Degrees of Kindness

Hospitals (yes,  we're back in the hospital) create an interesting collection of humans.  When we arrived this morning, there were white,  middle aged,  sick people in the waiting area of the Emergency Department.  This evening,  it is filled with people of every color and size and shape. 

It also creates an interesting collection of machinery,  much of which is attached to TBG at the moment.  Heart rate,  blood pressure,  respiration.... I can watch it all from my chair at the end of his bed.  There are green squiggly lines,  white curves with flattened tops,  blue  mountains, all sorts of numbers in pink and green and turquoise.

There's some comfort to be taken from monitoring the monitor.  It makes up for the fact that I can do nothing to fix what's wrong with him. 

The EMTs came just after my 911 operator told me to call back if he stopped breathing.  That was a piece of information.... what else did she think I would do?  I've never seen an unattractive EMT; I had 7 of them in our bedroom. They poked and proceed and tested and left us the option of going to the hospital or staying home. 

That's when I looked around for the grown up who would tell me what to do.  Unfortunately,  there was no one else there.   

Having spent a night in the hallway of the Emergency Department last month,  I was not eager to repeat the experience.  We probably should have gotten him on the stretcher right then.... but I'm not second guessing myself.  Taking care of me is important, too.  Guilt will get me nowhere, fast. 

He's been examined inside and out as we wait for a room to become available.  I'm trying not to think about why there would be an empty bed at 9pm; discharges happen in the morning. 

And so,  I sit.  I read.  I play Candy Crush Soda Saga. I charge my phone.  I send texts updating family and friends. I do crossword puzzles.  And I watch the graphs on the monitor tell me that he's still alive. 

There's not much else to do.