Deflated

I guess it’s true. I guess it has been almost two weeks since I’ve blogged. I just haven’t been able to get my thoughts together in a way that is coherent and makes any sense. I’ve been working day and night. I took on a project to re-pay for this car I’ve been driving, but I seem to have bitten off more than I can chew. So I’m working, working, working and by time I get home at night, I’ve missed seeing my kid all day and I’m literally so tired I can barely hold my eyes open and as soon as they close, it seems my alarm is going off for me to get up. And then it starts all over. In the midst of all that, I am still trying to find out what happened to Joe. It’s been a roller coaster of events since the beginning of the month. He woke up from his coma, but is in a persistent vegetative state. I was able to see him last Sunday. He was in the ICU with pneumonia but he was awake. When I walked in and talked to him, he opened his eyes and looked at me. And I talked and talked and talked to him for three and a half hours. I sang to him. I rubbed his hands and his arms and his feet and his hair. And I know he knew I was there. It was actually a beautiful afternoon and even though he was not himself, even though he couldn’t talk and couldn’t communicate with me, I was happy and hopeful that things were getting better. Fast forward to this week. I was given a special visit to see Joe. He’s back at the medical prison. He just got out of ICU on Wednesday. Sunday, I drove to Nashville to see him. When I spoke with the doctor days earlier, she said he was responding to stimuli and made it seem like it was a good thing. When I got there, I waited to go to his cell for a bedside visit. I was checked in and escorted to his room. I guess I was expecting a hospital room inside a prison, but instead it was a prison room with a first aid kit. Joe looks like he is slowly dying. He has lost a ton of weight just since last week. There’s a respirator hose going to his trach, but I think that’s just for moisture or something. There was no nurse there for me to ask, but the most disturbing thing was that he was not hooked up to any machines aside from the one that was pushing his food through the feeding tube. There was nothing monitoring his heart rate, his blood pressure, or his breathing. If he stops breathing or aspirates, nobody will know until they go to check on him and he could be dead by then. I called the “doctor” when I left and asked her about it and she assured me that they were doing  everything the doctor felt “necessary.” She said he was getting the “necessary nutrients” and weight loss was to be expected. I told her he had thrush on his tongue. She told me he didn’t as if I don’t know what the white stuff caked up on his tongue is. She told me they were doing everything “necessary” to keep him comfortable, as if they are just waiting for him to peacefully fade away. And I couldn’t say anything. All I could do was act stupid like her explanation was all I needed because I didn’t want to lose my visit next week. I’m at a complete loss and I feel completely helpless. Joe’s brother Michael reminded me that when we’ve done all we can do, the only thing left is to “let go and let God.” I’ve been faithful up to this point so I’m not going to start wavering now, but I feel like we need  miracle. We need prayers. And what we also need is someone in the system who will listen. If you happen to be friends with Governor Haslem, that’d work too. Because right now, I am defeated. And deflated.