It's so hard to put a title on this post. I guess I'm lucky that I'm a failed blogger; so I'm basically writing this for me. There are things in life that throw your whole world out of orbit and I'm dealing with one of those things now.
On 9 Aug 2020, my husband of 22 years passed away in his hospital bed with nearly all of his siblings at his bedside. Our son had just arrived and we were both on our way to his room when it happened. Up until the moment his niece said he's gone, I was really convinced he would be coming back home. He was only 61.
This had just started in May. He had been feeling rundown and started to have pain in his midsection. We went to one hospital three times and they did nothing for him. When he fell in the kitchen, we went to another hospital. He was diagnosed with cancer within 24 hours. He had a 'lesion' in his brain that was causing swelling and a small bleed, He had masses on both adrenal glands, and he now had an oncologist.
Things moved as slow as they did fast after that. He had a biopsy of the adrenal gland on 26 Jun 2020. As of this writing, I still don't know what kind of cancer he had. He had radiation on his brain that improved his hearing and started to shrink that tumor. We were waiting to find out what kind of cancer it was so the oncologist could make a treatment plan.
During this time, he came home and the doctor told him to do what he felt comfortable with doing. He cut grass. He did all the things he would normally do while we waited. There was an auction he was planning on going to when he went back into the hospital. He was really uncomfortable, didn't feel right and wasn't eating. The goal we had at that time was to get him in rehab and build his strength for the fight to come.
He went to rehab and after the first night, I talked to him and he was literally crying. He asked me to come, he thought he was dying (which I couldn't with COVID rules) so I called the nurse, She went to check on him and he was sent to the hospital and I waited in the ER waiting room until they finally told me he was in isolation for a COVID symptom. The next day I went to see him in the ICU and he wanted to change his designation to DNR. I wasn't worried. He just needed the right meds and he would be coming home.
He was moved to the oncology unit and he went into hospice. He was accepted into the hospice connected to the hospital. I still wasn't worried. I knew he could come back, get strong, and come home. On the morning he died, I called his sister and said people need to come this morning. I know he was bad. He could barely talk and was getting the pain meds as soon as it was time. I still didn't fully get it.
The day before he was up in his chair. He seemed to be better. He had visitors and communicated with them. He even ate some. The next morning, he wasn't the same person. My first thought in calling in the family was to see him before he went into hospice. The hospital said everyone could come but once he moved, there would be rules. I still didn't see it.
While waiting for his family, the nurses had to get him ready to move. Clean him up and give him an external catheter. I waited in the hall and could hear him cry out in pain when they moved him but I still thought this could be overcome.
All we needed was to know what kind of cancer he had and start treating once he built up strength. I still was convinced it would be fine. If a stray thought did enter my head, I would tell myself not to be ridiculous.
After he died, I sat and watched his chest. I was waiting for him to start breathing and ask to get up in his chair. We had discussed what he wanted if something did happen and I followed his wishes as closely as I could.
Right now I'm living in denial and guilt. I still don't really think he's gone. I feel guilty for just about everything. There are so many regrets that I can't go back and fix. There are so many things I should have done differently.
I'm living in this bubble of expecting him to walk into the room, remembering he's dead, not believing it, feeling guilty for everything and regretting that I can't change anything.
