We're home now after our trip to Michigan. We're both still glowing with all the memories we shared during the family reunion. The trip was good for both of us but especially for Dennis. And now that we're home, I'm noticing small changes in the way Dennis moves around; I can tell it's really becoming a struggle just to walk around the house (still using his cane, of course). He's also using his Bi-pap machine to help with his breathing, even all the way through the night. It took a while to get used to it, but both of us are able to sleep with the machine going, though truth be told, it's not very good sleep. But whatever it takes...
The "perfect storm" hit the pool team. Marquita had a major motorcycle accident during her motorcycle training with the SFPD (police department). She tore three ligaments and her ACL in her left knee, along with bruising her tibia. She's going to have to have surgery, then about eight months of recovery time, so her pool-playing days for this season are over. Carl came down with pneumonia and is in the hospital. Kate is gone for two weeks with her family on a trip around the country, and when I got home from work today, Dennis was not feeling well at all and said he didn't want to go to the pool match. Which left Humberto and I to play a 16-game match, but giving away eight forfeits. Surprisingly, we both played really well and walked out of the match with an 8-8 tie, winning all 8 games played. The following week, Dennis was able to go to the match, but after that, he just couldn't gather the strength it takes to go up and down our front stairs (35 steps from the front door to the sidewalk - even harder coming back up). So, what this means is that he's now for the most part home-bound. He certainly can't get out on his own, and I have to work (sure it would be nice to be independently wealthy, but dream on, right?). Dennis has retired from playing pool, after 26 years of being in the league with me. The matches seem strange, not seeing him sitting along the sidelines, cheering each of us on as we play.
The calendar has changed over to November, and the MVP Tournament is approaching. I had asked Humberto to play, as we have a history of asking the highest ranked player on the team to represent us at the MVP. But he had been having back problems, and begged off playing. As the 2nd ranked player on the team, I was next up, but I was wavering because I didn't want to leave Dennis by himself. He convinced me he'd be okay though, so on Saturday November 5, I drove downtown to play in the tournament. Before I left the house, Dennis was tired and went back to bed for a nap. I popped in to kiss him, he was dozing, so I kissed his forehead and said, "See you later."
I've won the MVP Tournament three times over the years, and usually do pretty well when playing in it. Much to my surprise, I was bounced from the tournament without winning a match; in fact, I didn't even win a game in the two matches I played, a very rare occurrence for me. I was scratching my head on the way back to the car, trying to figure out what had just happened. It all became clear the moment I walked in the door at home. From the living room, I heard Dennis say, "Is that my Rick?" His voice had a very troubled sound to it. While I was taking off my jacket, he came around the corner from the living room, and he was in tears. "What's the matter?" I said.
"I've been so worried about you. I've been having trouble breathing since I got up, I tried calling you on your cell phone, kept getting voice mail, and I've been frantic that something happened to you."
"I've been at the pool tournament. We talked about it last night and this morning."
"Oh my god," he said, gasping and covering his mouth with his hand. "I thought you had gone to the grocery store and I've been worried sick, because it usually only takes you about an hour, and it's been almost 3 hours since you left."
I rushed over, giving him a big hug. "I'm sorry dear. If I'd known you didn't realize where I was going, I should have specifically said, 'I'm off to the pool tournament' none of this would have happened. It's all my fault. I'm here now, what can I do for you?"
"I think I'm coming down with bronchitis. I've been coughing and having trouble with my breathing. At the least, I need some cough medicine. Can you go get some for me?"
"Well, of course I can and will. I might as well go to Safeway, get it there and do the little amount of shopping I was going to do. I can get both out of the way. I'll be back shortly. Why don't you just recline in your chair, try to relax. I'll find something for you. I'll be back before you know it."
I was practically in tears on the way to the store. I felt just terrible, even though I had done nothing wrong. To think I had accidentally caused him so much pain, I was very distraught. I raced through the store, found some cough medicine, and hurried back to the house. I gave him a dose of medicine as soon as I returned, and it did seem to alleviate the symptoms, at least a little bit. Later that afternoon, he looked at me and said, "I don't think this medicine is helping me all that much. Can you call a nurse at the hospice?"
"If that's what you want, of course I will." I called the hospice, was told they'd contact a nurse, who would then call us back. Less than 20 minutes later, the call came. I told her what was going on, and she said she'd be over in about an hour, as she had to drive down from Marin County. After she arrived, she checked Dennis over and called in for a prescription cough syrup, with codeine, which had always helped him in the past with bronchitis-like symptoms. They delivered the prescription and for a couple of days, it seemed to be helping. By Thursday though, his condition started getting worse. I phoned the hospice so I could talk to his primary nurse, Peter. He said he'd stop by the house and take a look. I got home from work about 3:15pm, and Peter was at the house. We were both concerned, as Dennis's breathing was getting very labored. I tried reaching his doctor at SF General, but going through their voice mail hell of a phone system just pissed me off. So I sent him an email, figuring I'd be lucky to hear from him, but 20 minutes later, he phoned. I gave him the story and he thought it would be best if I took him into emergency.
Peter and I helped Dennis struggle down the front stairs, and I drove him to the ER. I went inside first, and told them I had an ALS patient, struggling with his breathing in the car and needed a wheelchair to bring him in. She told me they'd be right out, so I went back to the car to wait. Within a couple of minutes, there were two aides coming at us, one with a wheelchair. We managed to get him situated, and rolled into ER. I got in the car and went to find a parking spot. By the time I got back into ER, they had already put him in a room, had him on oxygen and a saline drip. His breathing numbers were 86 (normal is between 92-98), so they wanted to do some tests. After about an hour and a half, they were pretty sure they wanted to keep him overnight, so with tests yet to do, I left and told him I'd check in on him the next morning.
When I stopped by the next morning on my way to work, he had been put into a semi-private room. The first thing he said was, "Get me out of here. I hate it."
"I know you do, dear, but we have to keep you here until they know what's going on. What did they tell you after I left last night?"
"They told me I've got pneumonia. They tried having me on their Bi-pap machine, but it's an older model than what I have at home, and they couldn't get it calibrated correctly, so I can't use it. I'm hungry but they don't want me to have any solid foods at the moment. I want to leave right now."
"You can't leave right now, and you know it," I replied. "We have to give them a chance to get you better before they send you back home. Just hang in there. I'm going to the office now, but I'll stop back when I get off this afternoon at three. I love you," I said, giving him a kiss.
When I got back to the hospital later that day, he was napping. So I went to the nurse's station and asked if I could speak to his doctor. In the hall outside of his room, the doctor said, "I'm not sure what to tell you."
"How about the truth? I can handle it. And I'd prefer you being totally honest with me."
Looking a bit startled at my candor, the doctor replied, "Okay. Due to his underlying ALS, we feel he's most likely within his last 6-8 months of life. While there's nothing we can do about the ALS, we want to treat his pneumonia; that will make him feel quite a bit better. But I'm recommending that he stay for a couple of days."
"Thank you for your honesty, doctor. We both realize he's dying, so anything you say is not going to be a surprise, at least not to me. I'm going to go visit him for a bit. Thank you again, doctor."
I went in and gave Dennis the news about him having to stay for a couple more days. He was not pleased. I said, "I'm going to go now, get some dinner and then I'll be back early evening. Just do as the doctors and nurses tell you, and we'll have you out of here before the weekend is over."
When I returned to the hospital after dinner, Dennis was sleeping when I first got there. As I looked at him while he was sleeping, I was shocked at his appearance. I was truly afraid that he wouldn't survive the night, he looked so frail. I had to step out of the room because I didn't want him to see the tears. After composing myself, I went back in the room and sat by his bed, watching him sleep. About 20 minutes later, he stirred and opened his eyes. Seeing me, he immediately smiled. We visited briefly, but I felt he needed rest, so I didn't want to stay too long. Well, I wanted to stay, but I felt it was best if I didn't...know what I mean? It was the right decision, as when I arrived the next morning, his appearance had done a complete 180 degree turn. His color was back, he was cheerful, which made me feel better too. After talking with the doctors, they wanted him to stay one more day, with a possible release on Sunday. Which is what happened. The hospice arranged for an ambulance to bring him home, relieving me of the chore of finding someone who could help me get him into the house. I've never seen a bigger smile on his face as he was taken from the ambulance and carried up the stairs by the two attendants.
"I'm home," he said. "It's so nice to be here. I hated that hospital."
"I know, dear. It's great to have you back home."
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