Egg of life...

Over the past several years, Riley has insisted he would outlive everyone around him. “I’ll live til I’m 103 and be shot by a jealous husband!” That was his mantra. I actually thought he believed this fantasy. It would certainly explain his resistance to accepting anything offered that would truly expand his life. Yesterday the realization hit him that he may not make his goal.

Friday was spent getting the guest room converted into a safe place for Riley to spend the rest of his days. I put up a better, more accessible bed. Provided him with a TV and everything else, including a mini bar, right where he could get to it without shuffling through the entire house. He seemed happy with the new situation.

Very early Saturday morning, (about 2 a.m.), Riley called to me. I thought to myself “Boy, will I ever get a good night’s sleep?” I went to his bed and his breathing was extremely labored. He said he wanted me to hand him the phone so he could call the rescue squad. He wanted to go to the hospital. I hesitated – mentally weighing the options – and then went to get the phone.

I had always said I would not call 911 unless he asked me to do so. The hospice had been cancelled due to a half-point on his lab results. I looked at his body which had swollen since I told him good night at 10 p.m. His color was turning more green than yellow. I punched in the numbers.

At the emergency room, it was determined that he was having a “coronary event.” He was helicoptered to the heart hospital in Greenville. Once there, a heart catherization procedure was performed during which he had to be shocked twice. The results showed no blockage.

It was explained to me that Riley would most likely not return home, even if he survived. Without help there would be no way for me to provide him with the care he was going to need. Also, considering the shrinkage of his brain that was clearly shown in the CAT scan, he would never be able to function without assistance again.

A DNR was established. The doctor then gave me an order. He told me it was my job to go home and get some rest. There was nothing more for me to do at the hospital. If Riley survives the weekend, I was to come back on Monday to meet with the social workers and doctors. We would establish a plan of action at that time.

I had not slept for more than a few hours over the 24. I was worried about driving the 2 ½ hours back home, but decided I would rest best in my own bed. Last night, I slept from about 7 p.m. until 6 a.m. this morning. I still feel like I need a nap. But, it was good sleep. I remember waking up at one point when I heard a thump. My auto-brain told me Riley had fallen. Then I realized that he was not here and I immediately went back to sleep. What a relief it was to know I didn’t have to jump up and see if he was unconscious or bleeding.

It is also a relief to hear that he will not be coming home. On the other hand, I’ve heard that before and I truly, honestly do NOT trust those words. I’ve been right here in exactly this same place before and I am apprehensive about believing what I’ve been told.

Riley’s immortality is being tested. I feel like I’m standing on an egg that is yet to be broken. It must be an Ostrich egg – big and tough. This egg is large enough to provide me a firm place to stand, yet fragile enough to break without warning.  The egg is holding me hostage and I am not able to step off without assistance. I’m not trying to hatch the egg. However, there is an inherent sense of being protective of the egg’s contents. Inside the egg is Riley’s mortality.

I feel that I may be getting the assistance I need to step down from this precarious position. But, I don’t know if that assistance will hold me firmly as I take that step. I don’t trust that predictions will become reality. Will Riley’s mortality stay protected inside the shell? Or will the shell break and spill out? If it stays inside the shell, I will certainly need assistance. If it spills out… I can just walk away.