I wrote this yesterday on my iPhone.
I am sitting next to KS in intensive care. He is asleep. He is less agitated today. There are a million impressions to digest. Impressions from the past week. But before me are the impressions of right now. Different shades of purple on KS’s right arm against light skin. This arm has two canulas, one wristband and large patches of dark and lighter purple and blue green. Also some brighter red. Matching the red in his wristband indicating he has an allergy. Every time he is admitted to hospital or getting any medical treatment, he needs to answer the question: are you allergic to anything. He has to answer penicillin. He is then asked how he responds to penicillin and then he says he doesn’t know as it was too long ago, when he was a child. If the question is asked by a doctor, they will then tell you that penicillin is still the best. Not sure where this story about penicillin is going. I am going back to his wristband. Noting all the tubes going into his body. And then back to myself.
I am not wearing a face mask today when I sit with him. I have had to keep myself afloat with paracetamol this week. My system feels awash with stress and adrenalin. I am hoping for a morning of rest tomorrow. But this is of course not guaranteed. On the table next to his bed, a Manjushri rupa, his glasses and his phone. He hasn’t used his phone for a few days now. This is another thing to get used to. He is normally so often glued to his phone. I rang him a few days ago about finding the rings. But then things went down and he hasn’t been very vocal. It was the last time he could pick up the phone.
The physical markers of his body are stable at the moment. The tumour lysis syndrome seems to be under control. The severe constipation has cleared. But there is still infection and a body trying and working so hard to find balance and health with the awe-inspiring help of IC wizardry and skill. After I came back from an hour break with a friend, he seemed to be more responsive. There were a few minutes of presence and lucidity. During this brief time we had an absolutely amazing conversation in which he told me, loud enough for some of the nurses to hear: I am not going to die. It was much more magical than that. But I will not commit this to words here. It may or it may not be. We don’t know yet.
