Blindfolded

I’m going to St. Louis on Wednesday night… I’m so glad to be going. Jasmine is doing a little better, Jeff says, but it doesn’t sound better enough to put my mind at rest. I can’t help but feeling like I’m going through the stages of dying with her, except that I’m not with her. I want to erase that line, but I’m going to leave it there. It’s how I feel and I can’t make it pretty.

Sometimes I feel really hopeful, and there really is a chance she’ll pull through this. But this time is so different than all the other times she’s ever been in the hospital. She’s not responding to treatment quickly and even if she does, she has a long road back on the physical therapy front. They’re actually having to move her around to prevent bedsores for godssakes.

Jeff says she sleeps alot and doesn’t want to move. He says when she’s awake she just wants him to hold her hand. That is not good at all. When I was with her, the only time she wanted her hand held is when she was at her worst. All the other times she was either bitching about the room or wanting to play a game. She listens to a nature sounds CD all the time. Totally uninterested in books-on-CD or music CDs.

I’m worried that Jeff is trying to protect me. I know he’ll say he’s not (rather indignantly after reading this), but all the information I’m getting leads to her not doing well. As usual, I need to see for myself. I guess some things will never change. When I was little, I needed to experience things for myself — being told never worked (the tales my parents could tell…). I still feel that way. I need to see for myself.


*I need to keep in mind that Dr. Sweet said she may appear to get worse before she gets better. Maybe that’s what this is.

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