It is 1:04 a.m. and I am sitting with pop in his hospital room at Christian Northeast. He got out of ICU two days ago, but I wasn't here because I came down with a temperature and sinus headache. He was moved into a nice semi-private room on the 9th floor where the nurses are wonderful, but overworked. They have about six patience each to attend which doesn't sound like much but most of them are recovering surgical patience's like dad so they need a lot of attention.
Today the doctors ordered a PCXR, video swallow to see if dad could keep the food and drink from entering his brochi, but he failed the test, so he has to remain on a feeding tube for at least another two days. This so depressed dad that he was difficult to deal with for most of the day. Nothing made him happy...nothing satisfied him. Not that I can blame him. He thought that he would only be in the hospital 3-5 days and we are on day 9 and it doesn't look like he will be making it home anytime in the next 4 or 5 days. Sometimes, especially late at night when I am sitting with pop here in the hospital, I can't help but wonder if this has been worth it to him. Is the possible extra months worth the agony he has been fighting through for the last 8 days? I selfishly think "yes", but as I watch him struggling to get snatches of rest as he labors to breath, I think "maybe not".
Today, we will celebrate my sister Patty's birthday. She is older than me by 18 months. I feel bad that she will not be with her husband and children to celebrate, and is instead going to be relieving me in a few short hours. Patty did double duty here at Pop's bedside when I got sick, staying 14-18 hours at a time. Neither she or I are as young as we like to think we are and our age is quickly catching up to us.
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