The Q-View

(This is the second of five in a series reflecting on how life changed in a way that was–and still is five years later–unfathomable to me.)

The diagnosis came back related to an infection and non-alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. Terry’s body was not carrying away toxins as it should, and this was causing a build-up of fluid and, at times, diminished mental function.

Sometimes, she just seemed a little off, not making complete sense. At the time, I chalked the mental anomalies up to fatigue and medication, but it was concerning.

Worse, because of newly implemented COVID restrictions, I could not visit her in the hospital and had to rely on calls from nurses. More often, I called them for updates a couple of times a day. I left her phone, kindle, computer and clothes with a “greeter” just inside the hospital entrance, and the “package” would be delivered to her. Everybody, including me, was wearing masks in public spaces.

Assessing Terry’s mental state would have been easier in person.

Of course, I would also call Terry directly and talk to her. She seemed to be getting better, but something was going to have to be done about the liver, at the extreme end of the spectrum was the possibility of a transplant.

After a couple of weeks, the hospital was ready to discharge her but recommended a stint in rehab.

I picked Terry up at the hospital and drove directly to the rehab in Quakertown. It was the first time I had seen her in two weeks. She was physically shaky but mentally normal. She complained that the aid who had escorted her was rude and disinterested.

We had a normal conversation on the 15-minute ride to the rehab, although Terry seemed tired. It was painstaking getting her into the rehab to begin her indeterminate stay. Same as at the hospital, the farthest I could go into the buiding was the reception area. 

At least this was a little more hopeful. A couple of days, a week, and she would be home, and I was steeling myself to be a caretaker. I knew what that was going to be like because of my mother’s post-stroke situation. Patience was the key, a trait not in my wheelhouse.

It didn’t take long for things to go south at the rehab. I was not happy with what Terry was telling me about her activity–there was not much of it. Again, I was not able to see her in person to assess the situation and her mental state.

Which deteriorated. During one phone conversation, Terry thought she was on a work trip and wanted to know why I had left her alone. She thought I had slept overnight.

I called the front desk and told the nurse/receptionist (whoever I was talking to) that something was wrong with my wife. 

The reply: We were going to have to wait because the one doctor who works the place was not in yet.

Great.

I felt out of my mind. Waiting was not an option, but it was the only option.

The doctor eventually determined that Terry had cellulitis and had to return to Grandview.

Back to square one.