The 'P' word

Yesterday, your cultures finally came back. So, now they know that, yes, you have an infection in your lungs that is causing pneumonia and they also know what specific bacteria they are fighting. So they're bringing out the "biggest guns we have," according to the doctor, for your antibiotics.

Pneumonia.

I said it over and over again in the car last night so I could stop freaking out about it.

Then I went straight to Robin's for some perspective.

All these days, we've been singing or talking to you, telling you who all has written or called, what they've said, how much they love you. I haven't wanted to be specific about your condition because I didn't want to have a lot of medical terms just swimming around in your head, untethered. But last night, after getting the diagnosis from the doc, I went back into your room, changed into a new set of gloves, stroked your hair and tried to imagine the tone of voice you would strike with me in the same situation. Then, I leaned in real close to you and imagined piercing through the sedation and said, as clearly as I could from behind the mask, "Hey there, Daddy. Here's the deal: You've got pneumonia. Tell your body to focus on those lungs. Get it out of there. And I know you're exhausted. And I know this has been the most bizarre ten days of your life. And all this time, we've been encouraging you to rest while the team did what they needed to do. But you're up. It's your turn now and you've got some work to do. I love you, you can do this."

The antibiotics seem to be having their effect. I called before going to bed last night and your nurse said your fever was down. And this morning at 6, it was down to 38.7 C, and by the time Asia saw you at 8, it was 38.5 C. That's equal to 101.3 F.

Ever so much better than 104.

Also, your oxygen assistance was at 80 percent yesterday, and by this morning, the assistance was down to 60 percent. Good. Good.

So, now, I'm saying another 'P' word over and over in my head

Progress.

Ode to the Agitator 4000

Oh, you beast.
You stupid fucking thing.
Get out of me.
And take this shit in my lungs with you.

You force me to breathe at a pace that is
unnatural
uncooperative
unAmerican
unHuMan

But thank you.
Thank you.
THANK you.

You've done more for me than any
Hornet-stung bronco I've ever ridden.


Today, at noon, your staff unstrapped you from the the Agitator 4000 (known in more educated circles as an HFPV, or VDR-4®). They stopped the paralytic. And they've now saddled up a totally run-of-the-mill ventilator. As of 6:30pm, Jill said you were having a smooth ride.

Ahhhh...

This is good news. One: This staff doesn't mess around, so if they say you're ready to move on to a smoother ride, then you've made headway. Two: You may be able to be conscious soon. We'll get to ask this question tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Lee drives back to Denver. I'll stay on until we get a few more things going with the house and we can see your eyes for more than a spooky couple of seconds and actually communicate. I hope that's not too much to ask for in the next week. I don't want to pressure you or sound ungrateful, but boy oh boy would it be great to "talk." Today, Lee was burning a cd for someone and played the recording you and Mom made of us in that farmhouse outside of Little Rock. He'd transferred it for me to digital format. You begin the recording with, "Here we are. It's a balmy summer day here in Arkansas. The urine machine--hey, get that penny outta your mouth--the urine machine is--"

And I just started bawling. The sound of your voice was too much for me in my starved state.

You're doing great, buckaroo. Take your time. Heal fully. But you know. Don't dilly dally, okay?

In other news:
Melissa Hall was able to pass the word along to Roy. And since that connection was made, I've been delighted by Outlaw mail in my inbox. I am also hearing consistently from the Riverside contingency. Also, the other day at Sammie's, we went in to see Terry and the whole bar asked after you. Daddy, you are so loved. By so many good people.

Asia and I each attended July 4th parties today. She and Chaise entertained a few friends at his parents'. We had the Lopezes over to Mom's and Fred's. (They all are praying for you. And we're talking Dorothy-sized prayers.) Dixie Jo, Byron, Jeff, Eileen and the kids went to see Hurst's fireworks. Then, I joined Forrest at Dixie's for some post-fireworks conversation. Forrest has grrrreat stories from Italy. They're goodies. Can't wait for you to hear them.

Okay. It occurs to me as I write this that it's a bit perverse to cap off a week like this with barbecue and fireworks.

Cue rim shot. (Then crickets.)

I love you, Dad.