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| Bill in his new slumber furniture. No more sliding out of his cheapie Wayfair recliner |
Bill's hospital bed was delivered today.
The delivery man (also named "Ron" coincidentally) was coming from Philadelphia. He had several deliveries to make. He told me that I was scheduled for last. By the way, it seems all my life when I have deliveries I'm always last but I digress. Well, today I got lucky because he was going to do a loop from Route 113 (which runs parallel to Route One which I live right next to) then go north on Route One. But he made a wrong turn and ended up on Route One, only a mile from our house. He called me at 2:30 and asked if he could deliver the bed now. Of course! I was waiting all day, passing up my usual afternoon nap, waiting for his call.
"Ron" arrived in our driveway shortly thereafter. The hospital bed was unassembled. Took a while to assemble it. In the meantime I had to tell Bill to wait in his bedroom downstair.
Ron explained to me how the hospital bed worked. It's easy. No wonder my friend Larry M. likes his hospitable bed which was delivered a few years ago as his ALS progressed. In fact his wife also had a hospital bed delivered for her.
The hospital bed takes special length sheets which I immediately ordered through Amazon. I LOVE Amazon! I have contributed more than my share to Jeff Bezos's fortunes since I've been care giving for Bill. My Amazon Prime account is paying for itself. No delivery charges!
After Ron left, Bill was very confused as he often is when his routine is disrupted. He'll be alright tomorrow because he will have forgotten all about today's intrusion to his daily routine.
This hospital bed came none too soon because Bill was treating his recliner as a bed, often sliding on the floor. And you remember last week I had to call on my neighbors to help me lift Bill from the floor. I can only call on their help so much.
Tomorrow his hospice nurse visits. Bill is sleeping almost twenty hours a day now. He's sleeping now.
He's only eating two meals a day, if that.
He says he feels "different." I'm not sure what that means since this the first (and I hope last) time I'm experiencing first hand someone dying.
Bill wants to go. Every day he tells me. I feel so bad for him. But he is fading. He's not the Bill I've lived with for most of the past fifty-nine years. Whenever I think of the way Bill used to me, a profound sadness threatens to overwhelm me. I force my mind to think of something else.
One day at a time folks. Today we made progress.
