No Fever

I was brought up to think that was a good thing. It meant you weren't sick. Turns out it can mean you simply aren't fighting what's making you sick. If you live long enough, your body can quit making white cells, the ones that fight infections. That is definitely not a good thing. And this is what they think is happening with my dad.

His doctor for the day called from the hospital. His pneumonia is worse. His nurse says he is getting weaker, but they're going to get him walking, provided he can suck in enough O2 to make it work. Taken together it means they haven't given up hope. Or they're going through the motions. The outlook is not good, but the doctor was unwilling to commit to pessimism. Everything I was hearing said it's time for the family to make those last visits, but she specifically wouldn't say that.

I asked.

Perhaps she's young and that's hard for her. Perhaps she knows something she's not saying. Perhaps she's scared - of death? of our reactions? of her own failure to cure every time? Who knows?

But tomorrow my brother and his wife are driving down, and staying overnight. They'll head back home before the next expected winter storm blows through on Wednesday.

They'll get to see his cool room with a couch (bed?), microwave, and 'fridge in it. It seems made for family to stay with a patient. The staff even offer free supper for family along with the patient's meal. The nurses are all very attentive, helpful, and make frequent visits to his room. I asked if he could have a radio brought in so he could listen to WCCO, since the TV is not useful. She found two. The first had no antenna and emitted only a hum. The second had an antenna but still emitted only a hum. Today there was no radio sitting by his bed even pretending to be of use. It freed up table-top space for all the other things that could be of use.

They have special coverings on his calves that alternately blow up and deflate to improve circulation, but his feet are still cold, even with all the extra blankets. There's a dry-erase board by his bed with the day, date, and names of his nurse and his other assigned assistant, whatever the jargon is that they use. Not that he can read it, but family can, so we know whom to ask questions of. Once I brought it to their attention this afternoon, the date got corrected for the first time since he was admitted. Not that he noticed, but they were consistently a day behind. How do you keep changing it and getting it wrong? Are they just so programmed to add one that they don't stop to think?

Tomorrow I'll be back at work, but unless it's icy again like this morning, I'll stop in to visit him first, and then again after work. The ice didn't melt until after two, so I delayed my visit this afternoon. Going down an icy steep hill into Taylors Falls and back up into St. Croix Falls is not my ideal way to arrive at the hospital, but likely as effective. Going home again might easily be delayed, however. They might put us in adjoining rooms, though.

For now, it's just one day at a time, seeing how things go. Planning for his return. Planning for not. And just hanging in there.