All men wait on death.

If this seems a little off...consider it lack of sleep, hit and miss hospital food, and too much caffeine.

Thursday I went to see my uncle.  Friday I went back to stay.  He's in the hospital with the M.R.S.A. staph infection, C-Diff infection in his colon, and total renal failure.  His kidneys stopped working 10 days ago.  The creatin levels are climbing, as of yesterday they were at 6.9.(0.5-1.5 being normal.)

He refuses dialysis.  Says its an awful lot of pain and annoyance to go through, just to go lay back in a bed in the nursing home.  Because of post-polio syndrome he is unable to walk, roll over, or even move his legs.  He uses a catheter and wears a diaper 24/7.  He spent the last 9 months in one position, laying on his back in a nursing home looking at beige paint and too much tv.

No dialysis with total renal failure is fatal.

Now we are looking at each other, at him, waiting for the last guest so we can get the party started.

We are waiting for death.

After the first two days, all things that needed saying, were said.

So now we wait.

The oddest part for me in all this?  He still has his "right mind."  Meaning, after two days on antibiotics where he did little but sleep, he is awake and his usual self.

I stayed in his room all night Saturday and watched him sleep because he is afraid of greeting the last guest, afraid to answer the door.  The Cincinnati Skyline glittered in the distance and I wondered if death would sharpen his sickle and visit us.  If I would be the one who welcomed him in quiet tones and then let the other guests know he finally arrived.

Part of me threw out the welcome mat and dared him to come.

But death ignores invitations, and is sadistic enough to show up late and stay over long, usually carrying away any left overs not strong enough to resist him.

My aunt is still taking chemo, and insists on sitting in that quarantined room, breathing those germs, not wearing gloves or protective gear.  Not so much out of some great love she harbors for my uncle, more because she is a consummate hostess, and despite death's rudeness in lingering.  She will wait for him.  She will wait, and possibly, if he dallies much longer, will not be strong enough to withstand his dark attentions.

Two for the price of one.

So her son and I insist she leave at night to sleep at home while one of us sits and waits on the rude bastard to show his dark cowled form.

Sunday my uncle woke with an appetite and great mood.  I bought him six Reese cups, a large coffee and two cookies.  He ate four of the cups, all the coffee and chatted with me, cutting up and laughing until my cousin brought in biscuits and gravy and more coffee.  Then the hospital food arrived.

The man loves to eat, sending me or my cousin out at 11pm every night to get him a burger, a chili dog, a frosty.  And since he is the reason for the gathering, why not let him eat what he wants?  The food isn't going to kill him.

Over the weekend I saw people I haven't seen since my cousin's wedding 15 years ago.  They said what they needed to say to my uncle, he to them.

They looked at me.  I looked at them.  Then we all sat down to wait for the last guest.

I was forced to return home late last night.  Forced essentially to abandon the party because the living require more attention than the dying.  Life goes on, yadda yadda.

Unless death arrives sometime today, I will likely go back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.  It's just over an hour there, and despite the relative ease of driving, find myself dreading the space of time it takes to make the journey.

I want to be there when this last visitor arrives though.  I want to watch as he silently steals the guest of honor.  At this point, my uncle will likely meet him at the door, grump about the rudeness of being late, and leave without a hitch.

Until then.

We wait.