Weary

We're finally home after 12 hours in the emergency room at Duke. Everyone was kind and respectful. Nobody blew him off because he's dying or because he's poor. I always felt that's how they were treating him in Savannah. At Duke, though, people call him Mr. and tuck in his blankets.
The interventional radiology people finally came in about 5 o'clock. They were out straight all day and kept sending apologies with their updates.
Mike snuck out for cigarettes several times today. I'm not going to nag him anymore, He can pursue whatever vices he wants now. He will not go back to alcohol or drugs. One of the doctors asked him today whether he smokes and he admitted to a pack a day. Then she asked if he drank and he sat a little straighter.
"Ten years sober," he said.
So, he has new nephrostomy tubes and new pee bags -- one on each side. One joke is that if the bags are tucked inside his clothing, we're going formal. He's never been one to dress up, and now he wears mostly sweat pants and T-shirts because that's what makes him comfortable, and he doesn't feel like he needs to impress anybody.
Rob and I didn't get home until after 11. He was pretty tired and crabby by then. Me too. It's all too much for me. I plan to sleep until whenever in the morning. I doubt it will refresh me much, though.