The weekend was supposed to be slack time. I visited Saturday morning and we played recorders a while. Holly was coming to have lunch with her dad, so I went on errands by late morning.
On Sunday, Kirby, Destiny, Devyn and baby Kirby went to have lunch in the cafeteria, with Keith, and hung out afterwards until the baby was restless.
Keith expected the rest of the time to be just working on taxes or playing video games (he has his iPad now), but he had three assessments by therapists—speech, OT and PT all did evaluations, in preparation for his (planned, scheduled, predicted) departure on Monday.
I'll go up there at 8:00 or so Monday/tomorrow (/today/whenever it was, for those who read this later).
Five weeks and a day, since March 3. Recovery will continue at home, if all goes well, starting mid-day Monday. I'll update below when more happens!
Monday morning, April 8, 2019
Keith's stuff is all packed up in a big rolling suitcase. He's in the homegoing wheelchair. The doctor came by early, the case worker/coordinator came by, we played Five Crowns in the break room next door to pass time, and the pharmacist is the last character in the play. I think. I believe that after the pharmacists visits, we can go home.
4, 5, 6, 6, 6, 6, 5, 6, 7, 7, 7, 7, 7 All Natural
(My hand, on the final round, kings.)
Still waiting, 11:10. Impatient. Keith was arranging for transport of a tent to Outlandish, and then called Needham to talk about some things to see between Colorado and Minneapolis. We drove that (westward) with three kids, long ago.
A nurse just came in to talk to him about how to take his drugs at home, so this might take the place of the pharmacist's visit.
3 comments:
Randall Wattenbarger (von Nordlichvald) asks after Keith each week during our phone calls. He sends his best. He understands all of this much better than I do, being recently retired from nursing, and is delighted at what he terms "the miracle."
Thanks, Flo.
I already knew Keith was strong, but I'm very impressed now. From having a heart attack that broke his heart wall (and building some collateral vessels) through four cardiac arrests, to being as with-it as he is, doing the taxes in the rehab hospital and such, I think Randall's right that it's some kind of miracle. It's a miracle of confluences, though—the quick CPR by SCA friends, firemen, being fairly close to UNMH, and people noticing things as they were going wrong a time or two. And Keith's crazily high pain threshhold has gotten him through all this treatment and therapy with all those broken ribs (13 + sternum). Quite a pile of happenings.
Randall worked Emergency for decades before moving over to hospice. He tells me that these things generally do not work out well, let alone this well.
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