I went home for the weekend, but I was a wreck. All I could think of was George, laying in New Jersey. Was he hearing the docotors and nurses talk about him?
He was in an induced coma, so there was no way to really know. Every doctor and nurse told me something different. Some said no, he absolutely could not hear me. Others said I should talk to him, because he could hear me and it would calm his anxiety about what was happening. One doctor said he could hear me but would never remember me talking to him. The head nurse said he might start to wonder where I was if I didn’t talk to him at all. It was unbearable!
Everyone at home was in shock. I’d called my mom from the hospital the day before and cried to her about George’s condition. I’m not much of a cryer. I only cry when I am completely overwhelmed. So though my family hadn’t been able to get to the hospital and see George, they knew how upset I was about the situation. I couldn’t wait for the weekend to be over so I could get back to the hospital and George’s bedside. I decided I would figure out if I would try to communicate with him once I got there.
I got through the weekend, finally. I went back to the hospital on Tuesday. I went immediately in to see George. He showed no signs of improvement that I could see. They’d removed the ventilator from his mouth and put it into his windpipe, a minor procedure that allowed them to help him breathe more easily.
On Monday they had performed the first operation on his hands and arms. He’d done well during the long operation, and another was scheduled for Thursday. The doctor explained that the more quickly they were able to remove the deep burns the better. He also said that George could not get better unless all of the third degree burns were excised. They planned a couple of operations a week.
George’s blood pressure was low. What we’d always agreed was a great thing for his health, his naturally low blood pressure, was working against him in this situation. The doctor said it was causing lots of problems… It took a while to see just how big those problems became.
I hung out at the hotel, went shopping, played with the bunny, read. None of it eased my mind. Sometimes I tried hard to ignore a feeling of impending doom. Other times I was almost giddy with high hopes and certainty of a good outcome. Up, down, I was all over the place, everyplace I went. Had a couple of drinks at the hotel bar, and felt a little better. Went back another night, had a couple of drinks and felt a lot worse. There’s nothing more horrible that being totally out of control of a situation that affects every aspect of your life. What do you do?
I tried to pray, but as someone I know once said, “Why?” Is it for me or for him? God, I hate uncertainty. I hate to be vulnerable. And boy, was I. My friend Cathy sent me some saint medals. Very cool, painted medals. I wore them every day. I crossed my fingers. I tried not to say anything negative. I made some deals with myself, and some with God, in case he’s there. I sent positive vibes to George. I felt him struggling, or thought I did. I cleared my mind and tried to sleep. I wept.
Finally, I realized I would just have to ride the wave. But the wave got very, very big, and before I knew it, I was drowning.
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