Yesterday mrguy was in the middle of his infusion. We were feeling great after another clean scan and I'd gone to work, which is about 3 blocks away from where he gets his treatments. I got a call asking me to come over there. They couldn't tell me what was happening.
Today it is as if nothing has happened, but at the time it looked like he was having a stroke mid-infusion. His mind got jumbled while he was listening to a podcast, then he lost his ability to control his right hand. He took his left hand and rang the bell. When the nurse arrived he was unable to respond to commands. It passed quickly.
He'd had a small version of this during the previous infusion. And after the last infusion and the one before it he had large fevers.
He took an ambulance and I took the car to the ER. Our issues seemed less than everyone else's, so it took a long time for him to be seen and attended to. He had two brain and neck CTs and then they sent us home. In the meantime the guy next to us who was sucking all of the attention in the ER was complaining about how racist it was that nobody was seeing him. They eventually arranged home health care and transport for him and he got to go home. There was nearby moaning. And the guy who went home was replaced by a lady with congestive heart failure who needed her meds tweaked. This sounded familiar from my dad's problems with the same thing. Except she needed a translator, who was a family member and later a professional translator. I was pretty impressed that they found an Amharic translator that quickly. Once I knew the language I was able to look up where she was from: Ethiopia. If only she'd been at the rehab facility where my mom went those two times. Everybody working over there was from Ethiopia. Reminded me of the kindness of all of the great nurses, CNAs and doctors who worked there. And out of thin air I was even able to remember the name of the doctor: Biranhu. One of the prettiest names I've ever heard. Anyway this inadvertent pocket photo sums up my state of mind.
I found us some dinner in the cafeteria, which was quite perfect. Turkey sandwich for him, caprese for me, and some upscale chips. I was very surprised to see that there were two different kinds of cracklins at a hospital cafeteria.
We were able to get home around 8:30. And now we wait. He had half an infusion and a stroke-like thing that only happens when he's getting the infusion that saves his life, and now we really don't know what to do next.
At least he doesn't have a brain tumor.
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