I wasn’t able to write in my journal again before I went back to the hospital on April 1st. The last couple weeks of March were not so good. I remember having no energy whatsoever. I would get out of bed in the morning and head straight for the couch. Mom always covered the couch with a soft quilt so it was more comfortable than the leather material. She would make sure I was comfortable and then soon I would hear the blender blending some sort of concoction. Mom continued to try and get something with nutrition in me since I wasn’t really eating or for that matter, holding food down. She figured if only parts of it reappeared in the bucket then it was worth the fight trying to make me drink it!
I had a clinic appointment set up with Dr. Ewald, but mom called to move the appointment up a week because I was doing so poorly. We went to see the doctor on Tuesday, March 30th. I saw the nurses first and their advice was to admit me. They knew I needed nutrition and they could tell I was very weak. However, mom and I were going to try and convince Dr. Ewald to send me home with a nutritional IV of some sort. I was already hooked up to a 24 hour IV, and it had 2 lines so why not hook up nutrition?! I have been one to convince daddy of many different things, but I quickly found out that Dr. Ewald does not fall for the same mechanisms. He said no to the nutritional IV. Evidently it is a huge risk for infection.
All I heard was the word “No”, and I became nervous. I couldn’t help but think he was going to admit me. I knew deep down inside if I was going to be admitted then there was no going home. I would have to wait the long haul for the heart in the hospital. I knew I was on my last leg. Dr. Ewald has a very kind heart of his own, because he did let me go home that day knowing that mom promised she would go buy all sorts of nutritional drinks to find something that I enjoyed. We were very thankful to go home.
The next day was even worse. I tried a couple different drinks and they didn’t stay down. I was so weak, and my hair had not even been washed in maybe over a week. Mom always offered to do it on the kitchen counter like we had done every once in a while, but I sometimes would turn the offer down. I knew that after she washed my hair it then took a lot of energy to comb through it and dry it. On a “good” day after doing all that I was exhausted, so I knew on a “bad” day it would be even worse. Being that I was okay with week old hair, no make-up and no bra was not the normal thing for me. However, the last couple months this had become my new norm.
Well, Thursday April 1st came and so did Scott. Scott came every Thursday to change the dressing on my PIC line (The IV in my arm) and check on how I was doing. He had seen me weak before, but obviously not this bad. He kept asking if I was okay, because I wasn’t talking to him while he was checking vitals and changing my dressing. Of course I said I was fine, because I did not want him to think any different. Well, once he saw me vomit he took the matter in his hands. He called Dr. Ewald and told him I was too sick to be at home. I agreed with him, but I felt like crying because I really did not want to go back. It was my last desire. I remember waking up this day just thinking it was going to be like any other day. However, I went downhill fast. After Scott left we started to get ready to head for the hospital. Mom washed my hair in the kitchen sink. Afterwards I would normally rest on the couch to regain enough energy to comb and dry my own hair. Today was different. After resting on the couch, I realized I did not have enough energy to do anything. My precious mom brought the hair dryer into the living room and dried my hair while I was lying down on the couch. She then helped me to my room so I could tell her what to pack. I laid on my bed while mom gathered many different items to take with us to the hospital.
I remember dad getting home and walking in my room only to see me leaning over in a bucket. I looked up with my pale face to see a look of nothing but worry on his face. Mom and dad quickly hurried around to finish getting ready and soon mom came in my room and said we were ready to go. I tried to sit up in order to get off my bed, but my body wouldn’t even budge. I whispered, “Mom, I don’t think I can move.” She called for dad, and when they helped me up my legs felt like spaghetti. This day I became their little girl again. Daddy carried me out to the car and mom buckled me up and covered me with a blanket. They reclined the seat and rested my head on a pillow. They always new just what to do.