The Specifics

The following is just my opinion COMPLETELY UNSUBSTANTIATED BY MEDICAL FACT:
I'm really worried about Judah in the short term. His steroids so completely prevent him from meaningful rest that I am afraid that his body will suffer complete exhaustion. That doesn't sound so bad, one might think, because it will force him into rest. I worry that his steroids will inhibit rest even at that stage. It is very painful and difficult to see Judah when he is like this. He descends into elaborate hallucinations that blur reality with dreams. He rings for the nurse and when she comes in, he asks her to sit down with him for the night, explaining that he was ripping open a packet of handiwipes but now they are disappearing. Finally, he catches on that he is disoriented. Every word is interrupted by a gasp for air, giving his speech a frantic quality. I have a hard time understanding why it is so frightening to see him like this. I sit up in my chair and watch him quietly for about 40 minutes, paying attention to his actions. He is suspicious of me. He tries to engage me in conversation but I don't resond. I just watch. His fingers hover over the pink bins that surround him. Each bin is filled with crap; cups, bottles, candies, books, the newspaper, tissue boxes. His fingers twitch in anticipation, like a gunman in the old westerns before a shootout. His eyes dart back in forth, searching for something that is either out of place, or that could be rearranged. He picks up two styrofoam cups, unstacks them, restacks them and puts them back in the pink bin. He rings for his nurse. She comes in. All he wants to know is if he has a packet of Capri Sun juice left on the table. I tell him that I can help him with things like that, but he snaps back for me to stay out of it. I get up, slip my shoes on and tell him that I am going to go to the bathroom. I go instead to the lobby, sit down in the sofa and fall asleep. I can't bear to be in there right now. After a few minutes, I lumber back in the room hoping to find Judah passed out. He is as peppy as ever and it's still only a few minutes past three. He announces that he wants to take a nap, but he doesn't. He can't! I don't care what the steroids are doing FOR him, I hate what the steroids are doing TO him.
At 5:30 I get up for the last time. I spend a few minutes with Judah discussing the night. He is surprised to hear about his behavior, yet he insists that he is coherent. I ask him why he won't take the Ativan that the nurses and doctors keep suggesting. It will help him relax and sleep. He ends the discussion by saying that he doesn't need it, he doesn't like it, and he will not take it. I wonder at what point he will relinquish control over what medications are given to him. I hate to say it, but I fantasize about slipping some Ativan into his IV bags. I wish the nurses would do it for me. He needs to sleep. At 6 am, I leave for the day, hoping that this will be the last time that they have to give him steroids.