(This is the fourth in a series reflecting on how life changed in a way that was–and still is five years later–unfathomable to me.)
Things were slowly getting back to normal as Terry continued to improve, but her other medical problems did not politely step aside during the convalescence from the liver issues.
Her vision had worsened, and we visited an eye specialist in preparation for eventual cataract surgery, her pulmonologist was treating her for COPD, an oncologist was keeping an eye on a so-far-benign lump, and a podiatrist was helping with her hammer toe, a condition surgery had not helped.
In late June, we made another of our trips to Jefferson for Terry’s ongoing treatment of her esophagus. Every few months, Terry had an in-patient procedure done to burn lesions on the esophagus to prevent cancer.
It was tedious getting her into Jefferson on the busy Philadelphia streets, but we made it. That was encouraging. In a way, it was nice for her to get out. I hated that trip to Jefferson, but today I was just happy that I could help Terry in any way I could.
And then, of course, there was COVID. We were distancing and masking all the time. In preparation for a procedure in early July, we had to drive to a parking lot in the Navy Yard in South Philly to get a drive-through COVID test.
We celebrated our eldest son’s birthday with a backyard swim day at our pool and a cookout on the deck. Michael turned 38 on July 9. We were still masking and distancing, but it was a good day with Michael, Faith, and Dom.
Terry continued to lose weight as she lessened her water retention. I remember seeing her with her back turned to me after she came out of the shower. She had curves! At this point, she had dropped about forty pounds. The downside was a dozen or so daily trips to the bathroom as diuretics and laxatives did their things.
Terry driving to physical therapy was routine now, although I always held my breath. I made trips each week to visit my mother. I could also keep my various appointments and leave her alone. There were no more falls. One of the therapists had given us a how-to-get-up plan. Thank goodness we did not have to implement it.
In an ironic health twist, Terry and I both had echocardiograms done in mid-July. She passed. I did not.
I had been having issues while exercising, and I knew something was going on. Same type of sensations I felt before my 1995 heart attack, which resulted in stents being placed in a heart artery, and in 2017, when the original stents had to be opened again.
On the 20th, Terry and I drove to Grand View Hospital for another stent to be put in. This time in a different artery. It was going to take a few hours, but I could, hopefully, be home that night.
Nope.
I had to stay because they wanted to monitor bleeding, meaning Terry, who had driven home alone, would have to be on her own overnight and drive back to pick me up the next day. I suggested asking a friend to come and get me, but Terry felt confident enough to pick me up.
Good news, bad news for me.
Terry was never the greatest driver in the world, and she gave my new stent a white-knuckle test as we trekked home.
Late in July, we visited with a foot doctor. Terry knew his family from the Shore. She had a good time reminiscing.
As August rolled around, we made definite plans to meet our new grandson with a rendezvous at the Ocean City house in September, and we had a positive visit with the pulmonologist–Terry’s lungs were functioning better.
On August 10, we went for a CAT scan as part of the ongoing monitoring. Terry was a little shakier than normal but got around with her walker, and she seemed alarmingly tired the rest of the day.
And that night was the last night we slept in the same bed.
The Q-View 