Sam's moving back to Florida ... part 2

I'm not sure how much time we had from the time Sam's move was being put into place until Sam's move actually happened.  I could go back and look, but that is not what is important.  It was a month or so; maybe a bit more.

It could not get here fast enough for Sam.  I knew it would get here too fast for me.

If you have been following my writings, and if you have not forgotten, Sam was in rehab at this time.  He had become so weak after his bout with pneumonia, and, being eighty-three, it was taking him quite a while to regain his strength.  He was due to get out of rehab before his departure to Florida.  This concerned both his daughter and me.  Going by the time line, Sam was to be released.  Going by Sam's condition, we could not imagine him being released.

At this time, Sam was not eating.  He had no appetite.  He was losing pounds by the day.  Not eating and losing weight was taking its toll on him physically.  Sam was so weak.  All Sam wanted to do was sleep.  I would talk to him.  The nurses would talk to him.  His daughter would talk to him.  If Sam really wanted to get to Florida, he was going to have to get stronger.  He was going to have to eat.  He was going to have to go to physical therapy.  Sam would always agree with us, nod his head and then go to bed.  It would have been aggravating had it not been so gut wrenching.  I felt as though I was watching Sam deteriorate right in front of my eyes.

Each morning as I entered the rehab hospital,  I would walk into the dining room to see if Sam was at breakfast.  If he was, I would sit down and attempt to get him to eat as much as he could.  The hospital served a great breakfast; eggs, pancakes, french toast, bacon, ham, toast, coffee, juice.  Sam had the opportunity to have a great breakfast every morning.  I was elated when I would see him sitting in his wheelchair at the breakfast table.  He would often look up, see me and smile.  He'd always say, "Good morning.  You're here." He'd say it so happily.  As though he were as happy to see me as I was to see him.  During this time, I would also show up with a DanActive, trying to get some biotics back into Sam's system, and an Ensure, trying to build up Sam's strength.  Even if I could not get Sam to eat, I would get him to drink his juice, his DanActive and his Ensure.  A few times I even took Gatorade, but Sam didn't like it much, and it was harder to get him to drink.

A couple things Sam loved.  Sam loved his large mocha frappacino (with whipped cream) from McDonald's.  Sam also loved an egg mcmuffin.  If I did not see Sam at breakfast, I would, first, go check on him in his room, and, second, head to McDonald's.  It broke my heart when Sam would barely touch his egg mcmuffin and barely sip his frappacino.  I would sit and talk and encourage, but Sam just wanted to sleep.

Finally, finally, finally the doctors started giving Sam an appetite stimulant.  yay!!  Sam got megace with each meal.  It didn't work overnight.  It took a while, but slowly we could all see Sam's appetite coming back.  Sam would take three bites of his eggs instead of one.  Sam would drink half of his mocha frappacino instead of merely staring at it.  Each and every day I would encourage Sam to eat at least one bite more than the day before.  Each day I would become overjoyed with Sam's improvement.  Sam was not gaining back any weight, but Sam was eating.  Sam's energy did not come back as quickly as his appetite, that would still take time, but I no longer felt as though I was watching my friend rolling down hill.  I now felt that my Sam would get better and better and become stronger and stronger..... yay!!

Sam moving back to Florida ... part 1

About 23 years ago, Sam lived in Las Cruces.  He worked at White Sands after he retired from the Army.  He never really liked Las Cruces all that much, but his wife loved it.

Because of his allergies, Sam managed to convince his wife to move to Florida.  Now to me, this sounds a bit backward ... most people move to the desert when they have allergies, but not Sam.  Whatever it is that messes with his sinuses and his lungs is found out here in New Mexico.  He and his wife moved to Florida.  He loved it.  She missed the mountains.  She missed her family.  But they made a life in Florida.

For the last seven years of her life, Sam watched the love of his life slowly slip away.  As happens so many times, as her caregiver, it was hard on Sam.  Physically it was exhausting.  Mentally it was challenging.  Emotionally it was gut wrenching.  Towards the end, she would scream at Sam, "You're not my husband!! Who are you?  Where is my husband?  Get away from me."  After she took her last breath, Sam was there to close her eyes.

Sam was heartbroken.  Sam was relieved.  Sam was lost.

Sam's daughter talked him into moving back to Las Cruces.  It's where she lived.  It's where his grand daughter lived, and his grand daughter was expecting his first great grand baby.  It made sense.

Sam moved, but Sam was not happy.  He loved seeing his daughter.  He loved seeing his grand daughter.  But they both had busy lives.  They called every day.  They stopped in to visit when they could.  But Sam had more time than they had.

And then there was his health.  He was in and out of the hospital multiple times after his move to Cruces.  His allergies would flair up, and this would affect his lungs.  He could never breathe good while he was here.  He longed to get back to Florida.  He missed Florida.  He missed his friends.  He missed the beach.  He missed his old doctors.  Everything that Florida was, New Mexico was not.

He began talking of moving back to Florida.

I didn't believe him.  I'd humor him.  I'd let him talk knowing full well he wasn't really going to move back to Florida.  He wasn't really going to leave his daughter, his grand daughter, his new adorable great grand daughter.  He wasn't really going to leave me. I'd humor him.

Then his daughter started talking about his moving back to Florida.  This concerned me a bit more.  Him talking of moving to Florida was a dream, but once his daughter began talking about it, it became a possibility.

She would ask my opinion.  I'd stupidly answer that I thought they should do what was best for Sam.  What was best for his health.  Where he'd be happiest.  I couldn't believe the words were coming out of my mouth.  Now I was humoring her.  Except I wasn't.  I meant it.

I was sad.  I was so sad at the thought of losing Sam.  I was so sad at the thought of losing my friend.  But ... at the same time, I wanted what was best for Sam.  I wanted Sam to be happy.  I wanted Sam's lungs to be happy.  I meant it.

Sam's daughter talked to all of Sam's old doctors in Florida.  They were all willing to accept him back as a patient.  Just get them all the records from New Mexico.

Sam's daughter talked to the woman who helped Sam care for his wife.  She was available.  She would now take care of Sam.

Sam's daughter talked to the retirement community where Sam had lived with his wife.  They had an apartment available.

It was becoming a reality.  I was so sad for me and, yet, so happy for Sam.
I did talk about it, but very little.  I didn't write about it.  I didn't blog about it.  I was too sad.  Didn't know what I wanted to say.  Didn't know how to say what I was feeling.  Put it on the back burner for a while..... I could get to it later.

Everything was working out so easily.  so perfectly.
Sam was moving back to Florida.  His home.