Saturday on the upper floors of the hospital — the place is missing its weekday edge, but the medical care continues just the same; crisp and competent.
Pop continues much the same as well. He is frequently agitated and wrestles his gown, catheters and telemetry leads off despite my protests. He ripped the IV out of his arm again, and again I say ‘Ouch!’ He was virtually wordless today; his few whispered utterances were still indecipherable.
Medically, he’s doing better, says the doctor. Vital signs are all good. The chest x-ray showed that Pop had aspirated something (something he swallowed went down the wrong pipe), and that was the cause of the increasing white cell count.
Today, the count is decreasing again. Pop does have pneumonia which doesn’t seem to be a big deal to the doctor. The appropriate antibiotic has been added to the IV tree and success is apparently anticipated.
Breakfast again consisted of scrambled eggs of which he ate only one bite, chewed forever. Lunch went considerably better; I was able to coax down all of the chicken broth (but none of the noodles or meat), plus four ounces of apple sauce and four ounces of apple juice. He ate only a couple bites of dinner before lying back, exhausted. He still can’t use utensils and has to be fed.
A nurse and I attempted to get Pop’s dentures into his mouth today without success. Then Lisa came here to give him a shave. But without his dentures in, she wasn’t able to do the areas above and below his lips. So Pop is now sporting a salt ‘n pepper mustache and goatee. I think it looks great; I would — I have a full beard.
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