Chapter 23-30
Chapter 23: Heating Pad
I’m sitting in the recliner next to the hospital bed, trying to get as much of my body as possible under this 12” by 24” rectangle of warmth. I brought our heating pad from home for Mike, but I’m using it myself because it’s ice-cold in this ICU room.
It has become my security blanket.
Mike moved from the cancer floor to ICU two days ago. First, because his sodium levels crashed. And now for all the reasons. It seems everything in him is crashing.
Every time a doctor comes in, it’s to tell us something new. And they can’t do the thing they need to do to help the previous thing because of the new things.
We have seen the kidney doctor, the lungs doctor, the palliative care doctor, the ICU doctor, the cancer doctor, and whoever that other doctor was. We’ve seen the warm one, the one I couldn’t understand, the one I already have a crush on, the one with the noisy shoes.
They all want to fix the thing they know the most about.
Should I tell them that I know he is dying?
Should I tell them that I know tomorrow morning Dr. Young is going to tell me that this is the end?
And I will have to tell his people, our people, his parents. Our children.
Should I tell them that I already know?
Not yet. I want him to myself.
