Today Sucks

Six years ago today, my life blew apart.  I woke up and took Hazel & Lucca for a walk.  I was exhausted because the night before I came home from walking the dogs to find that Jeff had fallen over into the bathtub and couldn’t get out.  His leg was hurting terribly.  I couldn’t get him out myself, and went to ask a neighbor for help, to Jeff’s embarrassment.  He helped get Jeff out of the tub and onto the bed, and stayed to talk with him while I called the ambulance.  Jeff told me to stay home this time, and catch up in the morning, as ER visits were a common occurrence in our 13-year marriage.

I was playing Fate, making the time disappear until I could call the hospital.  Our routine was for me to call after the doctor’s rounds - usually around 9.  At 8:30, the phone rang.  It was a doctor, which was a very uncommon experience.  She told me that Jeff had broken his femur and that his body was beginning to shut down and I should come to the hospital immediately.  If I knew anyone else who would want to say good by, I should call them as well.  I called to work, then sped over to the hospital. I found Jeff in intensive care, with a couple of nurses working hard to keep blood in him.  They were hooking a pint of blood into his IV every few minutes.  Jeff was alert and in a good mood, introducing me to the nurse.  “Oh, so you’re his wife,” she said, pleasantly.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.  He loves you very much.”  I took his hand and leaned over to kiss him.  “We love each other very much,” I replied.  “How’s he doing?”  He’s losing a lot of blood internally, so we’re trying to keep up,” the nurse replied.  “I suggest you talk to the doctor.”  I kissed Jeff again and went off to find her.

“His body is shutting down,” the doctor told me bluntly.  He’s bleeding internally.  I don’t expect him to last the night.”  I went outside to an enclosed garden close to the intensive care unit, turned on my cell phone and started making calls.

 “Jeff’s in the hospital again,” I’d say to message machine after message machine.  “It looks like he’s not going to make it this time. Please come down.”  I asked a few of our closest friends to call other friends and spread the word.  Feeling helpless, I went back to be cheerful for him.  I later heard from several friends that when they heard Jeff was in the hospital again, the thought they’d see him on the upcoming weekend.  Then they heard the rest of the message and got worried.

The nurses were working steadily to keep blood in his body.  He looked worse and was swelling up.  We talked of random things to try to take his mind of the constant flow of chatter from the nurses.  Every pint of blood had to be verified with his name and patient ID number read and repeated.  I thought then that I’d never forget that number.  Thankfully, I have.

The people started showing up.  Only 2 people can be with the patient at a time, and because of the nurses, they asked to limit it to 1.  I went to the waiting room to make room for others be with him.  Then I started falling apart.

Around noon, he was losing consciousness and they had to put a tube down his throat, so he would no longer be able to speak.  I kissed him and told him I loved him.  He told me he loved me and used a secret pet phrase that always made us laugh.  I smiled for him, then turned away.

The chaplain came by, a wonderful woman who I remember hazily.  She had a separate room for us, since we were such a large crowd and I couldn’t stop crying.  By the end of the day, there were 15 people in that tiny room, sending Jeff love, and supporting me.

It was the worst afternoon of my life.  People would come in as they heard or as they got off work or were able to make it.  I remember not being able to stop crying, and being surrounded by loving people.  The afternoon was punctuated by nurses giving me updates as his condition worsened.  The would bustle in, tell me that some other part of his body was failing, and what they were doing to try and fix it.  Finally, around 5, they told me his kidneys were shutting down and wanted to know if I wanted to put him on dialysis.  I had 2 questions.  Is it painful? Yes.  Will it help him live? No.  I said that he had fought long enough and if his body was shutting down, we should let it shut down without adding any additional trauma to his life.  He’d been through so much and fought for so long and so hard.  Originally, his doctors have him 5 years to live, and he outlasted them by 8 years.  I said “Let him go.” And cried.  The nurse came back and told me they’d stopped all the life-saving measures, and he looked calm.  He was still swollen and had the tube down his throat to breathe, but he looked peaceful.  Then she told me that I was very brave for making that decision and all the nurses were really proud of me.  It was hard, she said, but trying to keep him alive would just cause him more trauma.  God bless her for saying that.  At the time, I thought it was the only choice I could have made, but later I appreciated her kindness.   And still do.

Finally, they came in and asked if I wanted to spend the night to be there when he passed, or go home.  Go home, I said.  I’d been there all day and started out tired.  I didn’t know if I could sleep, but at least I could lay down.  I’d done everything I could for him.  For 13 years.  Did I want a call when he passed, if it was the middle of the night? I don’t remember what I said, just that I woke up at 6 and called to find out that, against all odds, he had made it through the night.  As my friend Rebecca said later when told this, “He always was freakishly strong.”  Katy, who along with Jan had spent the night, as they were to stay with me for several more days, asked if I wanted to go to the hospital.  I was drained, exhausted and just couldn’t.  I’d said my goodbyes the day before.  I couldn’t say them again.  Once was hard enough.  “I want to go,” said Katy.  I told her to go and go now because he could pass at any time.  She left immediately.

He looked so peaceful, she said.  They’d taken the tube out of his throat and he was lying peacefully, looking almost well.  She held his hand and told him it was ok to go.  Like he was waiting for permission, he passed a few minutes later.

My world blew apart.  I thought that I was prepared for his passing, but one never is.  We were so close, so connected, so entertwined.

So here I am, six years later, healthy and happy.  It’s taken this long to put my life back together, re-construct a life without Jeff’s larger-than-life presence.  I’ve found strength I didn’t know I had, or had forgotten about.  Developed skills and talents that took a back seat to health issues and drama.  And even found love again.  A different kind of man, because Jeff was so one-of-a-kind, but one who adores me and loves me and has stuck with me through the difficult times when my life was broken.  The future is rosy, and full of love.