Holding Pattern

Since Thursday night, Roy has been anticipating a move from his room at the hospital to a nearby rehabilitation facility. I went and bought the necessary work-out clothing, washed it, and packed him for a 5-7 day “trip.” The suitcase has been riding around in the back seat ever since. Over the weekend, he’s had regular check-ins with the hospitalist and a continuing flow of patient technicians and nurses through the room, but our insurance (while a very good package) is notoriously (apparently) slow to process such transfers. The Juneteenth holiday presumably also slowed things down.

This moment is akin to the old-school grey screen buzz of a television when strategically placed whacks and carefully placed antennae cannot stabilize the picture or the impatient wriggling in the seat amid the ever-increasingly stale air of the airplane when it cannot taxi out to take-off, or even the glacial movement of the minute hand on the classroom clock when you’ve really got somewhere else you’d rather be. You’ve felt this itchiness when you’ve wanted something but find yourself within the frame of someone else’s control. It is frustration laced with longing, wistfulness vying with anger, impatience dueling with logic and carefully remaining pleasant to others trapped in the frame with you while breathing deeply to claim some peace.

Roy’s improving but his breathing is impacted by the fluids he has accumulated since earlier this month. He’s asked them if they would consider a thoracentesis and/or paracentesis to clear that up so that when he is given permission to go, he can do his rehab more efficiently and avoid returning to the hospital for breathing issues — creating more delay. They’re evaluating for those possibilities this morning with a hope of transfer later today or tomorrow.

Cancer treatment cannot resume until he gets through rehab. His body needs to be stronger so he needs rehab. Rehab needs someone to click an approval. He needs the time to be able to fight the cancer – time is a crucial ingredient, but we are again, waiting.