A Visit

Today was my one day off from work this week. Since I had to work this past weekend, I hadn't seen my son since he came back from surgery last Friday afternoon. I decided I would drive down to the big city myself to spend some time with him. This is a more momentous decision than you might think. All these many trips we've made to San Francisco since the beginning of July, my husband has been at the wheel and I've been cringing and cowering in the passenger seat. My husband is an excellent driver; it's me!

Somewhere along the time line of my life, I became one of these people who fear driving on freeways or highways at super speeds. Thoroughfares where drivers seem to interpret the name of the freeway; i.e. Route 80 or Highway 101 as the speed limit. There was a time thirty or so years ago when I used to zip up and down Highway 101 when I visited my parents who lived in Sebastopol on a regular basis and we lived in San Francisco. I never thought a thing about it. The simple fact is that when you stop doing something on a regular basis over time, you get out of the mind set, the habit and driving skills it takes to handle the traffic. (Traffic which has multiplied in the last three decades, let's not forget.)

My husband's job of the past few years has turned him into an excellent driver. Still, I have my personal fears as a passenger and try with all my might not to flinch, brake or cry out loud when I see something that I think needs these reactions. I've learned to try hard to knock it off because these things are exactly what would lead us to disaster. In spite of these fears, I wanted, needed, to see my son, Mike. Yes, that's his name, Michael.

In a nutshell, I made it to his hospital room and back home again. We're always tougher and made of sterner stuff than we think, aren't we? Apparently, I am. My personal mettle's been put to the test this summer and that is no lie. It wasn't so much a visit as being a visible presence. Most of the time, I sat by his bed and read my book as he drifted in and out. Mike is still hooked up to many different tubes. However, the oxygen and catheter tubes are gone and that's a little something good. The nasogastric tube is still firmly in place pumping out lots of nasty looking, greenish-black bile that won't pass through his intestines. If they took this tube out now, he'd just throw up the bile so he has to wait until the fluid coming up through the tube clears up. He has a feeding tube inserted into his stomach down through the other nostril. Nothing's been introduced into this yet but will come in time. The PICC line is still in and his diet continues to consist of a bag of sodium chloride, a bottle of lipids and a large bag on T.P.N. (Total Parental ?! Nutrition) Yum!

He needs to get out of bed, move around and walk. I impressed this upon him while I was there and we took two walks while I was there. He needs to do this on his own. This is what he has to do to get things moving.He's angry, sad, frustrated, fed up and just wants to sleep all the time to escape the pain and boredom of the life he's been living for such a long time now. I understand all that and I tried to impress upon him how important it is for him to get up, get moving on his own. Make a schedule, set a goal. Yeah, yeah. He knows this is what has to be done and yet, doesn't want to hear it. I understand that too. How long can you listen to, "hang in there, son." "This won't last forever". "Be strong, be brave, this will come to and end". And so on. How would any of us deal with hearing this positive, supposed uplifting speech day after day? Jesus! This guy is so young. He just turned 18 before this hell on Earth began. I look at him and all I see is someone who's half there, wasting away and looks like something from The Borg. Any Star Trek fan will know what I mean. Please, please send good thoughts our way. We could all use them.