Last week I posted that DH had taken a fall. He’s been in the hospital in the ICU since he was admitted.
Not being able to see your loved one, not being able to visit, maybe being able to call is difficult. You don’t realize how much that little bit of contact can mean. I can call, but DH doesn’t always answer. But I’m not allowed to go to the hospital, I can’t send him anything, we’re cut off from each other.
When DH was taken to the hospital, we had been at urgent care. The ambulance took him, and the drivers “suggested” that I not go along. They told me to just go home, and wait to be called. It was probably the best advice, but it also meant that I wasn’t able to be there when he was admitted. Since I took him to the urgent care first, I didn’t get to send him off with any pajamas, no robe, no toothbrush, nothing that I would normally have packed.
One thing they had mentioned was that if I attempted to go to the hospital, I would have to wait in line with other people to be screened before I “might” be allowed in. Since then, when I have spoken to the nurses they have all said, no, don’t come. When I’ve asked about dropping anything off for him, they’ve basically said no. They’ve been nice about it, but the answer has been no.
Its not easy when you are forced to stay away. You don’t feel like you really know what’s going on. Its not that hospital personnel are lying to you, but right now you realize that they are overworked and not all information may be conveyed to you. And you feel more connected and assured when you can actually see your loved one. There are so many little things you know that the hospital probably doesn’t Little things like why the patient doesn’t want to eat early breakfast, but might want to eat mid morning, because that’s what they do at home. That they like to be warm, that they get cold easily. These are things the hospital wouldn’t know, and if you were there you could tell them or help your loved one be comfortable. In different times, I might bring a sweater, maybe a polar fleece jacket, something that would help DH be more comfortable.
But right now, that’s not an option. Its hard on the patient, but its also hard on the family. You feel so helpless. You want to do something, but you simply can’t. You want to be there for the one you love, but its not possible. The feeling of helplessness can be all encompassing.
Yesterday I had an unfortunate “misunderstanding”. I got a call, where the person apparently used the wrong verbiage. I’m sure this happens, hopefully not too frequently, but it can be very upsetting (shocking might be a better phrase. I literally just sat there, couldn’t even cry).
I’m not sure how other people handle this separation and lack of knowledge. Knowing that so many people in the hospital may be getting calls about loved ones passing, wanting to know their condition, I can appreciate how shocked people feel. In my situation, I got a call about hospice, then they back pedaled saying someone would be calling me. I didn’t get another call clarifying what they meant. It was a tough night not knowing what is going on.
At this point I’m still not entirely sure what’s going on with my DH. Even when I spoke with someone today, I feel I’m getting not quite full information. I’m sure part of it is that the situation changes constantly. But this is part of the problem with being unable to see you’re loved one. That lack of knowledge, that unknown, that emptiness.