Not Going to Analyze Today

I have been dreading this day for weeks. I did not know how I would get through it. This is the date of the day the doctor told me Raymond was dying. I fully expected this day to be a day of tears, depression, and out-of-control eating. In reality, I have had a good day. It has been full of laughs, good friends, my boys, a weight loss at TOPS weigh in, and dancing. Yes, I was dancing on my front sidewalk this afternoon as I grilled hot dogs for lunch.

At one point I stopped and said this is wrong, I shouldn’t be happy today, and, yet, I could not make myself feel sad. I started to beat myself up about dancing, but then I remembered how Raymond would talk to me about not dwelling on his death, but on the good times. I decided it was okay to be happy, dancing, and enjoying the day. It came to me that if I keep looking on the calendar and remembering dates when bad things have happened, or bad news was delivered, I might never have a good day again.

At this time last year I was sitting in an ICU room holding Raymond’s hand and fully expecting him to be dead by dawn. March 20, 2006 started out with me calling an ambulance and rushing to the ER hoping to get there soon after Raymond. Raymond could not breathe and he was tortured. As I was filling out the forms I heard the doctor ask Raymond if he wanted a ventilator. He said “yes.” I had to step into the room and tell them absolutely not, and then tell Raymond that it was not what he wanted. I asked that they give him morphine immediately. I told Raymond to stop fighting, and that it was okay to let go if he wanted to. He thanked me for telling him that and we cried. I was then called out of the room to talk to his doctor on the phone. She told me that this was “it” and that he probably wouldn’t make it through the night.

They stabilized Raymond and moved him to ICU. They told me that they would get us anything we needed. I started calling friends to make arrangements for the boys to come to say goodbye to their father. The hospital started making arrangements for me to meet with hospice. It was surreal. I was trying to make all these arrangements while not leaving Raymond’s side and still take in all that was happening to us. No one had told me this was coming. How did we end up in ICU with doctors telling me my husband only had hours to live?

The day wore on. The boys arrived at the hospital and amazing enough Raymond woke up and weakly spoke to them. He told them that he loved them and that he didn’t know what was going to happen. The boys left and I settled in for a long night.

I sat holding Raymond’s hand in this very uncomfortable chair scared and listening as he would stop breathing for what seemed like hours, but was probably only seconds. His chest rattled and I would wonder if that was the death rattle I had always heard about from friends and family of people that had died. I was so scared, and yet so not there in that moment.

Around 1 a.m. a wonderful nurse came in to see us. She told me that they would not be bothering us very much during the night because they really did not have a lot to do for Raymond. She then said I looked uncomfortable and that was not necessary. She completely moved Raymond’s bed around, found me a recliner, and made sure that I had pillows so that I could rest while holding his hand. She then came back in around 3 a.m. and said she had a few minutes to talk. She asked me if anyone had told me what to expect. I told her that I still wasn’t sure how we even got to the hospital. She proceeded to tell me about the dying process. She made me feel like I was more in control. Knowledge always helped me through Raymond’s illness. The unknown always freaked me out. I would be a nervous wreck waiting for test results, but when they would tell me that I’m going to have to stick my finger into an open wound for about 3 weeks until it healed and why I had to do that, I would be just fine.

Raymond made it through the night. By mid morning he was watching television and talking to visitors while I set up hospice. Our youngest called and wanted to come to leave school and come to the hospital, and the school was nice enough to bring him to me. Then it was Raymond and his youngest boy watching cartoons while I continued to call friends to help me set up the hospital bed, etc. At ten o’clock on the 21^st we were home and settling into life with hospice. The nurse finally left at 1 a.m. on the 22^nd and once again I was in a recliner holding Raymond’s hand because the nurse said three days at the most, and I was determined he would not die without me right there by his side.

Raymond did not die within 3 days, and we had many more good days together. So maybe my dancing today was all about celebrating the days we had together. Maybe I can stop looking at the calendar for days to cry.