Brother in law finally made it out of the hospital and to our house. We spent much of Monday getting the house in order for a guest. We had to go buy a twin bed, which we put in the living room. I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned it, but we practically live in a tiny house. It’s only 725 square feet and has 5 rooms. A living room, kitchen, bathroom, and 2 bedrooms. Not quite enough to be throwing family gatherings or frat parties, but Flea Market Guy and I talked it over and if his brother is going to live and also not relapse, then this is probably the best place for him to do it for a while. So back to the shopping trip.
We got a platform bed with drawers underneath and assembled it in the living room. I learned that I am really good at following really bad instructions. We put sheets and a pillow on the bed and now we have a twin bed in our living room parallel from the couch. And brother in law has zero privacy.
We waited all day for him to be released from the hospital on Monday, but it had been a daily wait for days. At night, the hospital would say “maybe tomorrow.” Tomorrow would come and brother would be so brain fogged they couldn’t even think about letting him go. They had changed his diet completely. High protein. Low sodium. 32 oz of fluids a day. Lots of meds. Lots of shitting. That was the plan.
Monday afternoon, they finally discharged him. He had been moved to Vanderbilt earlier in the week so the parents had a few hours to drive before he would get to our place. They finally arrived around 8:30. It took us about an hour to get him settled in and to go over his medication list and discharge papers.
Per the discharge papers, he had 2 appointments the next day. One at 10:30. One at 2pm. The 10:30 appointment was for blood work at his primary care doctor. The 2pm was for a psychiatry appointment because brother is also an opiod addict and is on buprenorphine ( a drug to “treat” opiod addiction).
Flea market guy and I do not like the idea of buprenorphine being administered because it makes his brother loopy and seem zoinked* out the same way pills zoink you out. Also, because his liver is not functioning the way a normal liver should, therefore it cannot metabolize the medication the way a normal liver does, and therefore he is literally high all the fucking time and talking and making no sense which is already a side effect of the brain fog caused by a low functioning liver. But I digress…
Brother got to our house and, of course, the first thing he wanted was a cigarette. Due to the liver problem, he’s not allowed to smoke. And if every rehab movie ever made was right, when you are coming off a bender, cigarettes are a must have. But he is not allowed to have them so you can imagine his excitement to be at our house where medical rules are being followed militantly. Well, except for the rules we think are stupid, but we have agreed to follow all hospital protocols for the first week or so before I start any of my whole-foods-plant-based-medical-medium-meditation-tea-drinking-positive-thinking-self-love therapy.
The drive was long and brother was tired. We got him situated and into bed and for a few hours all was right with the world.
*zoinked- a word used to describe someone who, despite their best efforts, is high out of their minds on a drug (prescribed or recreational).
RouletteWeekend 