Nightmare.

This post will not be filled with wise advice, fun adventures or beautiful pictures that I cherish. The thing is, I'm so emotionally and physically drained that tears just won't shed for me. The rest of my family has been granted a plethora of them, but mine reserve just as always. Strong girl to the core. Bottle and lock it away. No weakness. My only hope for relieving a little stress is to write, as usual. People have asked about the situation over the past month and a half, so here it is.

Speaking isn't coming easily these days. Being at work is hard. I can't remember what I did yesterday, or what I was told ten minutes ago. I can't sleep, I forget to eat, I have to physically remind myself to breathe. I don't want to repeat the story 30 times a day, yet I feel guilty when people ask because I know they care. I'm surrounded by so many wonderful people who are trying to be supportive, (thank you by the way, it does make a difference), but talking about it drains me. But not talking about it? In the same vain, I desperately want to find tears and bawl my eyes out while someone just holds me. Yet, I can't manage to let anyone in enough to make that happen. I'm not okay, and admitting that is new for me. People ask how I am, and the standard response is "fine." I say "fine" a lot these days. I'm an exceptionally good liar when it comes to telling people how I am when things go wrong. But if I'm actually being honest for once, I'm far from anything remotely close to "fine." I'm clinging to every single minute, trying to find some stability to rely on. I feel like I've been repeatedly kicked in the stomach. All the while, I'm trying to keep it together. Trying to do my job, trying to support my family, trying to be there when people need me - putting on a brave face 24/7. And it's hard.

My grandma is laying in a hospital bed with foreign machines, tubes, cords, IV lines etc. This all started on August 18th, and ever since then, I've lost any idea of what normal is. She entered the emergency room late at night due to what we all thought was a terrible case of bronchitis. Within a few hours, the doctors informed us that she was being admitted because it was actually pneumonia and she needed antibiotics and observation. I got up, went to work the next day, and planned on heading up to Deer Valley for The Goo Goo Dolls/Michelle Branch concert later that night. Around 3:30 I recieved a call at work from my mom with the "Grandma has had a slight complication" statement. I left my office as soon as I could and headed down to St. Mark's to find her stable, yet borderline of heading into Pulmonary Edema. A quick dose of Lasix, some scary moments, and a missed concert later, things seemed okay. For the next week, she remained on the 3rd floor Progressive Care Unit while we waited for the pneumonia to fully leave her body. I was there every night. We watched TV, talked, laughed, did everything we normally do. In all honesty, I thought she would be home soon.

The following Friday, I receieved yet another call at work from mom with the "Grandma's had a complication" announcement. This time however, she was crying, and it wasn't a slight problem. I hung up the phone, and raced to find coverage for my shift. After a non-understanding co-worker put me into tears and generally made the day feel straight out of hell, I was able to leave and rushed down to the hospital to find my gram in excruciating pain. The first thing she said upon taking my hand was "Help me, Amy. Help me now." She was somewhat delirious, restless, and suffering. Her vitals were not good. They had performed tests, done scans, and could not find the cause of her problem. They knew it was in the abdomen and initially thought it was internal bleeding because she needed four blood transfusions over her stay the previous week. We were then notified that she needed emergency exploratory surgery, and the chances of her coming out of it alive were 50/50. For the next four brutal hours, we waited for an ER to open up all the while the "help me (insert family member name). Help me now, please." sentences continued and she grew increasingly weaker. I cannot begin to describe the helpless feeling those four hours gave me. Finally, they rushed her off to surgery and we began the wait. It lasted for what felt like days. The surgeon and her cardiologist finally emerged and told us she had made it through the procedure. A tumor was located in her large intestine which was blocking the body's normal functions thus causing her the extensive pain. At first glance, the surgeon didn't believe it was malignant and if it was, he was confident that all the infected tissue had been removed. Part of her colon had died due to lack of oxygen, but she still had enough to function. She was sent to the ICU for recovery, and for the next three weeks she stayed there with a ventilator down her throat, tubes out of her nose, picc line IV's and multiple machines that looked so unusual. Those three weeks brought about problems and close calls: loss of kidney function, low blood pressure, irregular heart rhythm, large blood clot in the heart, etc. She was conscious some of the time, but medication was constantly knocking her out. We didn't know if she was going to make it. It seemed like we had one good day where she took a small step forward, and then the next afternoon something would cause her to take two steps back. We were scared to get excited over progress, and terrified every time any phone rang.

Numerous conferences with doctors and another one of those dreaded calls from mom confirmed something we wondered about, but didn't want to believe. At this time my family has decided not to spread the news around to everyone, but my grandma has another battle ahead of her after the one she is currently fighting. One ICU doctor at St. Mark's was so bold as to tell us to turn off the vent without giving her a chance and let whatever happened, happen. I can't remember his name, but it started with "A." I have my own name for him, but that isn't relevant. From the standpoint of equality, this whole thing is just not fair. It's not fair to go through one massive fight only to be thrown back into the ring right afterward for another one. On the other hand, judging fairness doesn't change the situation. I think I struggle with those two mediums. I'm angry that she has had to go through so much pain in her life and yet I know there's a reason for it. It just doesn't make it any easier to witness.

Currently she is at Promise Hospital in the LDS Hospital for an extended recovery. I don't know how long she will be there as everything depends on her body and its healing timeline. She has a strong desire to live, and baby steps are being made. Two weeks ago the ventilator was removed from her mouth, and she had a small surgery to insert a trach in her throat. It has made things a little more comfortable for her, but the consistent breathing is still a problem. Because of the tubes, she can't speak and that's been difficult for her. If you know my grandma, you know how social she is. I haven't heard her voice in over a month which breaks my heart. Never in my 22 years have I gone a day without hearing her talk. On the positive side, we've gotten pretty good at lip reading and have found some little ways of spelling and communicating.

Every day is a rollarcoaster. I go to work, then I go to the hospital. I've spent time at one hospital or another every day for the past month and a half. I know nurses/therapists by name, and have learned medical terms, monitor readings, and drug uses that I never thought I would. Since my grandmother considers me a daughter, I've sat in on every meeting with doctors, had my say regarding the courses of action to take, and I am 150% involved in this entire process. My grandma is like my second mom and has been there for me my entire life and now it's my turn to be there for her. I've seen terrifying things. I've seen beautiful moments. Some days are better than others, but it's never fully okay. I'm very overwhelmed, stressed, sleep deprived and unsure of things right now, but so grateful for every day I'm given with her. Thank you for your continued love and support.