I don't even really know where to start. On the eighth there was a very nice memorial service for my friend Marianne. We laughed and cried. We ate and visited. We said goodbye the best we could. It's hard to believe that she's been gone a month now. I still think of calling her or telling her something. Part of me thinks I always will.
On the ninth, I had my orientation for the SPCA of Texas in Dallas. I enjoyed it so much and really look forward to volunteering there.
My hubby had been feeling poorly since Tuesday of that week. Running a fever that he couldn't quite get rid of for any length of time. Toward the end of the week he told me that he thought he had an abscess (that had started from a pimple). He really didn't complain much about it or say much else. On Sunday, before I left for the orientation, he mentioned that he was feeling pretty bad and that he might just go on to the ER to get looked at. So, on my way home, I called him to see if I needed to stop at the Kaufman ER to be with him while he waited. He was in Athens because the wait was supposed to be shorter. The last time I had been to the Athens ER, the waiting room was very small, so I opted to stay home until he knew something. I truly thought they would drain the "abscess" and send him home. When he called to say that were admitting him and were probably going to do surgery, I was more than a little surprised!
I'm ashamed to say that it was not my finest hour. I actually told my sweet husband to call me if they decided to do the surgery! Fortunately, I did get up off my broad butt, call him, tell him that I was coming up there and I did go up there right away. So, I was there when the surgeon told us that they suspected a flesh eating bacteria. The only other thing I remember the surgeon saying before the surgery was that my husband could bleed to death on the table. That was a real danger if it was what they thought it was. I was alone and terrified as I waited to see what it was and if he survived the surgery. I tried calling people who I thought might still be up, but no one answered their phones. So, I started praying. Luckily, I had my prayer beads with me. I prayed until I couldn't keep my thoughts straight any longer and then, I just sat and waited.
It seemed like an eternity later that the surgeon came to tell me that my husband survived and was doing very well. It was indeed the flesh eating bacteria! I was pretty much in shock, but so grateful to have my husband safely through the surgery. They had to take skin and tissue to get the bacteria. I learned later that the incision was about 3 inches deep and I accidentally saw for myself that it was about a foot and a half long! So hard to believe it had grown from a pimple in just six days! I sat back down to wait for hubby to be moved to a room.
Just when I was starting to really panic over all that lie ahead for us, I heard one of the doors open and there was my cousin Trina walking toward me! Talk about answered prayers! I knew she was a nurse at that hospial and she worked nights, but I didn't know where she worked. I turned out that she is an ICU nurse. We hugged and I told her what I was doing there. She told me that they were getting a room ready for my hubby in ICU right now and it would be ready as soon as it was cleaned up. She filled me in on all kinds of procedures and calmed me down. Another doctor showed up to talk to me about my hubby and Trina left to do what she had started out to do. A few minutes later, they called to tell me that Richard was on his way to ICU and for me to meet them there.
I helped with paper work while he was put into his room. They wouldn't let me stay overnight with him, so I went home after that. He was in ICU until Tuesday afternoon. Then he went to a regular floor, but was kept in isolation. He stayed there until Monday evening the 17th. We're home now and at this moment a home health care nurse is putting in the wound vac and torturing the poor man. They even called me up to help for a bit and will be praying tonight that they never have to have my help again. If I had wanted to look at open wounds, I would have gone into nursing myself. My father wanted me to. I knew I wasn't cut out for it.