This is the third day of me visiting Ronnie at the hospital, only I was too late to get in.
Visitation ends at 6:00 and I arrived at 6:05.
The trip to CVS in search of pajamas had taken a little longer than planned.
I guess the eyeglasses will wait until tomorrow.
At least I was able to see him earlier, when I had come by to fetch out his clothes and wash them.
My intention had been to bring them back after, but they could not be salvaged.
Meanwhile, while I was out doing that, Tony went by and saw him for about thirty minutes.
Michael was there in the morning for two hours.
For all three of our visits, Ronnie slept.
I'm grateful he doesn't seem to be in pain.
My day had begun with a call from the case worker, Monica Anderson, wanting to know where he could be moved. She'll call again tomorrow.
There followed a 40-minute call from John Ober of Arcadia Hospice, needing information about Ronnie so they could begin the paperwork for Medicaid, so a nursing home would take him in. Fortunately, I have kept a file on Ronnie for the last few years, ever since he was in the hospital back in 2015 for so long.
The nurse with Arcadia, MaryLynn Workman, called briefly afterward, mostly to introduce herself as a friendly voice for me.
I heard from John Ober twice more, by call and by text. The social worker with Arcadia is working on Ronnie's case and they hope to be able to move him to one of two nursing homes in Tybee. Hallelujah!
Why are these people calling me instead of Smitty?
Timing.
Smitty and Mary have been gone since yesterday morning, on the long-awaited trip to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary, and will return sometime Friday.
Today is the actual anniversary.
I'm exhausted.
Perhaps if I wasn't still fighting a urinary tract infection and worrying about the leakage from my right breast I might have more energy for this.
And just what is this?
Ronnie's upcoming death from lung cancer.
Damn.
That's what Sarah Benhase told me on Monday, just two days ago.
I was getting ready to go to Memorial and was stopped by the phone.
I recognized the prefix - 350 - as the hospital, so I answered.
It was Sarah, the nurse practitioner attached to Ronnie's case.
She had first called Smitty, looking for information on Ronnie, so he sent her to me.
I'm the one that keeps the paperwork, as well as photos, it seems.
She asked if I knew if Ronnie had a living will.
Of course I knew; I'd helped him fill out the twelve-page document when he was in Memorial in 2015.
I even told her his record should have a copy of his Five Wishes.
No, sadly, it had not been placed into his file, a recurring problem at the hospital.
She told me they needed the document, to make sure he had the treatment he wanted.
A CT scan had revealed two large masses on the right side of his brain, as well as a large mass in his left lung.
Stage 4, lung cancer, metastasized, also in his liver, lymph nodes, adrenal glands.
The concern was that chemo and radiation therapy would prove fatal, as well as painful,
but they needed to know what his choice would be.
I assured her I knew I had a copy on my computer, I just needed to locate it.
She gave me her email and phone number and we rang off.
It only took me about twenty minutes to find the document he and I had worked on one May day six years ago.
Success!
I recognized the prefix - 350 - as the hospital, so I answered.
It was Sarah, the nurse practitioner attached to Ronnie's case.
She had first called Smitty, looking for information on Ronnie, so he sent her to me.
I'm the one that keeps the paperwork, as well as photos, it seems.
She asked if I knew if Ronnie had a living will.
Of course I knew; I'd helped him fill out the twelve-page document when he was in Memorial in 2015.
I even told her his record should have a copy of his Five Wishes.
No, sadly, it had not been placed into his file, a recurring problem at the hospital.
She told me they needed the document, to make sure he had the treatment he wanted.
A CT scan had revealed two large masses on the right side of his brain, as well as a large mass in his left lung.
Stage 4, lung cancer, metastasized, also in his liver, lymph nodes, adrenal glands.
The concern was that chemo and radiation therapy would prove fatal, as well as painful,
but they needed to know what his choice would be.
I assured her I knew I had a copy on my computer, I just needed to locate it.
She gave me her email and phone number and we rang off.
It only took me about twenty minutes to find the document he and I had worked on one May day six years ago.
Success!
But the pages I'd scanned in took up megabytes of space, requiring multiple emails to get all of them to her...but I persevered.
He was still in a room in ER, on glucose and saline.
When they'd asked what complaints - i..e., medical issues - he had, he'd replied, "None, except I don't have a cold beer."
Seriously, that's what the nurse said.
I guess that's maybe why he was sleeping when I arrived, so I didn't stay long.
I found out that day that due to COVID protocols in place, Ronnie would only be allowed two visitors for his entire stay in the hospital.
I had contacted Smitty and Tony and Christina and Michael when I got home, to let them know the policy and to get their input on who would be designated for those two slots.
Sure enough, my name went to one of those.
Timing.
Tuesday - just two days ago, though it feels like it's been at least a week - I called the hospital before going.
He was still in the ER, but I was able to speak to his nurse at some length.
Yes, he had lung cancer and it was throughout his body, leaving him half his right lung for breathing and speaking and supplying oxygen to his muscles for any movements.
She said she read in his chart that he had been diagnosed with the cancer a few years ago, but had elected to not have treatment.
(She would not specify when that was, but I suspect it was in 2018, when he would have had an X-ray for his damaged shoulder.
He had not shared that information with any of us, no doubt so he could continue managing his life on his terms.)
Damn.
She told me he had been moved to another room in the ER, but was to be moved to the main building that afternoon and she would call to let me know where I could see him.
True to her word, she called and I went out there.
I visited for about 45 minutes until 6 PM rolled around.
Ronnie was sitting up in the bed, no hoses in his arms, just the catheter; he was far to weak to be able to get out of bed.
I let him know that I knew he had cancer, and he shot me a glance to let me know he was aware of that...
then I switched to lighter conversation.
How nice it was that he had a cold beer there on the table...
how nice it was that his dinner was newly arrived and was a salisbury steak...
how nice it was that he had sports on the tv.
I call it "conversation", but mostly it was me talking and him nodding.
I offered to cut up the steak, to help him eat, to hold his cup.
No, no, no.
I did give him the fork and he managed to get two helpings of the mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth, not spilling a drop.
Then he was fairly well spent and it was nearly time for me to go.
So, I had moved the tray table away, patted him on his shoulder, and told him I loved him.
Making my way toward the door, I paused to tell him I'd see him 'tomorrow'.
That's when he looked straight at me and audibly said, "love you, sis."
It was faint, but he'd made sure to put some breath behind it.
At least I made it to the parking garage before the tears.
I'm hoping tomorrow he'll be awake again for our visit.
I'd like to hear those words one more time.
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