in the bathroom. The doctor told me that the scan showed nothing new, but did reflect that Jenny's hepatic metasteses had all grown since the last scan 6-7 weeka ago. I asked, knowing the answer, if the doctor needed to tell Jenny about the increased size of the mets, because she gets her scheduled scan next week anyway. This news would devastate Jenny. Of course, the doctor is duty-bound to.disclose. I was just worried about Jenny having to deal with such news, after having so much hope after her appt. last Thursday.
Jenny took it poorly, as poorly as anyone would. The doctor stayed and comforted Jenny for a long time. In fact, her shift had ended some time before, but she stayed and held Jenny's other hand, kneeling by the gurney, listening quietly to my wife's lamentations and speaking softly, if at all. "I'm too young to die," Jenny said over and over. The doctor asked, how old are your girls at home (clearly demonstrating she had read the detailed case file notes, we hadn't discussed the kids today). I kept fecklessly rubbing her back, holding her hand.
Death is on our minds constantly. It feels like a dogged debt collector you are always trying to avoid, but who knows your every move and shows up, always the unwelcome guest.
The doctor also told Jenny that she believes the pain is likely from the pancreatic tumor being wrapped around the superior mesenteric vein. The pain, known as referred pain, shows up not at the site of the tumor, but elsewhere and is classified as."referred pain." An additional or other cause of the pain may have been from taking too much senna at once, an herb with laxative powers.
I got Jenny home, and with lots of medicine her pain is controlled.
It's after 2 a.m. I am tired. Jenny has lots of pain meds on board and is likely asleep on her fancy mattress.
I on occasion get terrifying texts from Jenny, that she probably doesn't understand as terrifying until I explain it to her when she isn't medicated.. I woke this morning to a text from Jenny saying she took two dilaudid and two oxys because her pain is out of control. First order move upon awakening, run to her room and check to make sure she is breathing and warm to the touch. The anxiety this causes is great.
Speaking of anxiousness, I have become super anxious lately, even when I am not aware of it, flinching in the car, feeling generalized anxiety when I am just sitting down. It's annoying. More walking is in order.
Comments
Post a Comment