We await a call back from the Albuquerque Surgeon’s office to confirm that they will, indeed, refer the Eldest to a transplant program. Maybe they are busily scurrying about, doing just that, and a phone call would slow them down, so if I wait (if I am a good, good girl and don’t bother them) they will call in a day or so and all will be done.
You’re right, I really should write fairy tales, shouldn’t I?
Today I took the Eldest to see a new therapist as his last one has ghosted us–and while if only the Eldest had evidence of this I would assume that he missed a text or a call due to his ADD, but I myself directly texted the former therapist and said, “He is in heart failure, he needs to come in” and………crickets.
It’s funny because we live in a small city. Will the therapist rest securely, knowing there is no chance that he will ever see me again? Nope. Our paths will cross, and then what? Excellent question. I will glare, at a minimum. But, no matter that, we have a new one and he likes her and that is what we need to have happen. Next I have to find a prescribing psychologist (we’ve been rejected by two so far) to help with the depression, anxiety, Tourette’s Syndrome and ADD–none of which are properly managed at the moment. Given the situation anyone’s issues would be in a tizzy–I haven’t stopped itching since they diagnosed heart failure, so I can only imagine what it’s doing to him.
“Someone threw up in the sink in the bathroom at work today,” he told me last week. Because the only job he could find is in a horrible call center where, apparently, there are no boundaries. I can’t imagine this being all there was to his life, a long series of crushing disappointments, failures, sadness and loneliness. I know there’s more, but there’s not a lot more and this heart failure business is too much. We already did the thing where he nearly died and I had to essentially manage everything because everyone is stupid and healthcare is not interested in you surviving, I already saw him immediately post valve replacement and spent that awful 10 or so days in the Cardiac Surgical Unit. We should not be here.
But we are.
In the meantime, life goes on. I have two sewing students, my granddaughters both have softball games at 6:00 pm tonight, dinner is ready, I have things I want to sew and art I want to make and, yet, 50% of me is just waiting for the phone to ring. And whatever they say–if they say yes, we are referring him to a transplant program and X program has accepted him or if they say no, we changed our minds, sorry, or if they say we tried, but no program would take him—-none of that will be any sort of reward for waiting by the phone. Or, as it is in today’s world, waiting WITH the phone. Panicking because I left it in another room, obsessively checking to see that I have it and the sound is on.
It’s the slowest emergency in the world, which is awful, except it’s also awful when things start moving along at a good clip.