A mid-week slump

After a report of Susan vomiting on Tuesday afternoon during therapy got my attention, two more episodes on Wednesday gave me concern. Another neurological hit could mean a shunt failure, brain bleeding, or several other serious but less urgent problems. She was less talkative on Tuesday evening, needed maximum queuing during therapy, and had been staring at her food rather than feeding herself. These are not good signs. 

The attending physician in rehab ordered a brain CT scan Wednesday, which thankfully appeared to rule out our most serious concerns. But as Susan’s advocate, I wasn’t satisfied. While I didn’t doubt the LBMMC radiologist’s opinion of that scan, I knew it would be more meaningful when compared with the others recently done at UCLA. I requested a CD copy, picked it up Thursday morning, and delivered it to Dr. Nghiemphu at UCLA. She emailed me later to say there’s no remarkable difference between it and Susan’s prior scans, but she’d have the neurosurgeon view it as well. 

With good news confirmed, we still didn’t have anything actionable for Susan’s symptoms. Fortunately, she’s had no anti-nausea meds since Wednesday night and no vomiting either. She still seemed affected to me last night, but maybe she was just tired. Nurses reported a good day in therapy. We’re left without knowing anything conclusive about her mid-week slump other than it seems to be resolving, so that’s good. She may be experiencing a residual effect from having a tube implanted in her brain, or perhaps from last month’s chemo. Or both. I’ve had to become uneasily comfortable not having all the answers. 

The plan is for Susan to come home next weekend, perhaps even Friday. We’ll take a half-day jaunt on Wednesday to UCLA for chemotherapy. Hopefully, she’ll be able to make the best of her remaining therapy hours and come home well enough for us to care for her safely here. 

Susan’s absence reminds me of 2008 when she was in rehab for three months. I think I miss her more now after just a week than I did then, perhaps because now I wonder what our home would be like without her when she goes to heaven. This is not a hopeless thought, just a hard one. My consolation comes when I see her again at her bedside, kissing her forehead and saying I love her. Being able to do that is actually a great gift, as though I’ve lost her and have the miraculous opportunity to see her again. I expect this will comfort me on the day I need it. 

Meanwhile, the Living God never slumbers or sleeps and is constantly working out his good purposes for us. Susan drank in these words from Psalm 57 when I read them to her last night: 

“Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. I cry out to God Most High, to God, who fulfills his purpose for me. He sends from heaven and saves me, rebuking those who hotly pursue me; God sends his love and his faithfulness.” 

Susan usually can’t tell you what day it is, but she received God’s word for her, looked me in the eyes, paused a few moments, and said, “That’s perfect.”