This is a rant. It is only a rant. Had it been an actual....

Yesterday was just plain yucky. Granted, I'm mired in a bit of self-pity, self-loathing...SELF. Oi. Chuck's room was dirty; Chuck was dirty; I was heart-broken. How can I leave my husband at the mercy of others who may or may not look to all his needs? (Not all nurses are created equal.) What kind of wife am I? On top of that, Chuck keeps apologizing to me because he thinks he is upsetting me. This alone breaks my heart.

I had a "chat" with the nurses and nurse supervisor, reminding them of their vital role. They are Chuck's link to a pleasant experience, or to a miserable one. While they may not be able to heal him, they should be able to keep him and his room clean. Alas, in a hospital setting the attempts at healing come first (as it should be); and in an I.C.U. situation there are others around Chuck literally dying. Thus, the hygiene gets pushed back. Guilt, guilt, guilt. Because then his only link to extra attention falls to me. I'm so tired from trying to juggle work and Chuck, that I can't possibly handle it all. Eureka...God's in control. Eureka, I don't like it. Eureka, we are right where we are supposed to be, experiencing life exactly as God intended. (I still struggle with trusting this God because he does not do it my way!)

Chuck got a new PICC line late last night. He's still sickly. I worry that it is because he is eating and that he does indeed have gatroparesis (nerves damaged in stomach so that it just won't work). There's NO WAY I'm gonna be the one to explain it to him. NO WAY. NO WAY.