I know he needs it, but James' oxygen line is an absolute pain in the ass.

 

It turns out the oxygen bottles, which we have to drag with us everywhere we go, are an absolute walk in the park compared with the home oxygen; we can just sling the carry bag with the oxy bottle in it on the back of the power chair and zoom on. But the oxygen concentrator for the house, the 40-pound behemoth that sits in the bedroom closet and sounds like a fishtank oxygenator—that's what we call it, "the fishtank"—means James has to wander around the main floor dragging a length of oxygen cord and he's already bloody fallen due to the damn thing. They pulled so much water off him he is weak and tired, and his hands shake.

 

James had a bone scan on Sunday, believe it or not, and also had blood taken; Monday evening Kaiser called him about 10:45 with a frantic call about his BUN being 125! I was so upset I got onto chat with my friend Sherrye (the former nurse) and she had to talk me down. Luckily James was talking to his nephrologist the next day and Dr. Kongara says this probably stems from being on too much of a diuretic. He told him to not take any on Tuesday, then go down to two in the morning (from three) and two in the afternoon (from three) of the torsemide.

 

In the meantime we toted those oxygen tanks to the supermarket and to Ron and Lin's house for Hair Day; Saturday James attended his club meeting via Zoom. Sunday we took Tucker to Petsmart on a birdseed expedition. And I uploaded a new fanfic. And that was our week.

 

(Oh, such sad news...almost forgot. Sweet, funny Leslie Jordan was killed in a car crash. They think he had some kind of medical episode and passed out; his car smashed into something and they couldn't save him.)

Labels: chores, death, health, sickness

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:56:00 PM

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