Well, it looks like Robin is going to live. And I guess I'm okay with it.
Hahaha, I mean, I am very happy about it.
I know, I know, about five years ago I blogged about how I thought our marriage was in such great shape because I wished he were dead only about 50% of the time, and everyone got all worked up about my mean sense of humor and my cold heart and blah blah blahbbaty blah.
I still stand by my belief that if one is married for 37 years and wishes one's spouse dead only 50% of the time, that is a good marriage, but I'll debate that with you another time. We cannot afford to fight each other on the small issues these days.
Robin has been very sick. The part you need to know is that I told him to go back to the doctor about a million times but he did not respect my degree in Ethnomusicology enough to heed my medical advice. You can see why I get aggravated with him and wish him dead.
Ha ha, just kidding. I kid.
The home health care infusion nurse came to our house to teach me how to do Robin's IV antibiotics. I paid close attention because, you know, I don't want him to die by my hand even though, from what I've researched, it wouldn't be Murder One if I merely didn't see that air bubble in the syringe because (I think)m my cataracts are growing back. Shit looks a little blurry lately and I'm concerned.
The nurse said to me, "Do you have any questions? You look confused."
I said, "Yes. Can cataracts grow back?"
Robin gave me that look. The one that says, can you not make this all about you for three seconds?
I said to the nurse, "So, tell me again...where do I insert the needle?"
She said, "As I explained already, the needle stays in his arm. It's a PICC line. You don't take it out."
I said, "And I put it in the red biohazard box afterwards, right?"
She said, "No. You do not take it out of his arm."
I said, "Then how do I get the medicine in him?"
Robin said, "Please admit me to the hospital."
Hahaha, no he didn't. At least, not out loud.
As of this writing, we've successfully gotten through his first three doses of antibiotics. I am in charge of the cringing and gagging and taking to the couch with a cold compress on my forehead part of the deal, while Robin does the sterilizing everything, administering the medicine to himself, disposing of the detritus and fixing us both a sandwich afterwards. He lost faith in my ability to take care of him that first day when I grabbed the little bottle of Yacult probiotic instead of the little bottle of his antibiotic in the fridge and insisted it was all the same.
He told me to go into the bedroom and rest my cataracts. His tone was little bit bitchy but I chose not to mention it. He finished up his infusion, cleaned up and made us tuna sandwiches. He got winded and had to sit down on his way back to the kitchen.
The sandwich was a bit dry, truth be told.
I would have asked for a little piece of lettuce to juice it up but he was already asleep.