the hospital

I came home from school on a Monday, March 7, to find that Ron had felt sick all day. He'd gone out for
lunch and barely made it to and from the car. He got sick.

We went to the doctor the next day. I dropped him off at the front door and by the time I got into the building, he was in a wheel chair surrounded by people. He'd fainted. 

Personnel insisted he go see the day clinic doctors. They thought he was on too many medications that needed adjusting. He was anemic and needed blood. He had to go to the hospital. Not the first time since he was diagnosed, but the first time they told me that he was not strong enough for me to take him. An ambulance would come. 

Ron rode in the ambulance. I went home to get groceries that had been delivered. We thought this was simple maintenance. He'd get a transfusion. They'd fiddle with his medicine, and we'd be back home in a few days. We weren't. 

The doctors decided Ron had a bladder infection that required IV administration of an antibiotic. He needed blood and some more blood. He started coughing.  Scans showed his lungs were covered with spots. His kidneys were overstrained as the mass in his bladder grew. His body overtaken by cancer or the effects of cancer.

Dr. Kim, so young and bright, kept telling us there was something that could be done. She had one suggestion after another. We never doubted that this was a battle we would win. That we would grow very old together. She was wrong. We were wrong. 

Ron kept saying he didn't feel like he was dying. Hospice came in and helped us make plans. I called family, friends, work, and church. 

Ron spent eleven of his last twenty-two days in the hospital. He begged to go home. The hospital was not a fit place to host his final days. Friday night, March 18, an ambulance brought Ron home.