Looooooooonnnnngggggg day!

Today was one long [emphasis required] day. Dad had an eye doctor appointment and didn't get home til about 11:15. Right before he came home, Tim called saying he'd left the GPS in my car and needed it for his meeting. At first, I told Tim I couldn't bring it to him as Dad wasn't home but immediately called him back and said I could. So I race out the door and to Durant to get that to him, turn right around and come home. 

I told Dad Ann had been having trouble with the congestion and I was a little concerned about it. He called the home health agency to make sure someone was coming out; they were. I hopped in the shower and hadn't been out too long when the nurse showed up. I grabbed the monitor so I could hear everything going on in the room and how Ann was responding, etc. Other than saying "hi," Ann was basically non-responsive. So she called the ambulance. They got her loaded up and away Dad and I went. I had messaged Tim before we left to let him know what was going on. Tim eventually met us at the hospital when he got back from his meeting in Ada.

At the hospital they kept having to suction her out as she couldn't cough up the phlegm. The CXR, though, was negative. Her UA was terrible. They held up the vial of her urine and there was tons of sediment in it. When we got the results back of that, they said she did, in fact, have a pretty serious UTI. Still, her primary doctor wanted her to have a CT of the head due to her mental status changes (which were because of the UTI), which came back unchanged from prior. Thankfully, she was admitted and finally put in a regular room. She is going to be monitored via webcam and suctioned, have her vitals checked every four hours and is maybe going to have a feeding tube done tomorrow. Dad has to be back up at the hospital by 9 a.m. 

While we were in the hospital I saw something that said the date as being the 12th, and it hit me that although I'd thought of Amanda all day yesterday, it hadn't clicked that yesterday was 5 months since she passed. How could I not have realized it? And what's worse, is last month it happened the same way. I didn't realize it until the 12th. I felt like a horrible mom and in part, I'm still kicking myself, but I think in pondering it further, it's not that I'm "forgetting" about her death at all; it's that I'm trying to focus more on her life. 

Still, with that being said, when the nursing assistant was wheeling Ann off the elevator of the 2nd floor, Tim and I both realized instantly that if we turned left, we'd be right next to the waiting room we spent so much time in with friends on that day/evening five months ago. I felt like I was going to panic. I just kept thinking, "Please don't go that way. Please don't go that way." They didn't. However, as we were waiting in her room for the charge nurse to come to paperwork with Dad, I slipped out and felt compelled to go down that hallway again, to see it, to look into the waiting rooms, to go back. I saw myself crumpled in a heap on the floor in front of the row of chairs in the waiting room just screaming out her name. I remember the neurologist and his team coming in right then and touching my shoulder as they had to talk to us about her chances of survival, etc. I remember looking around at each face in the room and wishing someone could tell me it was a dream, that they were wrong, that my baby wasn't dead, that this was just a mistake, but knowing in my heart that it was all as the doctors said it was. I felt like I had to go back there and sort of face it again for myself. I still hate being in that hospital, though. 

So Ann is settled in, in her hospital room and we are all back home now. I'm praying that this will lead to the nursing home placement, but what I would be ashamed for my dad to know, I kept praying for Jesus to just take her home. This is not living. She has zero quality of life. She would be mortified to know the stuff that comes out of her mouth. Why does she have to suffer? Why can't she just go home? Peacefully, in her sleep, not sitting in a hospital room choking on her own phlegm because she can't cough hard enough to get it out and doesn't understand what it means to spit it out, so just swallows it and on and on the cycle goes. It was so hard to see her struggling like that. They had to suction her so many times today/night. I don't mean to question God; I just don't understand what the purpose is in keeping her here. Dad's miserable. She's miserable and has no real life. The whole situation is just a mess. All day I just kept sending up a silent prayer: Jesus, please just take her quickly. So we will see what happens in the a.m. Dad has to meet with Dr. Jaiswal at the hospital. I have to go to work. I'm ready for a break. This day off was anything BUT.

While at the hospital, I was holding Amanda's class ring and looking at it. I've worn it on a chain around my neck since she passed. I noticed that some of the black lettering was kinda coming off/out. I knew I was going to have to take it off and put it up. This really upset me. I've already had to take off and put up the owl earrings made for me as I wore them til earlier this month and noticed that they'd turned colors. I put up the owl bracelet that the same girl made me as the owl kept falling off and I didn't want to lose another one (replaced it once). The bracelet that had been Amanda's that she made, I'd been wearing also, and I noticed I got paint on it the other day, so not wanting that ruined further, I put that up. The bracelet she had bought me with the multiple pastel-colored hearts has one area that keeps catching on clothes, etc., and I didn't want that to break and me not notice and lose it, so I put that up. I want SOMETHING that is a constant reminder of Amanda's life, of her, of my beautiful baby girl, that I can wear, that I won't ruin or break or lose, and not have to put up. Even her Baby Bop I put back up on the shelf next to her urn as I'm so afraid of her getting messed up. I mean, she's like 17 years old! It just makes me sad. I feel like little by little, these little reminders are being "taken away," and I don't like it. I know that I will always have my memories; I know that, but having something visible is important to me. I miss her so very much.