Ted's continuing trip to hell, Chapter 2

Ted's continuing trip to Hell. September 12, 2009

Ted returned to the Assisted Living Home and seemed to be doing better. For a week, I brought him home everyday to use the computer and talk on Skype to his family. On Saturday, August 29, he checked out of the Assisted Living Home and moved back home. Sunday, he began to feel worse and by noon, he was in bad shape; cold, clammy, shaking, and feeling nausea. I called the doctors at the Home and they recommended taking him back to the Regional Hospital. All the way there, a good forty-five minutes, he shook. By the time we arrived, he was perspiring so much his clothes were soaked.

Arriving at the hospital, I tried to get a wheelchair. First, I beat on the door to the Emergency Room, but they sent me to the front desk. There was a line many people deep, and slower than molasses in the winter, and Ted was sitting in the hot car. Finally, one man came to my aid and yelled over the line to some mysterious person in the back. We got a wheelchair and several people helped get Ted into it. He was pushed into the waiting room while I parked the car. Then, wait, wait, wait. He was perspiring so much, he was afraid he would slip out of the chair. Finally, when it seemed every other person in the crowded room had been seen, Ted was called. He was too tall to fit on the table, but managed long enough for them to get in an IV.

After about an hour they moved him onto a bed next to the ICU, while two liters of fluid dripped in. I asked if he were going to spend the night, and was told yes. By now I needed to eat, and there was no cafeteria at the hospital, and since it was Sunday, there were no little restaurants open. I prepared to leave and was told I could not leave. I must spend the night with him. (I had dragged a plastic chair in from the hall to sit upon.) Another patient's wife spoke English and she told me I was expected to spend the night in the chair, or sleep on the hard tile floor. I explained that neither of these options was acceptable and, as I am the same age as Ted, I needed to eat and sleep at home. I had started home when another nurse chased me down the hall trying to get me to spend the night. Finally, I just walked out thinking I would see him in the morning.

Shortly after going to bed, and right after I had fallen asleep, I thought I heard Ted call my name. I woke up thinking that this must be one of those experiences where you hear your partner calling out to you just as they were dying. Then I heard him again at the front gate. Both he and the man in the bed next to him had been kicked out of the hospital about 11:00 pm. The man and his English speaking wife had driven him home, as they lived only a few blocks away. Glad to be home, and hungry, we stayed up late, talking and eating.

Monday, he awoke feeling as good as his old self. After showering, without the aid of a chair or me to dry him off, he decided to make a pot of chicken soup. All through the day he was feeling strong and able, but Tuesday, he awoke feeling terrible. The doctor from the Home came and gave him another liter of fluid, but it didn't shake the terrible feeling. His appetite was gone, replaced by nausea, and his hands were shaking so hard he could not hold a glass to drink. Unable to walk, I pushed him from bed to the table and back, using the office chair. Panicked, I called his daughter and said we must get him back to the States tomorrow. I also called his old friend and doctor in San Francisco and told him what was happening. He replied that Ted should have as many IVs as possible before he flew home. The daughter called back and said that the earliest we could fly to San Francisco was on Thursday.

The next two days were spent getting IVs into Ted, and making arrangements for someone to come in to feed the dog and kitten. We didn't have any more suitcases, since the ones we had purchased in China years before (for the hefty price of $10.00 each), had literally fallen apart by the time we reached Puerto Vallarta. A trip to several stores, and finally to Costco, solved that problem.

Each night I would climb into bed wondering if Ted would make it through until the morning. Finally, Thursday arrived, Ted got his IV, showered, and started to dress. Loosing forty-five pounds meant that we could have put two of Ted into his jeans. A pair of my elastic banded pants was found, and we were ready to go. I warned him, no retching, no moaning, at the airport. He could do anything after we were in the air, but nothing must keep us off that plane.

At the airport a wheelchair and attendant were found, and they were beneficial in getting us to the front of a long line. Boarding the plane with a small wheelchair, we were seated in the last row, closest to the toilets. Ted sat, with a bit of a yellow look, unable to even drink from a cup. The flight attendant found two small water bottles, which he could hold to his lips without spilling.

The three and one-half hour flight was almost more than he could bear. Finally, wheeled off the plane, into a regular sized wheelchair, we waited while his daughter got the car. The trip from the airport into San Francisco and the California Pacific Medical Center took about forty-five minutes. There, we wheeled him into the Emergency Room where they took blood and started another IV. As soon as the lab results came back, he was admitted. His magnesium and calcium levels were so low one nurse told us he should have been dead. Another two days in Mexico, and he would have been. (For the next six days, he had up to eight different bags of minerals and electrolytes dripping into his arm. At one point he had one in each arm.)

The next morning his color was pink again, his hands had stopped shaking, and his appetite was back. He had been slowly starving because his intestine is unable to absorb food or liquid. No one, in Mexico, had checked any levels of minerals, just kidney functions.

Now, he has been moved into another building in the same hospital group, where he will be given nutrients by IV. Eating as much as he can, they are hoping some little bits will be absorbed. When he has gained twenty pounds and gotten his strength back, they can operate and reverse the iliostomy. Meanwhile, life goes on, and I am back home in Puerto Vallarta, Friends can only be imposed upon for so long. and the food in the refrigerator could spoil and rot. The kitten is missing, and I was not here to pay the water bill, so I'm hoping that on Monday, when I go to the main office, there won't be a problem. I talk to Ted three or four times a day, and can't wait until he's fixed: well and strong.