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Norm is home today and sleeping soundly at the moment, so I have a few minutes to rest, as well. He had the tests and they found nothing. Nothing? The man had 3 units of blood and they found zip. zilch. nada. niente. zero.

They gave him a prescription for iron and had him walk around the nurses' station (in lieu of physical therapy) to prove that he was ready to go home, fed him dinner (finally!) and home we went.

He's so weak he cannot get out of bed or off the toilet by himself, so I'm glad today is a holiday, because I'd have had to stay home with him anyway. A good friend has emailed me a contact name and number for a home assistance agency, and I'm going to give them a call. He needs 24 hour care for the next few days (Thursday and Friday), while I go to work, then I can care for him Saturday and Sunday.

If he's not able to care for himself Monday, I'm seriously considering taking him back. They said they tested his stool for occult blood, but I wonder. It sure looks like it to me, but I'm not a nurse.

The intern who saw him and gave me the results was young and cute and seemed quite bright, but I still have my doubts. I really find it hard to believe that such a dramatic crash was caused solely by iron deficiency anemia.

The LVN who came today to check his vitals was wearing a mask. She said she'd been sick for three days and was taking antibiotics. Now that just builds my confidence no end, you know what I mean? If he or I get sick, I'm going to raise a major fuss, though with all the time we spent at the VA, it would be hard to prove anything.

I'm getting tired of focusing on medical stuff and caregiving. Now you know the real reason I refuse to retire. It would become my second career 24 hours, 8 days a week, and I'd shoot myself out of boredom and frustration. He's a very unpleasant patient--nothing I do is ever good enough or quite right--he resents what he perceives as being controlled and is angry when I don't provide perfect unquestioning service (after reading his mind as to what he wants and following his requests to the letter).

I'd rather be in hell.

Thank you for letting me vent. It's a kind of therapy for me. It's hard to deal with the ambivalence I feel towards my patient, and writing helps me sort it out.

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