Fair Winds and Following Seas

This morning I dragged myself up to McKay Dee.  I stayed away Sunday, as this cold had me dribbling and ripping and puking.  After a load of Tylenol and Benadryl (Mexican benadryl FTW), I took a Lyft. When I got to the room, I saw Jeremy had made a bed of the recliner chair, and had pushed it next to Larry.  He had stayed all night with him.

As the morning wore on, the nurse came in with morphine and more morphine.  We took off the oxygen mask as it wasn't doing much. There were other drugs, mostly to relax his breathing and make him not so mucous-y.  Spoke with the nurse practitioner, shared some photos in my photobooks.  Discussed options.  He said he couldn't give us a time but thought it might be in the afternoon.

Larry's breathing became more erratic.  Jeremy sat taking his pulse.  I sat on the other side and held Larry's right hand, also keeping a finger on his pulse.  His heart was beginning to slow and skip.  He gasped, and his heart stopped.  The he gasped again, and his heart beat a couple more times.  And again.  And again. "Dude, seriously?"  Each time his heart stopped longer and longer between.  Finally, he quit drawing breath, his heart stopped beating at all,.  Larry was gone.  1120, the nurse practitioner was almost correct. 

The aids came in and cleaned his up and put on fresh linens and a fresh gown.  They were very caring.  We wait for the eye donor nurse, ad she did a lovely job.  His eyes will help someone in need, and further research.  We waited for the mortuary men.  They looked very Mormon in their suits and ties.  As we left, I noticed the body bag on the gurney intended for Larry was a plush burgundy velvet with gold zippers.  Fancy.  I got a good long hug from one of the aids, whose name I am blanking on.  She had cared for Larry when he was in for his biopsy too.  Like most who met him, she adored him quickly.  That was nice.

This was a wicked quick cancer.  Just a week ago he was still talking to us.  A few days before that, he was up and walking around.  My head and heart have not caught up. 

Fuck cancer.  We had a charmed life, and were going to spend the last of our years traveling.  Looks like I'm a solo act now, the Third Widow.  Whatever shall I do with myself?

No rainbows on this horizon

Larry was tired during E-11, and in pain from his shoulder and neck.  We thought he has heat exhaustion.

To cut to the chase, he has lung cancer. It spread rapidly into his spine, liver, kidneys, and adrenal glands.  Hs is lying in McKay-Dee, with a catheter and IVs, running fevers, with pneumonia, in pain, so much pain.  Hasn't eaten in days, is largely non-verbal or unaware, usually restless.  We only get so many days as inpatient.  But he cannot go to a skilled nursing facility if he needs a sitter, and he does.  He tries to get up, he tries to pull out his IV or cath.  They have no in patient hospice care.  I need to double check, but if I pull such measures as his antibiotics and saline intake, and they're only treating for pain, they have to discharge him.  If so, he goes to home hospice.  HOME.  With a hospital bed in that tiny front room (where do I move the stuff to? How?) and ungrounded outlets, and no door into the hall, and no AC, and with only 35 hours a week of professional medical assistance. What the fuck good does that do him?  And I am fairly certain I will crack. 

If I had a pet in so much pain, I'd be at the vet, sending them over the Rainbow Bridge with love and kindness.

Fuck this.