The storm clouds are piling high. |
Saturday wasn't a good day. Robert felt as if he were freezing cold, an indication of poor circulation, and wanted to sleep all the time. He had trouble thinking and talking. All indications that one of the spells would come. I call them spells because no one really knows what they are, but the doctor and three nurses think they are probably mild strokes, TIAs. Robert so loves to watch his grandsons play ball. Colby and Shane are now in basketball, and Shane's first game was supposed to be Saturday. Robert couldn't wake up enough to go. More and more sleeping signals not enough oxygen, even when he is using oxygen. Yet, he doesn't sleep for long periods at a time, maybe thirty minutes to an hour, then awake for a bit, then back to sleep. He didn't even feel like sharing one of his stories, and Robert always likes to tell stories. While trying to talk to his brother on the phone, Robert kept mixing up words and losing his train of thought. The struggle frustated him so much. The neighbors to the north of us, who are from Banglidash (I don't think I've spelled that correctly), invited us over for a prayer meeting at their house tonight. Robert wanted to go, but I had to go tell them he couldn't sit up long enough to be there. The older of the sons of the house said they would pray for him. Robert and I both believe that prayers are heard no matter what language. Surely the God that created different peoples and languages can understand them. |