Just a blah day

I honestly can't even get into anything today. I need to make some cards for my grandsons (which I'll do later) and I need to finish the housework. I'd like to say the rain is responsible for my blah mood today, but it's the same frame of mind I had yesterday.

I think I have finally accepted the inevitable that this is my life and the only thing I really have to look forward to is a new crisis following the existing crisis. That's life and I'll cope - I always do. But, it doesn't make it any less stressful to realize.

Ron walked into the doctor's office on Friday and back out. He's been in bed ever since then. He says when he walks he feels the bones in his feet cracking and popping - a definite sign of charcot foot (which we already know he had in his left foot before the transmetatarsal amputation). He can go from the bed to the bathroom, to the chair, to the sofa, back to the bathroom, and back to the bed. He's made a few forays into the kitchen but not many. He doesn't feel much like eating. I think he's discouraged. Can't say as I blame him.

On Friday's appointment, the kidney doctor was pleased with his numbers and the fact that he's not got any swelling of his legs and feet. That's a good sign. On the flip side, he's got a thickening of his jugular and she hears an extra sound in his heart. She wants him to have an echo of his heart before he sees his cardiologist. His next appointment with the cardio doctor is Tuesday, so they're trying to squeeze him in on Monday.

Monday's already pretty booked; blood work at 8:15 and foot doctor at 9:15. My day originally had planned on not being spent entirely at doctors' offices. It may be subject to change.

He didn't feel like going to church this morning. I don't know if it's totally the pain or if it goes deeper than that. It could go deeper. He feels abandoned. Although he doesn't really care if he has visitors or not, he does get bored just sitting around here and watching TV. He rarely gets phone calls during the day so he really is feeling like he's alone. First, he'll tell me that he's upset that he obviously means so little to people that no one calls him (even though some of them do talk to me when they see me, and some call my cell phone to see how he is; it's not the same as him talking to me) and then in the next breath he'll tell me that he really doesn't care. He must care more than he wants to admit or he would not say the things that he says. He's not as confused as he was (thanks to Aricept) so I think he's more aware that he has no life outside of doctor appointments and the television.

Not much of a life, that's for sure.