Satsuma

Sherry endured an MRI last night. She was clearly exhausted, her exhaustion exposed by the bright lights at the nurses’ station where Sherry lay on a gurney waiting to go back to her room.
Our oncologist will review the results with us this morning.

Sherry slept most of the night awakening once experiencing generalized aching that seemed to abate with a couple of Tylenol. She woke up about 6:30am. I showed her some photos of a pond that she and Nancy Allison had built at the convent in Georgia. The pond had been restored and the photos revealed a peaceful, meditative place. I also showed her some of the photos of our home. Her smiled as her memories were tweaked by the digitally captured season and occasion.


Sherry is sleeping now much more time than she is awake and her periods of wakefulness typically consist of her resting against the back of her raised bed with her eyes closed. She is unable to move her left leg, and manipulating the silverware and determining the position of the food on the plate and the items on the tray have made it harder for her to feed herself. She delighted in eating some Satsuma oranges. I peeled them for her, one after the other, and watched while the cold juice from each of the sections burst sweetly in her mouth. She nodded and opened her mouth indicating, “More!” until three of the Satsumas were gone. There are more waiting on the cool windowsill for when she wants them.


Sherry’s voice is weak and hoarse. The steroids, or perhaps the oxygen she was receiving while in ER, seem to be drying out her throat so she is reluctant to talk, and it is difficult for me to understand her when she does. I clearly understand her smile, her open eyes, the nod of her head, the squeeze of her hand, and her softly vocalized, “Um, hum.” Talking on the phone is beyond what she is able to do at this time. 


The hospital bed is set up in our living room at home. It has on it an air pad whose panels alternately inflate and deflate that should, along with diligence, prevent pressure point ulcers. Cheryll and David Blair, my sister and her husband, found a mattress pad and sheets that fit the bed for us, and I have Patty Evan’s quilt ready to keep the bed warm. Sherry is the only missing item. There hasn’t been any indication that she will be released soon. That is a mixed blessing. Of course I want her home and she wants to be there as well. I watch as the team of caregivers here in Oncology kindly and promptly respond to Sherry’s needs, medical and physical. I know that care for Sherry when she returns home will be beyond my capacity to deliver. I am anticipating the transition planning so that everything needed for Sherry's care will be in place for when she returns home.