The Blog of mamapolo

Last night I was in despair, in The Slough of Despond. My husband's white count was slightly elevated, he was still extremely agitated, and did not seem to be in touch with the reality I am in at all.

The doctors said if he did not calm significantly, he would have to be returned to ICU, since they do not want to sedate him anymore, both because of the psychological effects and because those medications depress the respiratory system.

The idea of returning to ICU, which is wonderfully effective and reassuring in the early throes of illness, but which begins to feel like a constricting, blinding-white entombment after two weeks, seemed such a failure, such a step backwards, that I felt I could not bear it.

I asked a couple of friends to pray for me, that my faith would strengthen. I do not often have what I consider to be mystic experiences, but this morning I woke with the vow of Job ringing in my ears, as though it were a voice coming out of the clock radio. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

Like the comfort and embrace from Delta/angel in the hospital restroom last week, it buoyed me. Reassuring and loving messages from friends helped, too.

I spent the morning making arrangements to take the Corgii in to visit their master tomorrow, and calling my physician to ask for prescriptions for some soothing medications for me. I headed for the hospital after those chores were done.

My husband was sitting up in a chair when I arrived and smiled and took my hand. "Is Abby still here?" he asked.

"No, but she's coming back tonight to spend some time with me."

He nodded. "Vacation?"

Ah! We were once more on the same planet. He will not be dancing any jigs anytime soon, and he is not reciting the Declaration of Independence, but once more I am feeling positive.

The doctor said, the pneumonia no longer shows on the x-rays, and the game plan now is just to get him stronger - get him up in the chair, then taking steps, then walking the halls.

After two exhausting hours in the chair, my husband was returned to bed and shortly fell asleep - REALLY asleep, sound, 'restorative sleep' as the mattress commercials say, not the fitful, restless, tossing and turning of the past two weeks.  His 'sitter' looked at him and said, "He's a handsome man."

I said, "When he's in his form, I think so, but I wouldn't care if he looked like a troll. He's a beautiful husband."

The entire floor plus several of his doctors are anticipating the visit of the little Corgi elves. Photos of them on my husband's cork board in each of his rooms have made them semi-famous in the hospital.

I am writing this down so when I have another faithless moment, I can read it and be ashamed of myself.