When I spoke with my father today, he was still uncertain what the doctors had said. Something about something being high, he muttered. I regretted that I wasn't there so that I had a better understanding of the situation. To the best of my knowledge, her TPN was causing some further problems and a slight tweaking of the formula should do the trick. This I don't understand since her blood was drawn regularly and the formula adjusted accordingly. Another 25 microgram patch was placed on her chest to total 75 micrograms of Fentanyl. The additional narcotics flowing through her would stress her liver further, but such a consideration is unnecessary given the circumstance.
We don't know when she might be discharged, and we're clueless to everything.
When I spoke with my mother her voice sounded as though it was wrapped in gauze. She sounded so weak and tired, it was as though her voice walked the miles of line to get to me. I couldn't understand what she said, so I kept asking her to repeat herself. In frustration she tried to scream her response, but all I heard were senescent syllables that died as they reached my ear.
