I held his hand, closed my eyes and laid my head down on the side of his bed. I guess I hoped that when I looked up and opened my eyes again, that this eight-month nightmare would be gone, and he would look up at me and smile and ease my aching heart once again. But, that was not to be! He laid there still and lifeless, in a cold and sterile room, in a medically induced coma intended to ease his unbearable pain.
Every day since my husband of almost 40 years, my love, my friend and a part of my very being, was diagnosed with cancer, I fought hard along with him to beat the odds and keep him alive and with me because I could not bear to even imagine life without him. But it was at that moment and on that day, that I suddenly realized how truly selfish I was being. I had begged and pleaded with him throughout his chemotherapy and his surgery not to give up. While he assured me that he was not giving up, he wanted me to understand that he was not afraid to die, he was more afraid of being kept alive, if he could no longer function in a way that would allow him to enjoy his life.
The Diagnosis
Fate had dealt us one blow after another throughout these months. My husband was diagnosed with Stage 4 Bladder Cancer in November and the prognosis was not good, the tumor was large and had spread to tissue outside of his bladder. The doctors scheduled him for several rounds of chemotherapy to try to reduce the size of the tumor before attempting to surgically remove it. In March, we were told that the chemotherapy was no longer working, and the tumor was beginning to grow again. He was scheduled for surgery in early April.
In the days before the surgery, he was weak from the chemotherapy but spent every waking moment trying to talk to me about what I needed to do if things did not turn out well. And, every time he did that, I cried and begged and pleaded with him not to give up. I refused to talk about life without him, but he insisted that he was hoping for the best, but just trying to prepare me for the worst. He was going through hell, but still worrying about taking care of me! We met when I was 14 years old, got married when I was 16 years old, so I guess he had always taken care of me.
Surgery
Our daughter was living here in Florida, just a short distance from us, and our three sons flew in the day before the surgery. We all tried to act normal, but the fear within all of us was ever-present. We talked and talked, as though talking would just make this all go away, and life would go on as always. I don’t think that any of us could have prepared for or imagined, in our worst nightmares, what we were about to go through.
We all arrived at the hospital before the crack of dawn for the surgery. When my husband went into surgery, we were all seated around a table in the waiting room hoping and praying that we would be able to see him again and take him home with us. After what seemed like an eternity, a young woman approached us, introduced herself as a member of the surgical team and told us that the surgery went as well as expected and that my husband was in the recovery room. We would be able to see him soon. She explained that he would be in the hospital for several days after which he could go home if all went well. He would have to return for radiation treatments or chemotherapy or both.
Complications
About 15 minutes later she came back into the waiting room, and I was so excited, thinking that we were going to the recovery room to see my husband. But, as she came closer, I could see by the look on her face that something was wrong. My heart was racing, and I started to feel nauseous. She told us that there was a problem with his leg. Evidently, the blood flow to this leg was restricted during surgery and they were calling in a specialist for an emergency consultation. We bombarded her with questions, but she didn’t seem to have any answers. We had to wait for the specialist to check him to make a prognosis. We tried to comfort each other as the tears fell from our eyes, but few words passed between us as the fear set in.
When the specialist arrived to talk to us, he gave us the devastating news that nothing could be done to repair the damage to his leg, and they would have to amputate from below the knee. I refused to listen to or hear what he was telling us! I wanted a second and third opinion. He agreed but told us that we did not have much time because gangrene would begin to set in. No!, No!, No!, this could not be happening! I asked God to please wake me from this terrible nightmare, and please help me find an answer that I wanted to hear.
Second and Third Opinions
My daughter-in-law, who worked as a phlebotomist for a doctor, used her connections to get in touch with specialists at clinics in Cleveland, Ohio, and Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She arranged to have all his medical records and tests sent the next morning. I don’t remember much about the rest of the day. My mind took me somewhere else because I was having a hard time coping. I do remember when we got word back from both clinics that nothing could be done. The leg must be amputated. Why was God letting this happen to this good man?
My husband agreed to the surgery, but the specialist wanted to wait a few days before scheduling the surgery, because he had just been through a major surgery for cancer, and his life was in jeopardy. Those few days would allow him to regain some of his strength back. He made it through the surgery but was immediately placed into a medically induced coma to allow his body to heal and reduce the pain of being cut up like a slab of meat (my feelings then).
More Complications
In the weeks that followed, he was intubated, had a feeding tube attached, was fighting a staph infection and began to develop bed sores. I remember feeling anguish and anger that God had abandoned us. The first part of July (3 months after the first surgery), we were told that our Medical Insurance would not pay for him to stay in the hospital any longer. He was taken home by ambulance the next day.
A Ray of Hope
We hired a nurse to take care of him during the day when I was at work. I took care of him in the evenings and on weekends. He also had a physical therapist coming in to help him with the amputated leg. He was still bed-ridden and attached to a feeding tube, but he seemed like he was in good spirits and gaining some strength, considering all that he had gone through. In reflection, I’m not sure if he really was in good spirits, or if he was trying to put on a good face for me.
Anger and Despair
He did cooperate fully with his physical therapist and did everything that the doctors told him to do during discharge from the hospital. But even they had abandoned him, when I called to have his prescription for Antibiotics refilled, they told me that I would have to find another doctor since they could not treat him after his release. Consumed with anger, I was convinced that this was all about money. Later, when the medical bills started arriving, the total medical costs were $950,000. So, in one way or another, it was all about money. Reality is that there is a dollar value placed on your life by the insurance companies and the medical profession that they control.
His Final Days
Near the end of July, I came home from work and was changing bandages and feeding tubes when I noticed that there was a problem with my husband’s blood oxygen level. We called an ambulance that rushed him to the local hospital (not the cancer center that he was in before). Despite the antibiotics, infection was spreading throughout his body and they put him on a dialysis machine to filter his blood.
Again, they put him in a medically induced coma and on life support. The Doctor’s told us that he would probably not survive too long, and wanted to know if they should continue life support. We were not ready to make that decision if there was any hope at all, so we asked for some time to discuss it. My children could not help me make that decision and I did not want them to. I knew in my heart that despite all that he had gone through, he was hanging on for my sake. He was going through the very things that he was so against. Being kept alive with no hope of enjoying life as he knew it.
I had been at his bedside all day and was about to leave for a little while to get something to eat. I lifted my head from his bed and looked up at him, he could not see me, he did not know I was there. My heart was breaking for him and I could not stand to see him go through anymore. I whispered into his ear that it was OK. for him to go and that I would be fine. I left the room to get some food and I was not gone for quite 10 minutes when I got the call to get back to the hospital. They would not tell me any more. When my daughter and I arrived, they told us that he died shortly after I left. He did not want me to see him go, so he waited until I left the room. That day July 30th and for many days to follow, my entire world stood still. It has been 13 years and I still miss him every day. But I came to realize that “when the pain of holding on is worse than the pain of letting go, it is time to let go.” But, I will carry him in my heart always! 💔
