Impressions

Tuesday night 5:30. We thought he'd be gone within hours. Well, Jrex thought it would take 2-3 days. We hoped he was wrong.

It's Friday evening. He's still hanging on. Looks comfortable, serene even. His breathing has been ragged for two days now.

Every night the four of us, Jrex, his sister, his mother and I took shifts. Agreeing to wake each other if his breathing slows to one time per minute. It hasn't happened yet.

Hard to plan a funeral for this weekend at this point.

Last night, YJ's husband and daughter arrived. I'm sitting in Mom K's bedroom right now with Asian Niece walking her feet up my back. She's four, so doesn't know exactly what's going on. Jrex came home to shower and has collapsed onto the bed and I don't have the heart to wake him.

Each change in status has been emotional: taking out the tubes ('liberation' is the hospital-talk for it), increasing morphine, his breathing changing. Yet between those times of crying and praying we've laughed and teased and told stories.

Sometimes his right eye opens. "Yobo!" (husband), Mom greets him. "Opa," my sister in law says with quiet sadness. "It's ok, Abaji, we love you. You can rest," I say. Jrex watches us all, puts a hand on his Dad's swollen arm and smiles quietly. Over and over again.

Last night, I came home with YJ to pick up her family. I stayed at the house with Asian niece so Writer and YJ could go visit Dad in the hospital. I've never been so happy to 'take one for the team' and 'have' to stay here in a bed instead of propping in a chair with loud nurses right outside the drawn curtain.

"Accchhhoo0! Oh shit!!" was a recent favorite nurse exclamation. "Oh my Gawd, my dahctah hasn't filled my Ambian prascriptian yet." A discussion over the flu shot, "Ahr you gonna take that shat? No one knows what they put in it. They cahn't make me tahke it. What ahr they gonna do if Ah don't?" "Say hello to the judge."

On and on all night long.

Last night the pastor insisted on coming by. We'd avoided it for two days since the pastor kept telling Mom K to keep believing no matter what the doctors said. Mom blamed the doctors. Related that Dad was on his fourth pneumonia, had bedsores all along his right side. Said they insisted we take him off the vent. The pastor seemed ok, though sad. Mom seems better now that the secret is out.

Tonight, I'm back on hospital duty. Good times.