The doctors in charge of our friend Tim at the Hermosillo General Hospital have found a tumor in his lung. When one of us called Tim, he says, "He could barely talk."
Someone who had committed to visiting him Wednesday didn't go, and didn't tell anyone he wasn't going until the end of the day. Two people who were of great help have had to leave Mexico to take care of sick relatives in the States.
The drugs he's taking by IV have to be paid for daily, and we established an account in the financial office so a nurse can get the funds, buy the drugs from the pharmacy downstairs and then refill the IV, but we have to check regularly to make sure this is being done and the funds haven't run out. He's already dipping into his savings, his cash consisting of only an advance payment on a boat repair job he isn't able to oversee now.
A visitor could help him wash and brush his teeth, but he's too proud to ask for help and some friends are unaware of what he needs.
We put together an Mp3 player loaded with a Ludlum spy thriller for him so he has something to escape the dreary hospital, at least in his head. We brought him bottles of Ensure and little boxes of juice after he said that he has trouble eating solid food.
Nobody wants to stay with him after five, because they don't want to drive the hour home after dark.
Meanwhile, his beloved Podin has become a problem for the caretaker, who boards dogs for a living and took him in for free. In his anxiety he bit one of her clients, and ruined objects in her house. So we are trying to find an alternative for a dog the size of a Shetland pony.
I apologize for this dreary post. We all knew this would eventually happen, but still I'm sad, disappointed and worried. Team Tim seems to be fumbling the ball.