He's had a very energetic and very stressful few months. Renovating the Forbes Building is like being in Ginger Megg's billycart. It's the ride of his life, often making decisions quickly or taking a punt that a restoration idea will work. Which causes his anxiety to skyrocket.
And he's creating miracles with our meagre financial resources. Gary is assisting him for two reasons. As an old friend, he knows Michael's brain and is reasonably innovative in his own right. And we can't afford to pay much.
Gary smokes like a chimney, in the building, out of the building, leaving the lethal trail lingering around Michael's nostrils. Michael, a 40 year smoker, finds this very difficult, but hates rocking the boat. At present, he can't risk losing his offsider.
Michael is on a cocktail of drugs, all of them having side effects. He was having hot flushes and persistent tachycardia, which we eventually traced to his anxiety meds. A beta blocker fixed the pulse, but reducing the anxiety meds was a disaster. As his anxiety rose, he began pinching fags from Gary. And sucking in any second hand smoke. And then the ultimate lunacy - he bought the first packet of cigarettes. Which the local IGA was happy to sell him.
He was trying to limit himself and failing miserably. The wheezing started, so we added twice daily ventolin to his regime. Then four hourly. then more frequently, particularly at night.
In the leadup to the Beverley Blossoms weekend, he was coughing at night as well. His oxygen sats were dropping, not a lot, but cause for concern. He was cutting down his work effort at the shops, because he was becoming shattered. The girls' break was actually a blessing because he was home more than away and I could monitor him.
The last night at home was awful. He was starting to cough up stuff out of his infected chest. I woke at five and decided to get up, water and clean up more of the chaos still left from the weekend. I rang Scott Claxton's rooms at eight, then again just after nine. And unbelievably, his staff found an appointment for us.
I woke Michael and flew around like a whirling dervish, packing, organising, leaving keys with our neighbours, emptying the stinking scraps bucket for next door's chooks, placating the dogs. I was pretty sure Michael would be admitted, so we needed to bring enough gear for the duration.
We arrived at Scott's rooms at 1pm. He examined Michael and we talked about our options. A chest infection, probably bronchitis, was exacerbating his emphysema. Oral or IV antibiotics? Given his previous history, we chose the latter. Michael was admitted at 3pm last Monday.
We felt a bit like frauds the first night. Michael's symptoms lessened and we wondered if we could go home after all. But the Bitch was just warming up. The next three nights were action packed, filled with breathlessness, sweating and panic (from both of us). He could breathe in, but he couldn't breathe out. He sounded like a freight train. Oxygen and saline nebulisers were started. Then salbutamol (ventolin) nebs. Scott was musing about the possibility that Michael had asthma on top of the bronchitis and emphysema. Prednisone and a Symbicort turbohaler were added to the mix.
And we moved wards, back to H4, the dedicated acute medical ward we'd been in April. The staff knew Michael, knew me, knew his health status. Suddenly I felt like I could actually go to sleep because I had additional support. And Michael stopped getting worse.
We've been here almost a week. He is exhausted, but better. The wheezing has stopped, the coughing reduced dramatically and the breathlessness much improved, thanks to the nebs. He sleeps after breakfast, to give him any extra boost to get through the rest of the day. Now he's getting bored as well. Thankfully, with his computer, he is researching our next Goldfields trip, which helps pass the time and keeps his brain occupied.
Scott and his team have been superb as ever. We have landed on our feet to have Scott Claxton as Michael's specialist. And there are new kids on the block with him - feisty, go get them Kate, quiet, reassuring, pregnant Megan and softly spoken Brittany (as least I think that's her name). Yesterday, they didn't come in for the first time. As it was Saturday, I think they'd all earned a break.
Scott wanted Michael upright as soon as possible, to help clear his lungs. So on Thursday, I drove him down to Lake Joondalup, so we could go for a short stroll. It was a cool, breezy day but Michael's face brightened as we took a path into the banksia and paperbark scrub. Fifteen minutes was about his limit, but it made his day. We took selfies on the jetty.
Vanessa's been to see him and has roared up to Beverley to save the day, the dogs and the garden. The cat is studiously avoiding Vanessa, much to her amusement. Ruby will regain her good humour when her lover returns from hospital.
Callum and Bron have been twice and Alex announced his presence in his inimitable style and introduced Pasquale, his support worker, a lovely bloke from Mauritius. Michael's mum, dad, his sister Sandra and his brother Darryl all came en mass. And Judy couldn't resist. She argued with Scott about her belief that evaporative air conditioners cause bronchitis. Michael was quietly smug. I'll apologise to Scott when we see him next.
Tracey, my oldest friend from Marangaroo days, came in on Friday evening, kicked off her shoes, ate chocolate and icecream and curled up on my one person sofa bed. We had a riot of non stop talking and laughter with her for a couple of hours. I only threw her out because I was dead on my feet.
Sian and Bruce will be in this morning. We haven't caught up for a while, so really looking forward to seeing them. She has been my friend for over twenty years and we just seem to be able to pick up from where we left off. And arrange to have them up to the House that Rocks. Friends like that are priceless.
I'm starting to think about discharge. Michael knows he can't smoke. But he knew that in April as well. As memories fade, the Bitch will attempt to return, like Voldemort. I asked Scott what I could do to try and keep Michael on the straight and narrow. His response - "keep a copy of his original CT to show him". And I'll need to remind him of the fear we both experienced during those very long, very scary three nights. And reminisce about swabs in embarrassing places! Hopefully, all of those memories will do the trick. This time.
At Lake Joondalup 13 November 2014.
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