the long version 1

the immediate update is: We got a call at 3 this morning that David had fallen and was unresponsive. Fall? Yes. He was trying to stand to pee -- without calling the nurse -- and he fell over. They surmise that he got dizzy and passed out. For a reason we will never know, his heart kept beating but his body did not respond. They had to do compressions/CPR on him for about 15 minutes before his body started working again. By the time I got to the hospital, they had stabilized him and put him back on the ventilator. The ventilator really bothers him but he will have it in for another few hours. As I write now, they say his numbers are all back to where they should be, some are better, but we are shaken.

the longer version: I am just going to let myself indulge, self-indulge, so bear with me, stop reading, what ever you are comfortable with. This writing is strickly for me.

the phone call was exactly what those phone calls are always like. they are awful, they are uninformative, and the person answering has to ask stupid questions. Does unresponsive mean that his heart stopped? I did not say die or dead, the closest I could get to my question was to ask about the heart, the organ. If I would have asked has his soul left his body, would anyone been able to answer. Do the medical professionals call it death? Is it? I spin out to ask what death means -- I find it very hard to be present here. I am both in a future where all is better, and one without David, i am in a past of regret. How could we leave him alone? It was not the nursing staff -- it was not that they were not watching. It was that he disobeyed instructions. He tried to get up by himself. To pee. TO PEE, damm it! and he had to have that catheter taken out yesterday. I know, it was uncomfortable, and I know that we all were taking his feeling better, feel well, except for the discomfort of the catheter and his chest tubes, and so to complain about both and to ask for them to be taken out as soon as possible made some sort of sense. What makes sense?

Driving on Madison's empty streets at 3 in the morning. HAve I been out on these streets at this time? Everything was quiet, one car on teh road with me, yellow lights. I went through the few red ones that stopped me as if they were stop signs. No danger and no crazy driving. I was able to concentrate -- apauled by a feeling of being where I should be and doing as I should. I just needed to get there, to the hospital as quickly as I could. I was present for those minutes.

He was not awake when I first saw him. Not conscious. the breathing tube was in again and Cheshire said that all she could see was his heart beating. He looked scary but most of what looked so bad was the effect of the muscle relaxer that allowed them to put in breathing tube. They first told us that he might not wake up until all the relaxer wore off.

the relief of yesterday; the caution of the present moment.

No one looks good with a breathing tube. david is no exception. Now the nurse has set up in David's room. No one is going to leave him alone right now. Cheshire and I sit -- cheshire in the one more comfortable chair and she is dozing. I am on a padded folding chair. If I fall asleep -- and each time I begin to relax even a small announcement that David is doing fine my eyes feel heavy -- I will fall and wind up looking like David. I look at the time and ches and I have been at the hospital for almost 7 hours. No wonder we are fading.

I go to a small waiting room on the floor filled with really uncomfortable furniture. I told Cheshire before that it reminded me of a set for Satre's No Exit -- purgatory/hell might be perfect filled with plastic. I except, however, that I will fall asleep in a second here. A nap would feel very good. A nap and another one later will definitely sustain me for the day.

more later.