Well, I'm new here. It's been 24 hours, I'm guessing, since my husband passed. I was up with him until about 6:45am, pushing the pain pump every 30 minutes because his breathing was so fast and he was sweating profusely. I dozed off about then to the sounds of his breathing, and woke up at 9am to silence. He was cold then, so I really think it must have happened just after I fell asleep. He looked very peaceful, and I think he passed without any pain or fear, which is what he wanted.
(This turned into something of a novel. Yall don't have to read it all, it was just very helpful to write it all out. Can you believe this is the brief version?)
He had stage 4 colon cancer with mets to the liver, and last week, July 28, was the 3-year anniversary of when he first was sick. It took another 3 months to diagnose it properly. He was first sick and hospitalized suddenly and very unexpectedly, just 3 days after reenlisting on George Washington's back porch overlooking the Potomac. What followed were 3 years of determination, difficulty, love, and all the feelings in-between. I feel grateful he had even that long, his disease was very advanced from the beginning, and he had pretty much every complication and "this would be rare but you could experience ___" along the way. Two months ago, he was hospitalized with a severe infection, and was moved to hospice care. The following week, he ended up in hospice house, sedated, and I didn't think we were going to get him back. But he did come back to us. I'm grateful for that time, but I'll always wonder if it was really worth it overall. I selfishly think it was... but if we thought the prior 3 years worth of treatments, complications, and surgeries was rough... boy was he just warming up for the final game.
The last 2 months have been agonizing, even inhumane. On days we thought it couldn't possibly get worse, it did. He had a fistula open up on his pelvis, and it grew and grew, creating a huge, draining, open wound. Then another one opened up. He was in such pain and felt so weak, and it got to the point where if he wanted to move from the bed to his chair or back, I would physically lift him into and out of the wheelchair to do so. Meds, around the clock. Eating tiny amounts of food, only to vomit it back up and feel awful afterward. Developed severe mouth sores so intense his tissue was swollen and he was barely able to speak, and couldn't really drink anything besides water, or eat anything besides yogurt and pudding. His liver must have been failing, because his body backed up with fluid, and his left side, down to his toes, was heavily swollen, including his testicles. He was convinced the tumor had spread, though I do believe it was fluid. He experienced so much fear and pain. To finally, having severe chest pain that came in waves and made him feel as though he were choking. That was Friday, and he made the decision to begin sedation on Saturday morning. Apparently doing that at home isn't really common here, but we were insistent because it's what he wanted.
We were able to say our last words to one another, our kids snuggled up to him and spoke with him as well. He had no regrets, and told me he was not afraid to be sedated and was not afraid to die. He felt as though it was time and he was looking forward to that relief of suffering. I stayed with him the whole time, and expected his stubborn nature to drag this on for possibly a week or more. I feel incredibly relieved that it was not the case, and that he went just exactly as he had hoped. He waited until we were all sleeping, until nobody was fussing over him.
This doesn't feel real. It feels like someone else's story, and everything is kind of hazy right now. I'm not in shock, this wasn't traumatic or a tragedy. This happened in stages, especially over the last 2-3 months, and we were very prepared for this moment. Or I should say "I" was very prepared for it. Maybe I'm going through the motions. I know grief will hit me like a freight train at some point. I'm very good at compartmentalizing, and I have to keep my shit together for my little boys. I'm what they have. My mother and sister in law are falling to pieces around us, so I don't have a person to really lean on, not in the way that I'd feel the boys had what they needed and I could have the freedom to lose it. I don't feel as sad as maybe I should though. I just feel extremely relieved. Like this was a big exhale, as we've been holding our breath since he went into the hospital on our anniversary in May.
As to the next steps, I do feel a little overwhelmed. I didn't even remember that we're supposed to do an obituary. I guess I'm supposed to do that? I may as well, I guess. (Does anyone even read the paper anymore?) Planning a service sounds like a big scary monster, honestly, and since he donated his body to Science Care, we don't have the help of a funeral home to guide me through this. So I get to wing it. I do have some of his wishes for his service written down, so that will help, and it won't likely be until mid-September. Financially and emotionally, it makes the most sense to wait until then. I have never even been to a memorial service. I'm thinking it will be like a sad'ish, ridiculous party, something to honor my goofy and amazing husband. There isn't a person he's met who doesn't have a silly story about him. He was a bright light everywhere he went, and he'll be sorely missed by so many.
Okay, I usually don't write quite this much. Way to go over my time limit, yeesh. Anyway, hello all.
