What Happened?

Thanks to all of you who came to visitation and/or Sunday’s service. I was able to talk with many of you on Sunday, but there were some names in the registry that I missed. I think Mike would have been pleased with the service and honored by those of you who came. Though he wasn’t too keen on the whole idea of the blog to begin with (“It’s a woman’s thing,” he said.), I think he ended up being glad that we had it. When he was discharged from Lexington Medical Center in January, I had to read the entire blog and all of the comments to him. (I guess I had to read it to him instead of him reading it for himself since computers weren’t really his thing…if you’ve every seen him type, you’d know this quite well!) He nodded his head and had tears in his eyes—okay, maybe not tears, but they were glassy—when I read many of the comments.

I know many of you are curious as to how things unfolded on that last day. And since this blog isn’t just for you—it’s for Ava and Savannah as well—I want to share what happened. Last Wednesday while Mike was in ICU, his cousin Roz was visiting and we discussed the whole idea of not having the doctors go to any heroic efforts should Mike’s health start to go further south. It just didn’t seem to be the right thing to do given all of the issues Mike was having. Sure, he could live on life support for 20 years, but Mike wouldn’t have wanted that, and it’s not as if it’s painless to have to go through those extremes. He wasn’t exactly one who liked to stay in one spot for any length of time, so I know he was already going nuts having to sit in that hospital room for two and half months. That’s exactly why he loved to take cruises for travel, because he didn’t have to stay in one place for more than a couple of days. Heck, when he planned our trip to Europe back in 2002, we visited eight countries in 22 days.

Anyway, there really wasn’t much eventful that happened on that Wednesday other than they found two blood clots in his legs and put filters in to keep them from going to his lungs. I stayed at the hospital until 10:00, when ICU closed. Around 1:00 that morning, the nurse called me and said that Mike’s heart rate had been dropping and in her twenty plus years of experience that meant that she would have to soon “code” him. In other words, she would have to go to extreme measures to keep him alive. I brushed my teeth, threw on some clothes, and headed to the hospital. I called Mike’s other cousin, Regina, to make sure she was on the same page as Roz and I about not doing anything heroic. Regina and Roz were next in line on Mike’s health power of attorney, so if I got killed on the way to the hospital, then they needed to know what was going on and make the right decision. I arrived at the hospital about 1:20, and Regina got there shortly after that. Mike’s heart rate was all over the place. It would go from the 40’s then up to the 50’s and 60’s and jump to the 80’s then drop again…all in a matter of seconds. It did that for quite a while. I informed the nurse of our decision of not to go to any extreme measures. She telephoned the on-call doctor, so that I could tell her. The nurse handed me the phone, and the doctor said, “So we’re not going to DNR?” I responded with, “I don’t have my medical degree yet, but I’m assuming you mean do not resuscitate, and that would be correct.” The doctor then said something about having a second nurse confirm, and I told her I was the wife and handed the phone back to the nurse on duty.

It was rather amazing how much nicer the staff was around there when then knew this was the beginning of the end. I had been none too happy with the ICU staff since Mike arrived there Tuesday afternoon. Those are completely different stories that I could probably do another few posts on—and he was only there a couple of days. They brought a tray of snacks and drinks and it suddenly didn’t matter how many people were in the room. Mike’s aunt and uncle arrived around 3:00, and Mike’s heart rate began to stabilize in the 50’s. I was exhausted and pulled up a chair next to Mike’s bed and slept (if that’s what you can call it) beside him, holding his hand. Just as I was getting to sleep, they came in and did a chest x-ray on Mike. I’m assuming that had already been ordered as a follow-up to check on the blood clot they found in his lung on Tuesday. After the x-ray, I got back in my makeshift bed and slept for a few hours.

The pulmonary doctor came by around 7:00, and Mike’s heart rate had been staying steady in the 50’s. He said all of the swelling in Mike’s brain was adding pressure and that could cause problems with enough blood flow in his brain because there’s only so much room in the skull. No blood flow would mean more brain damage. Our oncologist came by around 8:30. He said since Mike had stabilized and we weren’t going to go to any heroic efforts should something happen (which he thought was the right choice and would do the same for him family members—we had had that discussion the day before), he was going to have Mike moved out of ICU to either a step-down unit or the pulmonary floor, so we wouldn’t have to deal with all of the visiting regulations. I asked him if he thought it was safe for me to leave for a while to go home and do something to myself so I could be a little more presentable. He thought that would be fine. Mike’s aunt, uncle, and cousin were there, so I felt okay with leaving for a bit and they could fill me in on anything that happened.

I came home and washed my hair and took a bath. (I’m not a shower person, okay?) After drying my hair, the phone rang, and it was the nurse. She said Mike’s heart rate was now skyrocketing and his oxygen rate was dropping despite being on the BIPAP machine--she thought it was just nature taking its course, and she needed to know if I still wanted her to not “code” him, even though I wasn’t there. I told her not to do so, and I would be up there shortly. There was the chance that Mike could have been gone by the time I got the hospital (and I confess that I did run a red light, but it wasn’t a real red light, and there was not traffic coming), but I thought it would be selfish of me to have him go through all of those extremes just for me to see him again. We had already decided it would be best for him not to go through that, so changing my mind would have been what was best for me, not him. Fortunately, I arrived back at the hospital before anything happened. Mike’s heart rate was indeed up and his oxygen was dropping. Both would jump around. They would seem like they were okay, then they’d change. Knowing my husband was in his final moments, the nurse thought it would be a fine time to call me away from him to tell me that she didn’t get any reflexes from him this morning and his eyes didn’t change when she flashed the light in them. She was going to tell me more, but I was watching Mike’s oxygen level drop even more, so I just walked away from her and back to Mike. I’m guessing the only reason she didn’t say anything while I was at his side was because his aunt, uncle, and cousin were there and it might somehow violate those lovely HIPAA laws. Anyway, his change in oxygen and heart rate continued for a while and the nurse asked if we wanted to take him off the BIPAP machine. I said yes because I thought that might be a little more comfortable since the end was inevitable anyway. I think I got about an hour or so with him before he drew his last breath.

Last night was the first night I had Ava with me since there was so much to take care of the last few days. She had not been told about her daddy. I didn’t want to tell her last night before she went to bed, so I talked with her about it this morning—I broke one of those cardinal parenting rules and let her sleep in my bed. Telling her was definitely one of the most difficult things I’ve done since all of this started back in January. How does one explain such a thing to a child who really has no concept of death but does know she doesn’t see her father? Saying nothing wasn’t an option because I don’t want her to think Mike just up and left us. I told her that sometimes when people are really sick and in the hospital for a long time like Daddy was, they can’t get better. Ava put her hand over my mouth and held her head down. I knew she wanted me to stop talking, but I had to tell her. I told her that Daddy died because he couldn’t get better. That meant that he couldn’t walk or talk or do things anymore. I told her that you know how some things have batteries and the batteries make them work? (She’s very familiar with the battery concept—when the garage door wouldn’t close, she told me it needed new batteries.) We have a battery inside of us that’s called a spirit, but it can’t be replaced. When the spirit stops working, it goes to stay with God, so He can take care of it. I told her anytime she wanted to tell Daddy something, she can just ask God to tell him for her. When we said our prayers tonight, we asked God to please tell Daddy we said hello and that we love him.