We have a beautiful little anteroom off our master bedroom, which looks out over Fox Chapel greenery, and I took breakfast and the newspapers up there for us this morning. We talked about Steinbrenner’s death and the ice hockey tournament coming to Pittsburgh in 2013. You’d never know I cried my heart out this morning. I don’t believe this is happening. We had the doctor’s appointment yesterday and discussed palliative care with him. If Jarvis can’t eat, he can’t take medicine; it’s as simple as that. In the car on the way, he had said “I don’t want to go to the hospital.” I certainly feel that way. So Forbes Hospice people come today at 10 a.m. It feels surreal.
My daughter understands. She had been a teacher in Macedonia, close to the border of Kosovo, during the US bombing in Kosovo in the late ‘90s, and she said it must be like doing lesson plans contingent on the ground troops coming through.
Jarvis basically hasn’t been able to eat since we got back from the Cape six days ago. Lonnie, a bite of your delicious fresh blueberry muffins was one of the last things he did keep down. I thought I might need an ambulance to get him to his transfusion yesterday. He wouldn’t hear of it, of course, because we would have had to pay for it. So we got him there and nice nurses helped get him into the wheelchair and down to the unit. They gave him Benedryl and anti-nausea medicine with the unit of blood. That’s why we could have such a nice breakfast this morning.
Last year Jarvis was skiing, and playing golf with me, and singing, always singing.