zyzyly | whiney

I am sitting in Arlina’s hospital room waiting for her to come back from her radiation treatment. The Radiation Oncology Center (“The Roc”) is just across the street from the hospital, in the basement of the Cancer Center. It takes more time for her to get on the gurney to go over than it does for the actual treatment—it’s only about three minutes long. She should be back soon.

Sitting in this room day after day is a very isolating experience. The only familiar things are the things you bring with you, and even then it seems foreign. There is TV, but only 10 channels. There is no internet access—nothing at all for non-employees anywhere in the hospital. I am lucky—I can walk downstairs to my office (which is how I will post this), but anyone else has to go to Starbucks or something. I once suggested that the hospital provide wireless access for patient families, but they just laughed. I was serious though, and I’m going to suggest it again. If the Flying J truck stop can provide free wireless access for passing truckers, a hospital ought to be able to do the same for patients and their families. They always to laugh at my suggestions, and then adopt them three years later.

I went home again to sleep last night. When I called early this morning, Arlina told me she had a bad night—lots of pain. She didn’t call me, because I looked so tired when I left last night. She called down to the ICU instead, and had some of my ICU friends sit with her for a while. I had very strong “guilty! guilty! guilty!, I should never have left!” feelings, and started crying, which only made Arlina feel bad again.

I’m feeling somewhat discouraged and worn out today. Each day she is here seems to steal a little more of my strength—both physical and emotional. As I walked into the hospital, I felt like I was weighted down. Even at home I felt a little isolated. I wanted to talk to someone, but was reluctant to burden anyone with what seems like an unending tale of woe. I wish I were more outgoing in real life--that it was easy for me to talk about how I feel—but I’m not that way. I suppose I create my own isolation.

It’s a lot easier for me to write about this stuff. At least you can scroll away if it gets too uncomfortable, and I don’t have to see it in your eyes. I hesitate to post sometimes though, because it just seems so depressing. But I guess if I am committed to journaling this experience honestly, I need to show that I don't always handle all this with grace.

Moving on.

Stable pain control for Arlina is still somewhat elusive. The doctor continues to make adjustments, and it gets closer, but not quite there yet. There are also some unpleasant side effects to big narcotic doses that make her uncomfortable. She and her nurse are talking about it now. It is unlikely she will get to come home before the weekend. I’m guessing closer to Monday. Weekend doctors never want to do anything complex like sending someone home on a pain pump.

I’ll go out for a walk in a few minutes. I’ll take some pictures. When I get back, I’ll feel better. I always do.

edit: I did feel better after the walk.