My Dad heard a story on NPR about whales and communication. Not only do they sing. They compose their whale song. In the deep expanse, the depths of the ocean, something so much bigger than them, they find their way, singing. I'm pretty sure he used this in his sermon yesterday. It's been in my head ever since he told me.
We are finding our way, finding our way through a massive hospital, finding our way through the red tape of insurance crap, finding our way back and forth, work and not working, but mostly finding our way through this illness, finding our own way to handle the pain, the fear, the unknown. I, personally, walk the line between many emotions, sadness, helplessness, bitterness and hope. Hope wins out most of the time.
It's been a rough weekend. Pat has been experiencing some radiation recall brought out by the chemotherapy. He is in pain. Then today, which is six days after chemotherapy ended, he developed a fever. His oncologist recommended a visit to the local ED (rather than the drive to Hopkins)and be admitted if necessary. She made the phone calls and gave specific instructions to the locals, what to do and what NOT to do. By the time I left, he still did not have a room as a private room requires a bit of maneuvering patients around. He had been made more comfortable, given antibiotics and pain relief. I think last nights drive home was longer than the drive to Baltimore, though closer. I left him in an unfamiliar hospital with staff unfamiliar with his illness and treatment BUT I hung on (and still do) to that glimmer of hope because the staff listened, they accommodated, his oncologist and radiologist are always there for communication, for us and for this local staff, and because I have to.
With all I have to do today, digging my feet into the sand and watching and listening to the ocean, to that great, vast, ever moving body of water is a priority.