In the last 24 hours, Jesse’s condition has deteriorated. Although his blood work came back satisfactory, the disorientation from the drug has intensified, cheating him of present reality.And again, the most impressive part of all this is the incredible love they have for each other -- no matter what. Also impressive to me is Yen's devotion and belief in Jesse's love and the hope - no matter how dented, damaged - that allows him to continue to believe - far more than most people are capable of.
Boxed in a hospital room at New York-Presbyterian, he thinks we are in North Carolina, at an elaborate, colorful circus show. There are land-angry Indians knocking at the door. He is begging me for another dose of IL-2. “I don’t want to die,” he pleads with the doctor. Minutes later, he is tugging at his IV tubes, struggling to stand, asking to go home.
He is taking longer than usual to re-orientate because of the tumors in his liver. “His liver is in bad shape,” said Dr Kaufman. “It will take some time to metabolize all the bags we gave him. Let him sleep. We’ll keep him here for another night if we have to.”
I want no more tricks and fantasies, but the solid hearth of my lover’s chest, breathing into mine. I want sleep in its circadian comfort, days and nights that stay in their respective skies.
Maybe that will be tomorrow.
I hold my own mirror up - would I be able to do this? Could I do it? And would I be able to let others know what I believe?
And, in my own way - with my own faith, I'm standing saying: "No more! This is just not right...he needs to heal!"