Honestly, I don’t know why I started this blog.
Jamey, Caeley and I have experienced so many funny, frightening,
fantastic and infuriating things over the years.
Much of what we’ve lived has been tucked away in our own little
Cranstoun Collective Unconscious, never to be shared with anyone outside of our “circle”.
When I first started writing the blog, I felt high! Maybe that’s because I’d been mainlining Jamey’s
morphine(kidding), but I did surge with focus, purpose and energy.
Here’s an example of a brainstorming session I
had(with myself) early on about potential blogging topics:
Looking back, there were some really intriguing topics there.
I might still talk about some of them, too.
But now, I have to talk about another topic: Jamey.
And he’s not currently smiling.
I mean, maybe he’s smiling on the inside.
At least I hope he is.
I desperately want him to be.
He’s in a hospice bed in an inpatient hospice facility, not at home as we’d planned.
With the help of family, friends and with a clear, but heavy heart, I decided that the best place for him to receive the care, attention and support he deserves was in an inpatient hospice facility.
Like most decisions I’ve made regarding his care(at least the ones made since I had to take over as power of attorney), I made it without his consent.
As much as I(and most wives) jumped at every opportunity to decide what tasks get placed on “Honey Do” lists for our spouses or partners, it’s a little different when you’re deciding whether to keep your husband on a morphine drip (when you’re not quite sure if he’s feeling pain) or when you’re adding up the time and realizing it’s been 56 hours since your spouse has eaten or drunk anything(since he’s on hospice and that’s just how hospice rolls).
I’m making a heckuva lotta grown-up decisions lately.
And although the date of birth on my driver’s license
and my 11 year old kid will tell you otherwise, I’m not really that grown-up yet.
I might go into the specific details of what led us here in a future blog.
Suffice it to say, at 1:20 pm, Tuesday, April 14th, Jamey was walking into our kitchen getting ready to eat lunch.
I told him I was leaving for work, reminded him not to let the dogs out of their crates, and asked him if he needed anything.
He said, “Yes. Can you pick up some bologna?”
At about 4:15, Tuesday, April 14th, I found Jamey on the floor of our bedroom, eyes fixed on me, unable to speak.
He soon began the first(that I saw, at least) of several violent tonic-clonic seizures(aka grand mal).
Tuesday, April 14th, 1:15pm was two days ago. It seems like a lifetime.