Regular Room

When I got to the hospital this morning, E. was sitting up in a chair, trying to eat some "cream of crap."  He had some great color and just seemed to be doing better overall.  Even his voice seemed stronger.  We had several longer conversations, rather than the short choppy question and answer sessions that he has typically been having.  When it was time to take a walk, E. pushed the wheelchair around the nurses' station twice.  He was more stable on his feet that he has been in weeks.  It was a huge improvement.  I think he tuckered himself out though, because he didn't last much longer in the chair before he was back in bed and dozing on and off again.  His voice was back to being weak and raspy, and conversation was minimal again.

I missed the GI doctor, but E. claimed that the GI doctor said everything looked good on the Upper GI.  God bless the man, but he doesn't always get the information right, so I was hoping to track down the GI doctor myself.  I never did find the GI doctor, but the Internal Medicine doctor came in and confirmed that all looked good on the Upper GI.  There didn't appear to be any obstructions.  E. was given clearance to begin a regular diet and try to eat whatever he wanted to try.  She was concerned that he hasn't been nor is he eating enough.  She thought that E. might get to go home tomorrow, but the GI had thought maybe the next day so I'm not sure who will win out.  They served chicken, rice, vegetables and a roll for lunch.  E. ate about 6 or 7 bites of chicken and probably half of the roll.  It was very difficult though and he had a tough time getting it down.  Afterwards, he was nauseous and had to take some anti-nausea medication.

There was some confusion if E. could move to a regular room or not.  Because of that IV medication that E. is on that helps stop/prevent internal bleeding, hospital policy sometimes dictates that patients need to remain in ICU to be monitored (policy seems to change monthly).  It was finally confirmed that E. could be moved to a regular room, but his heart would need to be monitored via a telemetry unit.  Turns out, he was going to a room on the fourth floor and not the oncology unit after all.  We had to wait several hours for a bed to finally open up.  As they wheeled him down the hall to his new room, we passed numerous empty rooms and vacant beds on both sides of the hall.  I'm not sure what exactly the hold up was, or if they just wanted to make sure E. had an extra special room.  Because boy was Room #405 "special."

Room #405 was a tiny room.  A tiny room with two beds.  A tiny room with two beds and no chairs.  A tiny room with two beds and no chairs and a roommate.  A tiny room with two beds and no chairs and a roommate with dementia.  I found two chairs to drag in and wedge between the foot of the bed and the bathroom for E.'s dad and myself, but had to move them every time dementia roommate had to use the restroom (like every 10 minutes) or whenever a nurse came in.  Dementia roommate kept getting in and out of bed and wandering around the room, striking up conversation.  He kept telling me how he worked there, while his hospital gown kept flapping in the breeze (yes, I got flashed repeatedly).  He'd been on this job for 18 days and finally got the light in this place working.  He wanted to search through E.'s bags because he couldn't find his tools.  He kept asking me for his next job and for the schedule.  I didn't know what to do, so I played along and I asked him if he ordered all the parts already.  We had quite the conversation about the jobs that were lined up to do.  He wasn't happy with the schedule I had worked out though because he had to get to L.A. for his next job.  The entertainment value wore out after about 20 minutes.  E. slept through it all.  Or pretended to sleep through it all.  Grandpa didn't have his hearing aids in so missed most of the fun.  Eventually, I could take it no more and strolled down to the nurses' station.  After chatting with a few people, E. was transferred to a private room down the hall.

E.'s been having some trouble with his IV's.  His right arm is completely shot.  He's got so much scar tissue there (from chemo, past infiltrated lines, cellulitis, blood clots, etc.), that no blood can even be drawn from that arm.  He's now on his third IV on his left arm and it just went bad tonight too, so they're going to have to start yet another one.  He cringes every time the lab shows up to draw blood and I immediately go on the defensive.  Oh, the advantages of having a picc line or a port.

Dinner looked tasty, but one bite told E. otherwise.  It had bell peppers in it and those of you who know E., know how much he despises bell peppers.  E. requested a peanut butter and jelly sandwich instead, but one couldn't be found.  The nurse did find a turkey sandwich instead, so E. got a bit of that down.  Hopefully he'll get a decent night's sleep.  We're both crossing our fingers that he'll be discharged tomorrow, or the next day at the latest so he can be home for Thanksgiving.

(P.S.  Today's bilirubin level was back at a 3.8.)