Thanks for the recent posts. The latest hospital trip was a roller coaster ride. Once again he pulled out of almost dying. I hope he has some peace at home for a while. Then I hope he can slip out of this life gently. People wonder why I bring him to the hospital and don't just let him die, as he would have Monday, if I didn't. Doctors wonder this. I'm not at all opposed to letting "Nature take its course." But he wasn't about to just drift away. He was being tortured. I wanted the torment relieved.

Remember the debate in this country about Arab prisoners being "water boarded" in Guantanamo by the CIA during the Bush administration. That's what "acute respiratory failure" is like. It's torture. To watch it is torture also. On Monday his chest had one and a half liters of fluid that had accumulated just outside his right lung. (And that's his better lung.) He had this gurgly cough like he was being water boarded. I've never seen that form of "enhanced interrogation," but I think I have an idea what it's like. A person desperately wants to take a deep breath, but he can't. He just coughs and coughs and coughs . . . trying to clear the air passages, but the gurgling won't stop.

In my boyfriend's case, the lungs are being compressed by fluid just outside the lungs . . . a huge collection of fluid. Imagine sticking 2 bottles of soda inside your chest. For hours he coughed. His oxygen level went down . . . not enough to make him unconscious, which would have been nice. It went down enough to make him want air, but he couldn't take in a decent breath. Water was seeping into the lungs, and he was trying to cough it up. Trying and trying and trying.

Then that lack of oxygen causes "mentabolic encephalopathy." That's when the brain gets all weird. He was hallucinating, seeing "a girl in the corner." He became disoriented and delusional, asking me, "Why are you on the roof? Can't we go downstairs?" He was coughing and asking crazy questions. He was agitated, trying to stand (but he doesn't have the strength to stand.) He got worse and worse agitated.

So I called 911. At the ED in the hospital they reversed all that, and he became peaceful. Soon he could get in enough oxygen. The gurgly coughing slowed down. But the confusion went on longer. He saw a spider on the wall and a bird. He wanted me to say I saw them too. He pulled out his I/V. So they gave him Ativan, and he went to sleep. He had some peace then.

You see a person desperate for air and hallucinating. You just want them to not be frantic . . . to not be scared . . . to not be tortured. You wouldn't leave your dog in that state.

So that's why I called the ambulance. At the hospital, all that misery was stopped. But they did have to stick needles in him.

So now we hooked up with an agency that will provide "hospice" care. So next time he's in respiratory failure, I guess we'll give him morphine at home. Maybe that will do. But "hospice" won't give enough morphine to get him "to just let go and slip away." People ask, "Why don't you just let go?" "Why doesn't he just let go?" Like that's an option you can simply select. A person being torchered would probably love to close their eyes and slip into unconsciosness. You can't just choose that. You can't just order your brain to stop experiencing what's happening. It would be great if you could just will that to happen.

Sorry for this long, dreary description of our latest medical crisis. But I keep being asked why I don't just let him stay home and "be comfortable." Like that's an option I've turned down. Like all I have to do is put a check mark in the box next to that option. Sure I'ld choose that. Who wouldn't? It's not like I get a kick out of going to the hospital and going through all this drama.

They tell me "hospice" knows all about comfort. So I signed the papers with "hospice." I figure, "Okay, show me."

He's peacefully asleep right now. I won't wake him for breakfast. He can sleep all day, if he wants. All I want for him is to not be in a tortured state.

I appreciate anyone bothering to look at this thread. I know it's dreary. But thank you all for your words of encouragement.