Another Saturday Night And I Ain't Got Nobody

Well, the last 24 hours have been a whirlwind. Jenny took her sweet time leaving her psychedelic therapy, such that I had to meet her at hospital around 7:30ish last night, more than 2 hours after she finished therapy. She was so weak and in a foul mood, when I greeted her at the ER. She demanded a wheel chair, looking quite glum and snapping at me. I steeled myself.  She did not want to go in, she hadn't eaten all day, she was so weak she couldn't walk, and just didn't want to be there. I get all of that, but I also understand she was bleeding internally.

We were taken back in an instant. 7 people came into Emergency Room Bay 12 almost immediately. Getting her on the bed was hard, but she did it. They were poking and prodding and sticking her all over the place as soon as she got the gown on. At first I thought it must be a slow Friday, but then I realized they were worried.  They drew blood and the hematocrit, hemoglobin, and platelet count were ridiculously low. It took a while for the results to come in, but when they did, the doctor was right there. She had to check to see if Jenny was passing blood. It was evident right away that she was, the doctor said--and because it appeared to be digested, was an upper GI bleed. So, the doctor spent the next 20 minutes trying to persuade Jenny to be admitted. The internal bleeding would require a CT scan and a scope. The scope wasn't going to happen until, at earliest, today. As she talked, the doctor told Jenny she would need a transfusion. Jenny immediately wanted to know if this could become a regular need. She sounded worried, verging on a panic attack. The doctor told her it could become a regular issue as chemo is indiscriminate in the blood cells it kills. Jenny asked if she had to get transfusions 2x a week, as the doctor suggested might be the case, if that would mean she would be denied chemo. This was her chief concern, that she would be cut off from chemo. I now understood the fear in her voice. The ER doctor told Jenny she is married to an oncologist who works with Dr. P. She explained that it is quite common for people receiving chemotherapy to get transfusions. Jenny's concerns evaporated. She consented to be admitted.

 The doctor was amazing in her bedside manner, and that very much helped Jenny reach the decision. The doctor did note it was entirely possible the scope would not be done until Monday, but she wanted Jenny here for observation. They sent her to get a CT, and I left when they brought her back to the ER.

I pulled her chart this morning, the internet is wonderful. Not so wonderful, her blood problem worsened significantly in the night. Her hematocrit, hemoglobin, and platelet counts had crashed since measured in the ER the night before. She was sleeping when I saw the record. She called sometime later to tell me her numbers were very bad, and she was getting scoped right away. The results came back. No upper GI bleed. This is very good news. They gave her 4 units of blood. She may be discharged tomorrow if she is stable tonight. But, they haven't done anything besides give her blood, so if the pattern of crashing repeats, she will have to stay and have her lower GI examined.  We will see.

I spent much of the day with Abby. We watched the final episode of Hawkeye, which made her happy. We talked about a February trip, college, Jenny etc. Abby, who doesn't usually emerge from her lair before 11 or 12 on Saturdays unless she has acting, was clearly worried about Jenny because she was by my side at 8, and spoke to Jenny when she called.

My sister came over, I was kind of all over the place with worry. She cleaned Jenny's room--I asked her to do so because it has been bothering Jenny--and she brought groceries, did laundry, and brought dinner.  

I spent a lot of time texting with Jenny's friends today. Jenny has asked her friend Heather to be at our house when she is dying. I made it clear to Heather that Sheila is not welcome to be there. I will suffer through Jennifer Murray (who knows I loathe her), but Sheila will never step into my house. Heather started to explain to me how much Jenny will want her there--and I explained she is not welcome, will not be welcome and will remain not welcome unless I die first. If I never see Sheila again, well, that would be good for her self-esteem, let's just say that. She has less of a chance of being welcomed than the odds that anyone could fit a camel through the eye of a needle. Jenny will be high as a kite in her final hours, as one typically is when they are dying. If she asks for Sheila, I will tell her she isn't here yet. I will not countenance it. She didn't just help Jenny and travel with her to Vegas, she betrayed what I believed was a deep friendship with me. She is persona non grata. 

My sister and I walked to a park a mile or so away today. Its the longest I have walked in a long time. It was pleasant, in the cool winter air, the sunshine out, and almost no wind.

If I could describe this ride, it is like the jerky, "Flight to Mars" that was at the Seattle Center for so long. Every turn consisted of a jerk, every traverse another. Jenny is going from one cancer jolt to another. I am along for the ride, and hating every twist and hard turn.

When Jenny called me this afternoon after her procedure, I had my phone in my hand. Her name came up on the screen, and before I could answer she hung up. I called her back as soon as I saw her name, and she didn't answer. I texted. Nada. 20 minutes later she calls. My cynicism runs deep, as I seek a logical explanation for that turn of events. I didn't ask, why should I? To what end? Fuck my life.

Below is Nick Lowe, on tour for Party of One in 1990, my favorite album that year, released around the time Jenny and I started dating:


 


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