Home home...

I had some conversations with the Respiratory Therapist and his nurse via phone after talking to hubby this morning who was sobbing.
His Respiratory Therapist was concerned but had said that he was holding his own on the treatment he'd been given.

I spoke later with the nurse and we talked about depression and how bad it was. I felt if he was stable all the way around he would be so much better off at home. The longer he was away from home the worse his overall mental health was getting. A sobbing husband doesn't make me feel very good. 

I've been down this road before and have now been able to recognize the direct correlation of desperation and knowing he was 'checking' out. It sounds dramatic, I know, but when really nasty depression hits, this is exactly what comes out of his mouth and he knows he is dying. He may not be dying physically but mentally he is. We too often shy away from talking about mental health care because it is an uncomfortable topic. He is not a nutjob. His brain is damaged in a way we don't understand. 

I pled my case with his nurse. If he was stable, I can still do everything they do...monitor his temp, his blood pressure, and 02 levels. I do that now as a matter of routine. I do his medications, I know him more intimately than any doctor who sees him for 10 minutes.

Fact.
He would do better in familiar surroundings.

Rich told me the nurses were in bubble heads, googles, and full face shields. 

Let's think about that for a moment. Strange rooms, fragile person, [yes he is a tough guy...however he is fragile when he is not feeling well]...strange bubble heads at night in a gloomy room. 

I understand what is happening in our health systems across the country. Over worked healthcare workers. Our little 25 bed hospital is fully loaded. 

So I applaud his nurse for caring enough to hear me out two days in a row and take me seriously. I pointed out that if he was stable enough, he needed to get Mental Health care that they could not offer. He needed to be in a familiar place.

I can do the job of a CNA. I can't do IV's, but I can be there. I can care for him because I do care about him in ways no staff of any place could.

And on Monday morning I can connect with a VA Mental Health provider by phone.

So. The nurse pled my case to the doctor and the doctor visited Rich and said he was medically stable enough to go home. 

He is home! Charlie is relieved, Rich seemed relieved. He is still struggling, but he isn't attached to beepers and being descended upon by Bubble Heads and strangers.

He is mostly in bed, however he has gotten up to eat. I did offer to fix a plate for him to sit in bed and eat. He decided no, he could sit up at the table.
He has suffered a medical insult to his system but I will spare you the diagnosis. 

And now we are under quarantine because he was on the Covid wing.

I now have time to construct the Suck Box. Eddie, my son was the one who had come up with the idea a long time ago. I love it.

Crossed Fingers for the next 14 days.