Just when I think I'm doing better, gradually starting to cope with things...it hits me like a sledgehammer.
There's never any rhyme or reason to it, and it seems the littlest things set me off. I didn't know I actually had that many tears inside me, but it was literally every half hour I'd just start sobbing.
Ok, I'm not even able to see the screen while I type.
I'll try again in awhile.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
3 months.
Yesterday was 3 months since Rob died.
Oddly, it felt...weird. I have a pretty bad cold at the moment, and perhaps that's what made me feel somewhat numb and distracted.
The really painful part of the past few days was discovering that one of Rob's family members wrote a thinly-veiled accusation on his guest book, implying that I somehow was responsible for Rob's death; the family member in question is "suspicious".
This was apparently because on a different blog site (which I haven't been able to access since December), I'd written "Rob died in my arms....".
And later, when I'd spoken with family members, I'd said "He was cuddling into me, and I woke up feeling dampness on my arm".
I'm not sure how these two things are contradictory, but that's how it was perceived..though I was told by Rob's mom that what I said had been remembered as "My BACK was damp..." as opposed to my arm, meaning that I was lying about him being in my arms at all. Actually, when I typed that bit, it just seemed ridiculous. Even if it were true, it's such a trivial difference that it would be funny if it weren't so hurtful.
I was initially very, very angry - all I'm guilty of is loving and caring for this wonderful man who was taken from us far, far too soon. Did I perhaps give different "theories" as to how he died? Probably! None of us will ever know for sure what actually led up to the event itself. My own memories of that night and early morning are hazy.
There was no autopsy performed; his cause of death was listed as "Complications from congestive heart failure" (or words to that effect). Frankly, I would have liked the autopsy to have taken place because I had so many question, and the death was so very sudden. But as I wasn't legally next of kin, that wasn't my decision to make. And of course, I have nothing but respect and support for the person who did have to make such a dreadful decision after losing Rob like that.
Needless to say, I do understand that the person in question is hurting, very badly. And I understand that there's probably a lot of guilt from not visiting Rob during or after his surgeries; but that doesn't make it OK to point a finger in my direction based on such a bizarre assumption.
All I know is, I miss my Wombat.
Sigh.
Oddly, it felt...weird. I have a pretty bad cold at the moment, and perhaps that's what made me feel somewhat numb and distracted.
The really painful part of the past few days was discovering that one of Rob's family members wrote a thinly-veiled accusation on his guest book, implying that I somehow was responsible for Rob's death; the family member in question is "suspicious".
This was apparently because on a different blog site (which I haven't been able to access since December), I'd written "Rob died in my arms....".
And later, when I'd spoken with family members, I'd said "He was cuddling into me, and I woke up feeling dampness on my arm".
I'm not sure how these two things are contradictory, but that's how it was perceived..though I was told by Rob's mom that what I said had been remembered as "My BACK was damp..." as opposed to my arm, meaning that I was lying about him being in my arms at all. Actually, when I typed that bit, it just seemed ridiculous. Even if it were true, it's such a trivial difference that it would be funny if it weren't so hurtful.
I was initially very, very angry - all I'm guilty of is loving and caring for this wonderful man who was taken from us far, far too soon. Did I perhaps give different "theories" as to how he died? Probably! None of us will ever know for sure what actually led up to the event itself. My own memories of that night and early morning are hazy.
There was no autopsy performed; his cause of death was listed as "Complications from congestive heart failure" (or words to that effect). Frankly, I would have liked the autopsy to have taken place because I had so many question, and the death was so very sudden. But as I wasn't legally next of kin, that wasn't my decision to make. And of course, I have nothing but respect and support for the person who did have to make such a dreadful decision after losing Rob like that.
Needless to say, I do understand that the person in question is hurting, very badly. And I understand that there's probably a lot of guilt from not visiting Rob during or after his surgeries; but that doesn't make it OK to point a finger in my direction based on such a bizarre assumption.
All I know is, I miss my Wombat.
Sigh.
Friday, March 21, 2008
21 March, 2008. Spring?
I did get to speak with Rob's primary care physician. As I'd expected, there are of course no definitive answers to how and why he died when he did. It could have been...
Low blood sugar from which he couldn't rouse
Stroke
Another MI
Cardiac arrest which couldn't be rectified by the defibrillator
Aspiration of fluids
PE (pulmonary embolism)
Any, none or several of the above.
I checked his BG meter last night actually, from the last few hours before he died.
11:32 pm 87
12:04 am 68
12:44 am 95
1:05 am 126
Now...this might at first glance appear to be "within normal". For Rob though, 68 has produced unconsciousness (and, in fact, respiratory arrest on more than one occasion). If he had eaten a cookie or something to get it back up to 126, and then went to bed...it would have fallen again shortly thereafter.
Rob went to bed around 12:45, I think. I'm not entirely sure whether the last reading was taken by him, or by me as I was calling the paramedics.
Sigh.
None of this really means anything, in some ways; he's still gone, I still scream from excruciating emotional pain, I still cry every night, and I still miss him terribly.
One thing his doctor did say though, was that Rob made certain choices. He chose to smoke (up until his MI at least), and he chose to not follow a low sodium, low-fat diet. These did contribute to his illness, but it was admittedly a little strange hearing someone not emotionally invested in the situation actually saying, basically, "Look - some of this was his own doing, too, you know...".
I suppose it was to help assuage any guilt I was feeling.
Hmmm.
Low blood sugar from which he couldn't rouse
Stroke
Another MI
Cardiac arrest which couldn't be rectified by the defibrillator
Aspiration of fluids
PE (pulmonary embolism)
Any, none or several of the above.
I checked his BG meter last night actually, from the last few hours before he died.
11:32 pm 87
12:04 am 68
12:44 am 95
1:05 am 126
Now...this might at first glance appear to be "within normal". For Rob though, 68 has produced unconsciousness (and, in fact, respiratory arrest on more than one occasion). If he had eaten a cookie or something to get it back up to 126, and then went to bed...it would have fallen again shortly thereafter.
Rob went to bed around 12:45, I think. I'm not entirely sure whether the last reading was taken by him, or by me as I was calling the paramedics.
Sigh.
None of this really means anything, in some ways; he's still gone, I still scream from excruciating emotional pain, I still cry every night, and I still miss him terribly.
One thing his doctor did say though, was that Rob made certain choices. He chose to smoke (up until his MI at least), and he chose to not follow a low sodium, low-fat diet. These did contribute to his illness, but it was admittedly a little strange hearing someone not emotionally invested in the situation actually saying, basically, "Look - some of this was his own doing, too, you know...".
I suppose it was to help assuage any guilt I was feeling.
Hmmm.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
3 March, 2008. Prevention being the mother of...invention?
I'm going to be speaking with one of Rob's doctors this week, as I still have questions.
I'm fairly certain that these questions don't actually have definitive answers, but at least if I ask, I'll know that I've asked. You know?
It makes me think about health care, too, in this country. I realise that over here, it's considered uneconomical to provide what we generally term "preventative health care" in any meaningful capacity, but at which point does expense start to override the obviously economically smarter decision to prevent a disease?
Rob had type 1 diabetes, hypertension, renal disease and a very strong family history of heart disease. And, he smoked. He was, perhaps, the poster child for heart disease. Only one of these factors was directly preventable - we both knew that his smoking wasn't doing him any good. Having said that, would an angiogram two years ago have prevented the tragic outcome? At his age - 31 - would it have even been considered?
An angiogram here costs $2100. Cost is obviously a factor in deciding whether or not to proceed with any kind of diagnostic testing, but where do we draw the line?
Rob's eventual medical care (CABG x 3, pacemaker & defib. insertion, associated hospital stays etc) came to over $120k. If he had had an angiogram perhaps two years ago, it would have certainly showed blockages in his left and right coronary arteries (both were 100% blocked at the time of his diagnosis). Could we then have taken steps to prevent last January's massive anterior MI?
Doesn't a $2100 test trump $120,000? Isn't it more cost-effective to prevent a condition, than to treat it once it is manifest?
I'm still thinking about all of this, given the situation, the current health care mess in this country, and the upcoming election.
I'm fairly certain that these questions don't actually have definitive answers, but at least if I ask, I'll know that I've asked. You know?
It makes me think about health care, too, in this country. I realise that over here, it's considered uneconomical to provide what we generally term "preventative health care" in any meaningful capacity, but at which point does expense start to override the obviously economically smarter decision to prevent a disease?
Rob had type 1 diabetes, hypertension, renal disease and a very strong family history of heart disease. And, he smoked. He was, perhaps, the poster child for heart disease. Only one of these factors was directly preventable - we both knew that his smoking wasn't doing him any good. Having said that, would an angiogram two years ago have prevented the tragic outcome? At his age - 31 - would it have even been considered?
An angiogram here costs $2100. Cost is obviously a factor in deciding whether or not to proceed with any kind of diagnostic testing, but where do we draw the line?
Rob's eventual medical care (CABG x 3, pacemaker & defib. insertion, associated hospital stays etc) came to over $120k. If he had had an angiogram perhaps two years ago, it would have certainly showed blockages in his left and right coronary arteries (both were 100% blocked at the time of his diagnosis). Could we then have taken steps to prevent last January's massive anterior MI?
Doesn't a $2100 test trump $120,000? Isn't it more cost-effective to prevent a condition, than to treat it once it is manifest?
I'm still thinking about all of this, given the situation, the current health care mess in this country, and the upcoming election.
28 Feb, 2008. Wherein ashes are scattered.
At about 5pm on the 25th - two months to the day since Rob died - I walked down to the river. It's about a block away, and we used to take frequent walks there.
I'd changed into a really pretty - if somewhat flimsy and completely inappropriate for the weather - skirt, one of Rob's favourites, and though actually getting down to the river itself was a tad treacherous (I'm 5ft tall, the snow is still two feet deep there - you get the picture!), I made it.
I'd written this down, and then I read it aloud. I spoke to Rob...I told him how much I loved and missed him, and even managed to crack a joke. Then....as I said these words, I scattered some of his ashes into the snow. The river just looked so beautiful, so serene....the trees were like a protective canopy, sheltering me from the worst of the wind. It was very peaceful, and very calming.
Now I have lost you, I must scatter
Some of you on the air henceforth;
Not that to me it can ever matter
But it's only fair to the rest of the earth.
Now especially, when it's winter
And the sun's not half as bright as it was,
Who wouldn't be glad to find a splinter
That was once you, in the frozen grass?
Snowflakes, too, will be softer feathered,
Clouds, perhaps, will be whiter plumed;
Rain, whose brilliance you caught and gathered,
Purer silver have resumed.
Farewell, sweet dust; I never was a miser
Once for a minute I made you mine:
Now you are gone, I am none the wiser,
But the leaves of the willow are as bright as wine.
Elinor Wylie 1885-1928
I'd changed into a really pretty - if somewhat flimsy and completely inappropriate for the weather - skirt, one of Rob's favourites, and though actually getting down to the river itself was a tad treacherous (I'm 5ft tall, the snow is still two feet deep there - you get the picture!), I made it.
I'd written this down, and then I read it aloud. I spoke to Rob...I told him how much I loved and missed him, and even managed to crack a joke. Then....as I said these words, I scattered some of his ashes into the snow. The river just looked so beautiful, so serene....the trees were like a protective canopy, sheltering me from the worst of the wind. It was very peaceful, and very calming.
Now I have lost you, I must scatter
Some of you on the air henceforth;
Not that to me it can ever matter
But it's only fair to the rest of the earth.
Now especially, when it's winter
And the sun's not half as bright as it was,
Who wouldn't be glad to find a splinter
That was once you, in the frozen grass?
Snowflakes, too, will be softer feathered,
Clouds, perhaps, will be whiter plumed;
Rain, whose brilliance you caught and gathered,
Purer silver have resumed.
Farewell, sweet dust; I never was a miser
Once for a minute I made you mine:
Now you are gone, I am none the wiser,
But the leaves of the willow are as bright as wine.
Elinor Wylie 1885-1928
25 Feb, 2008. "The Day My Eyelids Had Boobjobs". (c)
Grieving is a very physical process. You learn the literal meaning of the word "heart-ache" - this deep, sternal ache that simply sits on your chest and feels like it will never leave.
You will cry. At first, my tears were virtually constant - a good portion of every hour was spent sobbing, wailing or just letting tears quietly dance down my cheeks. This is actually good though, because it allows you to really "let go", as it were - if that's what you need to do. Not everyone does.
But for those of us who do (especially us women), we come up with another problem...
Where on earth do you put mascara, onto eyes which are no longer makeup-friendly?
You see, I've always worn (at the very least) a coat of mascara. Usually eyeliner, too, and depending on the mood/time of day/moon phase/what's on TV, eyeshadow may or not also be present.
This leaves a problem, because when you've cried that much, something odd and quite disturbing happens. Your eyelids are swollen (think....really bad allergy, multiplied by a few rounds with Mike Tyson), and the delicate skin turns an alarming shade of...well, let me put it another way:
Luminous pink breast implants arrive from outer space, kidnap your eyelids and proceed to sit on your cheeks until further notice.
Sort of like this:
This phase does pass....at least, that's what I'm told. Until then, leave the mascara at home - it just can't compete with Luminous Pink Boobeye-lids!
You will cry. At first, my tears were virtually constant - a good portion of every hour was spent sobbing, wailing or just letting tears quietly dance down my cheeks. This is actually good though, because it allows you to really "let go", as it were - if that's what you need to do. Not everyone does.
But for those of us who do (especially us women), we come up with another problem...
Where on earth do you put mascara, onto eyes which are no longer makeup-friendly?
You see, I've always worn (at the very least) a coat of mascara. Usually eyeliner, too, and depending on the mood/time of day/moon phase/what's on TV, eyeshadow may or not also be present.
This leaves a problem, because when you've cried that much, something odd and quite disturbing happens. Your eyelids are swollen (think....really bad allergy, multiplied by a few rounds with Mike Tyson), and the delicate skin turns an alarming shade of...well, let me put it another way:
Luminous pink breast implants arrive from outer space, kidnap your eyelids and proceed to sit on your cheeks until further notice.
Sort of like this:
This phase does pass....at least, that's what I'm told. Until then, leave the mascara at home - it just can't compete with Luminous Pink Boobeye-lids!
(The hair, obviously, has fallen out some since your loss - this is also natural, apparently)
(The red Froot Loops masquerading as nostrils are from the same planet as the Alien Breast Implants, and are part of the same "anti-aesthetic conspiracy")
(The red Froot Loops masquerading as nostrils are from the same planet as the Alien Breast Implants, and are part of the same "anti-aesthetic conspiracy")
***********************************************************
Speaking of....
There is something of a taboo in our culture, about how we speak about our dead. Many of us feel a bit odd - if not downright disloyal - when we mention the not-so-good parts of our loved ones, and we feel utterly treacherous if we speak about their faults to strangers.
But why?
To speak about our loved ones in a less-than-saintly manner is normal - if not essential to our grieving journey. S/he knew that nobody was or is perfect...themselves included. Honestly? I think it actually does their memory a disservice if we ignore their less-than-perfect sides.
It's ok that your loved one pissed you off. It's absolutely fine that you screamed at each other on occasion, or that there were days where you just didn't like 'em too much. It's ok that his smelly farts/aversion to cutting her toenails/weird chest-hair patterns skeeved you from time to time. It's ok to talk about these things, too. Because by acknowledging these - very human - faults, you have absolute and irrefutable evidence that you loved this person, the good and the bad, completely whole-heartedly and accepted him/her for who he was. S/he was NOT a magazine cut-out! They were a real human being, not a saint.
Speaking of....
There is something of a taboo in our culture, about how we speak about our dead. Many of us feel a bit odd - if not downright disloyal - when we mention the not-so-good parts of our loved ones, and we feel utterly treacherous if we speak about their faults to strangers.
But why?
To speak about our loved ones in a less-than-saintly manner is normal - if not essential to our grieving journey. S/he knew that nobody was or is perfect...themselves included. Honestly? I think it actually does their memory a disservice if we ignore their less-than-perfect sides.
It's ok that your loved one pissed you off. It's absolutely fine that you screamed at each other on occasion, or that there were days where you just didn't like 'em too much. It's ok that his smelly farts/aversion to cutting her toenails/weird chest-hair patterns skeeved you from time to time. It's ok to talk about these things, too. Because by acknowledging these - very human - faults, you have absolute and irrefutable evidence that you loved this person, the good and the bad, completely whole-heartedly and accepted him/her for who he was. S/he was NOT a magazine cut-out! They were a real human being, not a saint.
And that's a priceless thing to know.
It's a gift to your loved one that is beyond measure.
It's a gift to your loved one that is beyond measure.
22 Feb, 2008
'm sorry, but I love talking about Rob.
(You can tell who had an appointment with the bereavement counsellor, can't you? ;) )
I love talking about what he liked, disliked, how he was, the memories we had together, and all of the things you'd expect. But I've recently been made aware that I talk about him too much (online).
Frankly, I hadn't thought such a thing would be possible, given the circumstances. My initial thought was "oh for crying out loud, shut the feck up. Don't *read* it if you're "sick of the unhealthy way" I constantly refer to Rob. Then it made me wonder...exactly what does "talking about someone too much" constitute?
Is one reference in a paragraph ok? Does two push it over to "unacceptable"?
Hrmph.
I'm going to get more coffee.
(Before I start talking about Pigbit - who is part pig, part rabbit, and one of my favourite "childrens" - MooMoo (a big green and white cow), Lil Mr White Fluffalo (look, we live in North Dakota. Lotsa buffalo. LMWF is a little, white buffalo...) and Lil Mr Brown Fluffalo (shockingly enough, LMBF is like LMWF, but brown, originality not being my strongest point!).
**************
Does anyone have any drawing capability? I'm trying to find someone who can draw something for me.... a cartoon-ish woman with wild hair, with what would appear to be luminous pink breast implants instead of eyelids. There IS method behind this madness, I promise....
(You can tell who had an appointment with the bereavement counsellor, can't you? ;) )
I love talking about what he liked, disliked, how he was, the memories we had together, and all of the things you'd expect. But I've recently been made aware that I talk about him too much (online).
Frankly, I hadn't thought such a thing would be possible, given the circumstances. My initial thought was "oh for crying out loud, shut the feck up. Don't *read* it if you're "sick of the unhealthy way" I constantly refer to Rob. Then it made me wonder...exactly what does "talking about someone too much" constitute?
Is one reference in a paragraph ok? Does two push it over to "unacceptable"?
Hrmph.
I'm going to get more coffee.
(Before I start talking about Pigbit - who is part pig, part rabbit, and one of my favourite "childrens" - MooMoo (a big green and white cow), Lil Mr White Fluffalo (look, we live in North Dakota. Lotsa buffalo. LMWF is a little, white buffalo...) and Lil Mr Brown Fluffalo (shockingly enough, LMBF is like LMWF, but brown, originality not being my strongest point!).
**************
Does anyone have any drawing capability? I'm trying to find someone who can draw something for me.... a cartoon-ish woman with wild hair, with what would appear to be luminous pink breast implants instead of eyelids. There IS method behind this madness, I promise....
14 Feb, 2008.....And this is why widows hate Valentine's Day.
Not having a good day, so I figured journalling might help.
I wonder if it's "normal" (whatever that means) for a person to feel especially sad during bad weather?
I keep moving Rob's photo back and forth between the box of ashes (on the chessboard, which is behind where I usually sit) and that little spot in front of the TV. Sometimes looking at it is just too, too painful...and other times it comforts me.
Should I be concerned that I find myself wanting to cry? Am I becoming too dependant upon crying being a form of release?
It's so weird.
I think of Mariane Pearl, and another young woman I know (who might not want her privacy compromised, so I'm not going to name her) who lost their loved ones in sudden and truly horrifying circumstances.....and I do count myself lucky (probably not the best word in the world to use) that at least I knew Rob had an essentially terminal illness. On some level I even knew that I'd lose him. I just didn't realise how soon it would be; his death was still sudden (unexpected) even though he was very sick.
People have said to me, "Aw at least you knew he was sick....and he's not suffering anymore". Both very true statements...but it sometimes leaves me feeling guilty for the sheer level of despair I'm experiencing, in a sort of "Oh come on, you knew it would happen, it should be easier for you to get past this..many widows have it much worse than you". Maybe that doesn't make sense. I know what I mean though.
Oh for heaven's sake, I just figured out why it feels worse today. It's friggin "Hallmark Holiday Horribilis" Day.
Well, now at least I have something to blame!
(Another thing. Never, ever say to the newly bereaved, "At least you don't have to buy any Valentine's Day stuff...". Yes, it might seem like a good idea to use humour, but for the love of all things wholesome and chocolatey, if you're ever tempted to say this, SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH. Mkay? Mkay)
I wonder if it's "normal" (whatever that means) for a person to feel especially sad during bad weather?
I keep moving Rob's photo back and forth between the box of ashes (on the chessboard, which is behind where I usually sit) and that little spot in front of the TV. Sometimes looking at it is just too, too painful...and other times it comforts me.
Should I be concerned that I find myself wanting to cry? Am I becoming too dependant upon crying being a form of release?
It's so weird.
I think of Mariane Pearl, and another young woman I know (who might not want her privacy compromised, so I'm not going to name her) who lost their loved ones in sudden and truly horrifying circumstances.....and I do count myself lucky (probably not the best word in the world to use) that at least I knew Rob had an essentially terminal illness. On some level I even knew that I'd lose him. I just didn't realise how soon it would be; his death was still sudden (unexpected) even though he was very sick.
People have said to me, "Aw at least you knew he was sick....and he's not suffering anymore". Both very true statements...but it sometimes leaves me feeling guilty for the sheer level of despair I'm experiencing, in a sort of "Oh come on, you knew it would happen, it should be easier for you to get past this..many widows have it much worse than you". Maybe that doesn't make sense. I know what I mean though.
Oh for heaven's sake, I just figured out why it feels worse today. It's friggin "Hallmark Holiday Horribilis" Day.
Well, now at least I have something to blame!
(Another thing. Never, ever say to the newly bereaved, "At least you don't have to buy any Valentine's Day stuff...". Yes, it might seem like a good idea to use humour, but for the love of all things wholesome and chocolatey, if you're ever tempted to say this, SHUT. YOUR. MOUTH. Mkay? Mkay)
13 Feb, 2008. Let there be light...bulbs
DIL came over yesterday afternoon. It was really nice to see him, moreso since he came complete with a pack of lightbulbs to fix the "lack of light" situation.
Ideally I'd like to see more of them, but t'is what t'is. They've actually taken pretty great care of me since Rob died.
I updated Rob's Caring Bridge site
yesterday too. For some reason I hadn't been in awhile - possibly because Caring Bridge tends to be aimed at illness and recovery versus illness and sudden death - and I had a serious bout of crying when I did hop online, because both his Mom and his Dad had left really heart-breaking messages in the guest book. It's still very, very difficult, folks. Yesterday was seven weeks since he died. I haven't actually had one day when I haven't cried, which I'm told is perfectly normal and won't change for awhile yet. I'm ok with that though, oddly enough. Crying does release a lot of pent-up emotion - sadness, longing, loneliness - and yes, I still "talk" to Rob every day. But holy shit, I miss him. I've never felt pain like this in my life.
(sidebar: If I ever hear Rob talking back, then it's agreed that I need some help....! )
One of the more interesting things I've found is that many people just don't know what to say to a bereaved young woman. Some folk - with the absolute sweetest, kindest intentions - seem to feel like they can't discuss their own lovelives, children, goings-on etc, in case it hurts my feelings. To anyone with this concern, I'd just like to say - NO! Please, tell me! I LOVE to hear about your world !!! It's very calming, and a source of joy to know that life, and love, and the foibles of daily living, are still going on. Hearing about your lives simply confirms that it is indeed possible for me to once again experience love and happiness.
Cos life does go on, doesn't it?
Had labs done again today, too, at disgusting o'clock this morning. Also made an appt with Carrie, my bereavement counseler, for Monday afternoon. Got to make Doc's appt for Friday, too - to get lab results back (cholesterol, liver function, thyroid - woot!) and to get a referral (if such is possible for a no-income patient!) to a pain clinic. I've had back problems in the past, and when Rob actually died I injured my back the same night (in addition to the existing issues).
So, pain has increased despite McKenzie therapy. Neurontin has helped in the past, but I'm now wondering if a muscle relaxer (Flexeril?) might be better. Or both? Either way, I need to get some sleep, too. Insomnia is NOT your friend, and even less so when you're grieving. That and I gotta pick up my thyroid meds. All I can say is - thank Whoever Is Doing Stuff And Needs To Be Thanked (which could be... God, Buddha, Allah, the FDA, Pfizer, whoever) for being able to supply low- and no-income patients with free medication.
Cos that'll actually help me get back to work!
I really ramble once I get going...
Ideally I'd like to see more of them, but t'is what t'is. They've actually taken pretty great care of me since Rob died.
I updated Rob's Caring Bridge site
yesterday too. For some reason I hadn't been in awhile - possibly because Caring Bridge tends to be aimed at illness and recovery versus illness and sudden death - and I had a serious bout of crying when I did hop online, because both his Mom and his Dad had left really heart-breaking messages in the guest book. It's still very, very difficult, folks. Yesterday was seven weeks since he died. I haven't actually had one day when I haven't cried, which I'm told is perfectly normal and won't change for awhile yet. I'm ok with that though, oddly enough. Crying does release a lot of pent-up emotion - sadness, longing, loneliness - and yes, I still "talk" to Rob every day. But holy shit, I miss him. I've never felt pain like this in my life.(sidebar: If I ever hear Rob talking back, then it's agreed that I need some help....! )
One of the more interesting things I've found is that many people just don't know what to say to a bereaved young woman. Some folk - with the absolute sweetest, kindest intentions - seem to feel like they can't discuss their own lovelives, children, goings-on etc, in case it hurts my feelings. To anyone with this concern, I'd just like to say - NO! Please, tell me! I LOVE to hear about your world !!! It's very calming, and a source of joy to know that life, and love, and the foibles of daily living, are still going on. Hearing about your lives simply confirms that it is indeed possible for me to once again experience love and happiness.
Cos life does go on, doesn't it?
Had labs done again today, too, at disgusting o'clock this morning. Also made an appt with Carrie, my bereavement counseler, for Monday afternoon. Got to make Doc's appt for Friday, too - to get lab results back (cholesterol, liver function, thyroid - woot!) and to get a referral (if such is possible for a no-income patient!) to a pain clinic. I've had back problems in the past, and when Rob actually died I injured my back the same night (in addition to the existing issues).
So, pain has increased despite McKenzie therapy
. Neurontin has helped in the past, but I'm now wondering if a muscle relaxer (Flexeril?) might be better. Or both? Either way, I need to get some sleep, too. Insomnia is NOT your friend, and even less so when you're grieving. That and I gotta pick up my thyroid meds. All I can say is - thank Whoever Is Doing Stuff And Needs To Be Thanked (which could be... God, Buddha, Allah, the FDA, Pfizer, whoever) for being able to supply low- and no-income patients with free medication.Cos that'll actually help me get back to work!
I really ramble once I get going...
30 Jan, 2008. More ashes.
It's really weird sometimes, going through this kind of bereavement. Some days are relatively normal, you know? Though there's extreme sadness, there's also the ability to smile, and to laugh. Then you can have a day that's so excrutiatingly painful that you're in tears for a good portion of every hour. And I mean every hour.
Since Rob died, I've had bad days, average days and even a few good days. Sometimes though, it seems as if the pain will get worse before it gets better, and that's a phenomenon that's hard for me to comprehend. Logically, you'd think that it would get better over time (having said that, it's only been five weeks, and that's a very short period of time - even though it feels like several eternities). Instead though, the pain seems more acute now than it was initially. I suppose that's because of being numb with shock when he actually died?
I'm reading "Grieving Mindfully" , loaned to me by a therapist at the hospital. I couldn't open the darn book for a few weeks, as it seemed to be saying "be mindful and you can feel better". Ah, if only it were that easy! It's a tad difficult to be mindful when you're that raw! However, I realize now that I'm actually angry and frustrated, and was aiming those feelings at the most convenient subject - the book. So, after opening it and reading it cover to cover twice (we're on a third run at the moment), it does contain an awful lot of common sense and good advice. It does help.
There have been (many) days when I just want to fast-forward a good six months, a year perhaps, just to get over this initial pain. But, as I keep discovering, that wouldn't help me in the long run - I'd simply be avoiding or running away from the feelings and they'd just hit me all the more when I stopped running. I've got another appointment with my grief counsellor too - and that also helps a great deal.
On a somewhat lighter note (because there's only so many tears I can shed at the hospital business centre without attracting a lot of attention....), I have absolutely no idea what to do with Rob's ashes. I did the stupid thing, of course....that being, I opened the box and looked at the two (previously mentioned) Ziploc baggies. Then, in a fit of stupidity that defies logic, I actually took out the baggies and held 'em in my hands. Man, it really does hit you f'cking hard. Needless to say I only did that the once. And needless to say, I really do NOT recommend such an action! Anyway, I'm really not sure what to do with the box, so I went online and had a peek around to get some ideas.
Oh. My. God.
I can make Rob into a necklace here
Or buy one of these (somewhat tacky) velvet thingies here
Or perhaps have 'em made into a fireworks display here
Or even make an underwater reef!
Then there's the balloon option - but Rob was afraid of flying, so we'll nix this one right now
Spaceflight is somewhat more unique, but the fear of flying thing also applies...I think....
Of course, I could just let him sit where he's sitting right now (in the middle of our chess board, which is oddly fitting for a number of reasons!).
I've got another few journal entries in my head, but I need to go get some coffee.
Since Rob died, I've had bad days, average days and even a few good days. Sometimes though, it seems as if the pain will get worse before it gets better, and that's a phenomenon that's hard for me to comprehend. Logically, you'd think that it would get better over time (having said that, it's only been five weeks, and that's a very short period of time - even though it feels like several eternities). Instead though, the pain seems more acute now than it was initially. I suppose that's because of being numb with shock when he actually died?
I'm reading "Grieving Mindfully"
, loaned to me by a therapist at the hospital. I couldn't open the darn book for a few weeks, as it seemed to be saying "be mindful and you can feel better". Ah, if only it were that easy! It's a tad difficult to be mindful when you're that raw! However, I realize now that I'm actually angry and frustrated, and was aiming those feelings at the most convenient subject - the book. So, after opening it and reading it cover to cover twice (we're on a third run at the moment), it does contain an awful lot of common sense and good advice. It does help.There have been (many) days when I just want to fast-forward a good six months, a year perhaps, just to get over this initial pain. But, as I keep discovering, that wouldn't help me in the long run - I'd simply be avoiding or running away from the feelings and they'd just hit me all the more when I stopped running. I've got another appointment with my grief counsellor too - and that also helps a great deal.
On a somewhat lighter note (because there's only so many tears I can shed at the hospital business centre without attracting a lot of attention....), I have absolutely no idea what to do with Rob's ashes. I did the stupid thing, of course....that being, I opened the box and looked at the two (previously mentioned) Ziploc baggies. Then, in a fit of stupidity that defies logic, I actually took out the baggies and held 'em in my hands. Man, it really does hit you f'cking hard. Needless to say I only did that the once. And needless to say, I really do NOT recommend such an action! Anyway, I'm really not sure what to do with the box, so I went online and had a peek around to get some ideas.
Oh. My. God.
I can make Rob into a necklace here
Or buy one of these (somewhat tacky) velvet thingies here
Or perhaps have 'em made into a fireworks display here
Or even make an underwater reef!
Then there's the balloon option - but Rob was afraid of flying, so we'll nix this one right now
Spaceflight is somewhat more unique, but the fear of flying thing also applies...I think....
Of course, I could just let him sit where he's sitting right now (in the middle of our chess board, which is oddly fitting for a number of reasons!).
I've got another few journal entries in my head, but I need to go get some coffee.
25 Jan, 2008 - Ashes
When given box containing beloved's ashes, do not open the box.
No, it's not as if he scattered all over the carpet, but he's in two ziploc baggies!
(The only thing I've ever seen those baggies used for is for containing a certain aromatic - if illegal - herb. Ahem.)
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No, it's not as if he scattered all over the carpet, but he's in two ziploc baggies!
(The only thing I've ever seen those baggies used for is for containing a certain aromatic - if illegal - herb. Ahem.)
****************************************
Yesterday was quite odd really. Because it was Rob's birthday, I had many more little ups and downs than perhaps the previous few days. I've discovered though that I seem to have two types of grief. The first, the acute grief, is what you'd imagine. Physically agonising, mentally overwhelming, almost unbearable. It leaves you wondering how on earth anyone gets through this process and you often feel like you just just cannot and will not ever survive. You learn the literal meaning of the word "heartache".
The second though is more subtle. It's the one that lets you remember both the good and bad parts of your relationship, and the good and bad sides of the person you've lost, and you can even do this sometimes without being (overly....) judgemental. It's the grief that lets you cry and actually feel a little better afterwards, and the grief that allows you to imagine a future - albeit a radically different future - than you'd imagined or planned.
In those times of the more subtle form of grief, I'm even relatively sane. Even if I did get stood up by my grief counsellor this morning! (Ok, she was sick , she has an excuse. Hrmph)
****************************************
I actually found myself agreeing with Elisabeth Hasselback on The View this morning. I can't remember what I was agreeing with, but I remember thinking "Oh shoot me now...I'm agreeing with Elisabeth....."
Maybe I need to pick up those psych meds ;)
24 Jan, 2008. Happy Birthday.
Happy 32nd birthday, Wombat.
Loveyamor'nanythingevenchocolateandcurryandfloppsies.
But you knew that anyway. *smile*
Loveyamor'nanythingevenchocolateandcurry
But you knew that anyway. *smile*
22 Jan, 2008. Sue happy?
You post one - one! - innocent inquiry on a message board, being naive enough to include an email address and WHAM you are literally bombarded with eleventythirtytwelvezillion offers of representation for your "upcoming/potential medical malpractice suit"!
I mean shit.
Today is four weeks since Rob died...goddammit, that's a hard word to type. I've never been one for euphemisms, but "passed" seems much easier for me to deal with at the moment. Anyway, it's looking more and more like the Toradol was indeed the aggravating factor in the event(s) leading up to Rob's death; basically he should never have been given the drug at all. It did lead to acute renal failure, but as he had comorbidities (a horrible, horrible term if there was ever a horrible term to end all horrible terms), and there was no autopsy (a thing about which I'm still confused even to this day*), it seems to be a case of "we'll never know for sure".
The irony here - or one of 'em at least - is that we'd planned for me to become a paralegal (if not go on to law school) at some point in the future, perhaps when my own health issues had been resolved, and that my least favourite specialty was personal injury law. In particular, those cases which specialized in suing drug companies for injuries relating to known side-effects, etc etc etc....
And now here we are.
Oh, the irony!
I mean shit.
Today is four weeks since Rob died...goddammit, that's a hard word to type. I've never been one for euphemisms, but "passed" seems much easier for me to deal with at the moment. Anyway, it's looking more and more like the Toradol was indeed the aggravating factor in the event(s) leading up to Rob's death; basically he should never have been given the drug at all. It did lead to acute renal failure, but as he had comorbidities (a horrible, horrible term if there was ever a horrible term to end all horrible terms), and there was no autopsy (a thing about which I'm still confused even to this day*), it seems to be a case of "we'll never know for sure".
The irony here - or one of 'em at least - is that we'd planned for me to become a paralegal (if not go on to law school) at some point in the future, perhaps when my own health issues had been resolved, and that my least favourite specialty was personal injury law. In particular, those cases which specialized in suing drug companies for injuries relating to known side-effects, etc etc etc....
And now here we are.
Oh, the irony!
17 Jan, 2008. Depressing.
I can't remember who wrote this, but....
"Grief is loss IN love" (as opposed to loss OF love).
and this....
"Love is the fuel of grief".
Truer words were never spoken.
*****************************************************************************************
I still have questions.
Well, one, really. First, I need to get this out and on paper or something, so here we go. Please bear in mind that my memory of that night is hazy at best. Some details and exact times might not be the most accurate in the world, but this is how I remember it:
Rob was discharged from the hospital on Saturday, Dec 21. He left with some pain meds (Lortab) and some Xanax, and was in a lot of pain. Prior to this, he'd been given Toradol ( a super NSAID painkiller, basically) soon after he'd had the surgery....and you're not meant to give Toradol to kidney patients (it caused fluid and sodium retention and messes with the electrolytes). His potassium went through the roof - 8.1 - and they had to flush him to get it back down. Rob was NOT impressed! (He bitched about this for quite a while...). The doctor actually said "Oops" when he realised what had caused the potassium increase.....and as we all know, "Oops" is a four letter word you never, ever want to hear from a doctor!!!!
We got him home, and settled, but on Sunday he'd started to gain fluid in his legs again. His thighs, calves and ankles were very swollen, and he was coughing a bit, too, but not as much as previously. This has happened before, and we just increased his Lasix. On Monday morning he'd lost several pounds worth of fluid, and was feeling a little better, though still in considerable pain.
On Monday evening he took some pain meds - I'm not sure how many - and some Xanax (probably one or two more than was prescribed). I'd gone to bed around 11:45 pm or so, and he followed about an hour later.
He snuggled into me, and I had my arm around him.
A little later, I woke up, feeling dampness on my arm. I figured, because he's diabetic, he'd gone really low again - which always led to severe clamminess - and moved to help shift him into a sitting position.
That's when vomit-like liquid poured out of his nose and mouth. I also noticed - and blocked it out - that he was cold, too.
He wasn't responding to me. I called 911, and was asked "Can you perform CPR?".
Tess: "I'd love to...but I can't get his mouth open....his teeth are clenched!". I held Rob's head in my arms, crying.
The paramedic who first came in knew us both by name. He went into the bedroom - the police had also come, and advised me to stay in the living room - and came out again, saying "Tess, he's been down awhile...do you still want us to try and resuscitate him?".
Rob and I both had listed "no heroic measures" on our living wills....but dammit, I told that Paramedic to get back there and try and bring him back. I mean what was I going to say?!?!
He came out a few minutes later, saying "Tess, we're so sorry....he's been down too long. And even if we had brought him back, he wouldn't have been Rob......."
I've been assured - by doctors and the paramedics - that Rob didn't feel anything. He was sleeping, he was in the arms of someone who adored him, and he died without any struggle.
But dammit, I can't help but wonder if that Toradol didn't just spur the heart failure symptoms into a fatal event.
That's probably not fair of me - Rob had so many medical problems, the likelihood is that either he took too many pain meds (a possibility), or his body simply gave out.
The vomiting could have been caused by pain meds, heart failure, acute kidney failure, you name it and it could have caused the vomiting.
So why the hell do I feel guilty?!??!?!?!?
Even though I've been assured over and over that there was nothing I could have done, it still burns.
Could I have done something?
Rob was cremated. Part of me actually wanted them to do an autopsy just to see (he'd been under hospital care only 72 hours prior, so I figured an autopsy might have been done, but nope) what was the actual cause of death.
Sigh.
My Wombat.
I'm ok though. More or less.
Edit:
The more I read about Toradol, the more I'm thinking that it really did push Rob's body over the edge. Maybe I need to stop reading these articles and medical journal entries which warn against using Toradol in heart and/or ki
"Grief is loss IN love" (as opposed to loss OF love).
and this....
"Love is the fuel of grief".
Truer words were never spoken.
****************************************
I still have questions.
Well, one, really. First, I need to get this out and on paper or something, so here we go. Please bear in mind that my memory of that night is hazy at best. Some details and exact times might not be the most accurate in the world, but this is how I remember it:
Rob was discharged from the hospital on Saturday, Dec 21. He left with some pain meds (Lortab) and some Xanax, and was in a lot of pain. Prior to this, he'd been given Toradol ( a super NSAID painkiller, basically) soon after he'd had the surgery....and you're not meant to give Toradol to kidney patients (it caused fluid and sodium retention and messes with the electrolytes). His potassium went through the roof - 8.1 - and they had to flush him to get it back down. Rob was NOT impressed! (He bitched about this for quite a while...). The doctor actually said "Oops" when he realised what had caused the potassium increase.....and as we all know, "Oops" is a four letter word you never, ever want to hear from a doctor!!!!
We got him home, and settled, but on Sunday he'd started to gain fluid in his legs again. His thighs, calves and ankles were very swollen, and he was coughing a bit, too, but not as much as previously. This has happened before, and we just increased his Lasix. On Monday morning he'd lost several pounds worth of fluid, and was feeling a little better, though still in considerable pain.
On Monday evening he took some pain meds - I'm not sure how many - and some Xanax (probably one or two more than was prescribed). I'd gone to bed around 11:45 pm or so, and he followed about an hour later.
He snuggled into me, and I had my arm around him.
A little later, I woke up, feeling dampness on my arm. I figured, because he's diabetic, he'd gone really low again - which always led to severe clamminess - and moved to help shift him into a sitting position.
That's when vomit-like liquid poured out of his nose and mouth. I also noticed - and blocked it out - that he was cold, too.
He wasn't responding to me. I called 911, and was asked "Can you perform CPR?".
Tess: "I'd love to...but I can't get his mouth open....his teeth are clenched!". I held Rob's head in my arms, crying.
The paramedic who first came in knew us both by name. He went into the bedroom - the police had also come, and advised me to stay in the living room - and came out again, saying "Tess, he's been down awhile...do you still want us to try and resuscitate him?".
Rob and I both had listed "no heroic measures" on our living wills....but dammit, I told that Paramedic to get back there and try and bring him back. I mean what was I going to say?!?!
He came out a few minutes later, saying "Tess, we're so sorry....he's been down too long. And even if we had brought him back, he wouldn't have been Rob......."
I've been assured - by doctors and the paramedics - that Rob didn't feel anything. He was sleeping, he was in the arms of someone who adored him, and he died without any struggle.
But dammit, I can't help but wonder if that Toradol didn't just spur the heart failure symptoms into a fatal event.
That's probably not fair of me - Rob had so many medical problems, the likelihood is that either he took too many pain meds (a possibility), or his body simply gave out.
The vomiting could have been caused by pain meds, heart failure, acute kidney failure, you name it and it could have caused the vomiting.
So why the hell do I feel guilty?!??!?!?!?
Even though I've been assured over and over that there was nothing I could have done, it still burns.
Could I have done something?
Rob was cremated. Part of me actually wanted them to do an autopsy just to see (he'd been under hospital care only 72 hours prior, so I figured an autopsy might have been done, but nope) what was the actual cause of death.
Sigh.
My Wombat.
I'm ok though. More or less.
Edit:
The more I read about Toradol, the more I'm thinking that it really did push Rob's body over the edge. Maybe I need to stop reading these articles and medical journal entries which warn against using Toradol in heart and/or ki
15 Jan, 2008..you know it's winter when...
....it's -23 and you're wishing for it to go all the way up to 0 degrees, just to stop your nipples from freezing off!
It's hard to believe Rob's been gone for three weeks. Then again, it feels like the longest three weeks of my entire life (and I've had me some long weeks). Sometimes the mornings are worse, perhaps in part because that's the time of day we pretty much always had together. Sometimes though, it's the evenings. With Rob being such an insomniac, and me not being one (until recently, falling asleep was never a problem!), he used to tell me how lonely it could be during the evening when I was sleeping, and how much he missed me. I never truly understood what he meant, until now.
Rob and I kept odd hours at times. He was very much a night-owl, and I'm more of a "regular hours" kind of gal. But during those small hours of the morning we would generally cherish each other a little more, as I'd just woken up and he was about to go crash. But really, what I wanted to write today was a bit of a cute memory. OK, it's really cute. Bear with me!
Every now and then Rob would bring home a plush animal from one of the thrift stores. He knew I liked the more cutesy animals - bunnies, penguins, lambs - while he gravitated more towards coyotes and things that went "Grrr" or "roar" or "let me bite your head please". So, over time we'd managed to gather about 25 of these critters, and they all lived (they were "our childrens" - yes, plural intended) on the back of the futon. The cutesy ones towards one end, where I sat, and the more uh...carnivorous folk lived towards the other end, where Rob would sit.
Occasionally, I'd wake up, wander into the living room and do a double take. Mr Coyote seemed to have moved a couple of spaces...and seemed really, really intent on making his way over to where Mr Lamby and Mr Floppsy were sitting, minding their own business. I'd say..
"Hmm...I don't remember Mr Coyote being that far along the sofa...."
To which Rob would reply, in the cutest little Savannah accent,
"Ah think Mr Coyote thinks that's a "all y'all can eat" buffet right there....Ah think he's a lil hungry...."
Tess: "You tell Mr Coyote that he's vegetarian!"
Rob: "Ah think he thinks that Mr Lamb is a vegetal....maybe a carrot...ah think he just gonna take a nibble, just to see.... "
OK, that was probably much cuter to me than it would be to anyone else, but it's a memory that makes me smile.
Peace.
It's hard to believe Rob's been gone for three weeks. Then again, it feels like the longest three weeks of my entire life (and I've had me some long weeks). Sometimes the mornings are worse, perhaps in part because that's the time of day we pretty much always had together. Sometimes though, it's the evenings. With Rob being such an insomniac, and me not being one (until recently, falling asleep was never a problem!), he used to tell me how lonely it could be during the evening when I was sleeping, and how much he missed me. I never truly understood what he meant, until now.
Rob and I kept odd hours at times. He was very much a night-owl, and I'm more of a "regular hours" kind of gal. But during those small hours of the morning we would generally cherish each other a little more, as I'd just woken up and he was about to go crash. But really, what I wanted to write today was a bit of a cute memory. OK, it's really cute. Bear with me!
Every now and then Rob would bring home a plush animal from one of the thrift stores. He knew I liked the more cutesy animals - bunnies, penguins, lambs - while he gravitated more towards coyotes and things that went "Grrr" or "roar" or "let me bite your head please". So, over time we'd managed to gather about 25 of these critters, and they all lived (they were "our childrens" - yes, plural intended) on the back of the futon. The cutesy ones towards one end, where I sat, and the more uh...carnivorous folk lived towards the other end, where Rob would sit.
Occasionally, I'd wake up, wander into the living room and do a double take. Mr Coyote seemed to have moved a couple of spaces...and seemed really, really intent on making his way over to where Mr Lamby and Mr Floppsy were sitting, minding their own business. I'd say..
"Hmm...I don't remember Mr Coyote being that far along the sofa...."
To which Rob would reply, in the cutest little Savannah accent,
"Ah think Mr Coyote thinks that's a "all y'all can eat" buffet right there....Ah think he's a lil hungry...."
Tess: "You tell Mr Coyote that he's vegetarian!"
Rob: "Ah think he thinks that Mr Lamb is a vegetal....maybe a carrot...ah think he just gonna take a nibble, just to see.... "
OK, that was probably much cuter to me than it would be to anyone else, but it's a memory that makes me smile.
Peace.
14 Jan, 2008
It'll be three weeks tomorrow.
Most of last week was spent in the Psych unit; I didn't feel suicidal per se, just unable to cope. They were pretty cool actually....there's a bereavement counsellor coming to the apt on Wednesday, so that might help too.
I'm doing ok, I spose, given the circumstances.
Yeah, I'm still spending a good portion of every hour crying, but at least I'm taking every day in 10-minute blocks. You know? Like...this ten minutes wasn't so bad. Last ten minutes were awful, but the next ten might be a little better too.
My sister wants me to go back to the UK. There's somewhere for me to stay until I get sorted out, but I'm in a pretty precarious position financially. I'm seriously considering it though. At this point, I'm willing to negotiate (some backpay maybe?) the whole legal issue....if there was some way to come up with an agreement that would a) help me out (financially, ie I'd have something to live on if I do go back to the UK, or just simple arbitration that'd be binding , signed by a judge and be irrevokable) and b) help out the other party, I'm all for it. It'd be legally binding for all parties involved. There's even a form I can fill out that revokes (voluntarily) my PR status if and when I do go back to the UK.
I'll talk to my lawyer and see what she thinks.
I NEED to start eating right. I have NO idea why I'm not eating....and again, those of you who've known me previously also know that not eating has never really been an issue....
I'd also like to thank everyone - and I mean *everyone* (that bit is for a certain lady who - despite the circumstances of our knowing each other - sent me an email of condolence, which I really thought was very sweet) - for the continued love and support. I'm sorry I didn't post for a week or so, but (not surprisingly) the psych unit doesn't allow computer access.
I did learn quite a lot about myself though.
Most of last week was spent in the Psych unit; I didn't feel suicidal per se, just unable to cope. They were pretty cool actually....there's a bereavement counsellor coming to the apt on Wednesday, so that might help too.
I'm doing ok, I spose, given the circumstances.
Yeah, I'm still spending a good portion of every hour crying, but at least I'm taking every day in 10-minute blocks. You know? Like...this ten minutes wasn't so bad. Last ten minutes were awful, but the next ten might be a little better too.
My sister wants me to go back to the UK. There's somewhere for me to stay until I get sorted out, but I'm in a pretty precarious position financially. I'm seriously considering it though. At this point, I'm willing to negotiate (some backpay maybe?) the whole legal issue....if there was some way to come up with an agreement that would a) help me out (financially, ie I'd have something to live on if I do go back to the UK, or just simple arbitration that'd be binding , signed by a judge and be irrevokable) and b) help out the other party, I'm all for it. It'd be legally binding for all parties involved. There's even a form I can fill out that revokes (voluntarily) my PR status if and when I do go back to the UK.
I'll talk to my lawyer and see what she thinks.
I NEED to start eating right. I have NO idea why I'm not eating....and again, those of you who've known me previously also know that not eating has never really been an issue....
I'd also like to thank everyone - and I mean *everyone* (that bit is for a certain lady who - despite the circumstances of our knowing each other - sent me an email of condolence, which I really thought was very sweet) - for the continued love and support. I'm sorry I didn't post for a week or so, but (not surprisingly) the psych unit doesn't allow computer access.
I did learn quite a lot about myself though.
26 Dec, 2007
Rob died at 1:45 December 25th, 2007, in my arms.
He died peacefully, without pain, without struggle.
There will be a service here in Fargo on Friday Dec 28th, but I'd love to have his life celebrated online too, somehow. Or at least get a "guestbook" going of some kind.
This leaves me...beyond anything.
He died peacefully, without pain, without struggle.
There will be a service here in Fargo on Friday Dec 28th, but I'd love to have his life celebrated online too, somehow. Or at least get a "guestbook" going of some kind.
This leaves me...beyond anything.
21 Dec, 2007
The CRT went fairly well; the first two leads (there are three) were implanted on Monday (I probably already blogged about that, but I'm running on about 2 hours of sleep and eleventy million cups of coffee), and the third was implated last night.
We thought that I'd be able to take Rob home today, but there was a complication....his potassium level this morning was 8.1. You read right. Normal is 2.5 - 5.0, and his was up the proverbial wazoo. Now in most cases, a potassium level that high would cause serious heart problems (like he doesn't have enough, right?); miraculously, the pacemaker was already doing it's job and so the EKG was normal...thankfully. He'll be in another night at least, and probably won't be home until Monday. If the meds don't work, he'll have to have dialysis (but only one course). We also need to talk about kidney transplant.
(His blood sugars are also through the roof - 628 was the last one about an hour ago).
His potassium is coming down though....but his creatinine is at 4.0 (it was 1.8 only ten days ago), and that's a major concern too, as he's already got 50% renal failure.
Oy.
I keep smiling though...and he knows I'm with him.
We thought that I'd be able to take Rob home today, but there was a complication....his potassium level this morning was 8.1. You read right. Normal is 2.5 - 5.0, and his was up the proverbial wazoo. Now in most cases, a potassium level that high would cause serious heart problems (like he doesn't have enough, right?); miraculously, the pacemaker was already doing it's job and so the EKG was normal...thankfully. He'll be in another night at least, and probably won't be home until Monday. If the meds don't work, he'll have to have dialysis (but only one course). We also need to talk about kidney transplant.
(His blood sugars are also through the roof - 628 was the last one about an hour ago).
His potassium is coming down though....but his creatinine is at 4.0 (it was 1.8 only ten days ago), and that's a major concern too, as he's already got 50% renal failure.
Oy.
I keep smiling though...and he knows I'm with him.
19 Dec, 2007 pt...whenever
Well, it's no longer disgusting o'clock....and I managed to grab a whole 2 hours of sleep. Wheee! I'm a little overhyped (which probably isn't helped by the super-grande-ultra-quad-shot-caramel-moc
I tried to comfort him by telling him it's a relic (ok, I should've chosen a better word than that...) of his live journey...a bookmark, of sorts.
It's much easier for me to say that though than it is for him to believe it.
Sigh.
I feel so bad for him.
**********
Take 3 hours of sleep; add two cups of mint tea and a crapload of patchouli incense and mix.
Then you might "rest" awhile.
Good lawdy we're both so tired! But everything seems ok. The third lead in the device will be done tomorrow (Thursday) and then he should be home for the weekend!
Weeeeeeeeeeeee!
(and...Moooooooooo!)
19 Dec, 2007 pt 2
During this journey, I've been able to somewhat keep ahold of my sanity.
(I picture my sanity as being something a bit like a pink Chuzzle. You know, those addictive fuzzy thingies in that addictive fuzzy game thingy).
Buddhism helped me regain my sanity once before (though the Chuzzle part remained a bit elusive for awhile - I think it was hiding beneath those oh-so-attractive mud-brown hospital gowns); I was 28 and had just had a hysterectomy. And in his infinite wisdom, the surgeon put me right back on the OB/GYN ward, along with about 20 new mothers. Babies cried. I cried. Maybe there was a lesson there, I'm not sure....but really, I left the hospital in pain, both physical and emotional. And Percocet can't touch emotional pain, believe me. I was hurting, angry and bitter about having the choice to have a child with my then-husband sliced away from me with the cool blade of a scalpel.
Someone, somewhere pointed me to a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, called "Anger: Wisdom for cooling the flames". I'm not entirely sure what happened whilst I was actually reading the book, but so much made sense to me; in the five years since then I've been able to deal far better with some major emotional issues, and actually come to view these situations with something akin to acceptance. As unlikely as it sounds, this acceptance is close friends with another Chuzzle-like entity, "calmness", and they both pay visits to my psyche daily.
It beats having to search high and low for a pink fuzzy Chuzzle who doesn't want to be found.
(I picture my sanity as being something a bit like a pink Chuzzle. You know, those addictive fuzzy thingies in that addictive fuzzy game thingy).
Buddhism helped me regain my sanity once before (though the Chuzzle part remained a bit elusive for awhile - I think it was hiding beneath those oh-so-attractive mud-brown hospital gowns); I was 28 and had just had a hysterectomy. And in his infinite wisdom, the surgeon put me right back on the OB/GYN ward, along with about 20 new mothers. Babies cried. I cried. Maybe there was a lesson there, I'm not sure....but really, I left the hospital in pain, both physical and emotional. And Percocet can't touch emotional pain, believe me. I was hurting, angry and bitter about having the choice to have a child with my then-husband sliced away from me with the cool blade of a scalpel.
Someone, somewhere pointed me to a book by Thich Nhat Hanh, called "Anger: Wisdom for cooling the flames". I'm not entirely sure what happened whilst I was actually reading the book, but so much made sense to me; in the five years since then I've been able to deal far better with some major emotional issues, and actually come to view these situations with something akin to acceptance. As unlikely as it sounds, this acceptance is close friends with another Chuzzle-like entity, "calmness", and they both pay visits to my psyche daily.
It beats having to search high and low for a pink fuzzy Chuzzle who doesn't want to be found.
19 Dec, 2007
Heavens to Murgatroyd....I'm tired.
It's around 1am, and Rob is in his room (207). The surgical team only got two leads implanted into the device, so Rob's staying in the hospital till Friday, because it's a bit more surgery to get the third lead implanted (they need a different surgeon to do this who isn't available until Thursday).
He's ok thought; BP and BG are within normal limits, though his pain is through the roof. He's currently on Percocet x 2 every four hours, with morphine every two hours as needed.
Poor darling....if I could take his pain to ease his suffering, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Pun intended....maybe.
Going for more coffee!
xxxxx
It's around 1am, and Rob is in his room (207). The surgical team only got two leads implanted into the device, so Rob's staying in the hospital till Friday, because it's a bit more surgery to get the third lead implanted (they need a different surgeon to do this who isn't available until Thursday).
He's ok thought; BP and BG are within normal limits, though his pain is through the roof. He's currently on Percocet x 2 every four hours, with morphine every two hours as needed.
Poor darling....if I could take his pain to ease his suffering, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
Pun intended....maybe.
Going for more coffee!
xxxxx
18 Dec, 2007
You know the really scary thing about surgery? The feeling of not being in control.
Rob's CRT was scheduled for 11am this morning; because his blood sugar was only 72 they delayed it awhile (note: his BG is usually so out of whack that 72 is considered unconsciousness-level low for him. Yay). So, he's in there and I'm out here in the waiting room (which thankfully has a computer avec la Ninterweb...).
(The Ninterweb is, of course, Tess-ish for Internet. It's a bastardisation of "Interweb" - the origin of which escapes me - and includes the now-ubiquitousness of adding the letter "N" to every word which begins with a vowel. And plenty that don't, now I think about it).
The procedure itself is fairly minor, considering it's basically poking wires into your heart. Read more here
if you're interested.
It's the waiting, you know? The waiting around. That, and knowing that even with this device, the longterm prognosis is unaffected.
70% with congestive heart failure die within 5 years of diagnosis; realistically, heart transplantation is the only hope at cure.
God, that sucks so much I can't even quantify it.
Still, I'm trying to keep us both uplifted, which isn't as easy as it sounds (and it doesn't sound easy). Rob's still in a varying degree of denial about the condition and his situation, which I think is probably healthier for him mentally at this point. He's just so young. And it's happened so damn quickly. In many ways Rob has been the - admittedly cynical - poster child for "Why Not To Smoke. Like, seriously dude".
I think I need coffee.
Rob's CRT was scheduled for 11am this morning; because his blood sugar was only 72 they delayed it awhile (note: his BG is usually so out of whack that 72 is considered unconsciousness-level low for him. Yay). So, he's in there and I'm out here in the waiting room (which thankfully has a computer avec la Ninterweb...).
(The Ninterweb is, of course, Tess-ish for Internet. It's a bastardisation of "Interweb" - the origin of which escapes me - and includes the now-ubiquitousness of adding the letter "N" to every word which begins with a vowel. And plenty that don't, now I think about it).
The procedure itself is fairly minor, considering it's basically poking wires into your heart. Read more here
if you're interested.It's the waiting, you know? The waiting around. That, and knowing that even with this device, the longterm prognosis is unaffected.
70% with congestive heart failure die within 5 years of diagnosis; realistically, heart transplantation is the only hope at cure.
God, that sucks so much I can't even quantify it.
Still, I'm trying to keep us both uplifted, which isn't as easy as it sounds (and it doesn't sound easy). Rob's still in a varying degree of denial about the condition and his situation, which I think is probably healthier for him mentally at this point. He's just so young. And it's happened so damn quickly. In many ways Rob has been the - admittedly cynical - poster child for "Why Not To Smoke. Like, seriously dude".
I think I need coffee.
14 Dec, 2007
It's bloody freezing here. I mean really cold. Cold enough indeed to freeze the proverbial balls of the brass monkey.
Rob's CRT surgery is this Monday (the 17th, right?). It was originally scheduled for this past Monday, but his blood glucose was 728. That's Seven Hundred and Twenty Eight.
A tad high.
So we rescheduled.
I just want this procedure done with....it's a form of protection against sudden cardiac death, and I really can't emphasise how important this is.
I don't want him to die...period.
Much less as a sudden cardiac death, yanno?
This isn't making much sense at all. I'll come back later and retype this, probably..or not :) Yo
Rob's CRT surgery is this Monday (the 17th, right?). It was originally scheduled for this past Monday, but his blood glucose was 728. That's Seven Hundred and Twenty Eight.
A tad high.
So we rescheduled.
I just want this procedure done with....it's a form of protection against sudden cardiac death, and I really can't emphasise how important this is.
I don't want him to die...period.
Much less as a sudden cardiac death, yanno?
This isn't making much sense at all. I'll come back later and retype this, probably..or not :) Yo
16 Nov, 2007
Rob's surgery last week was cancelled. He had a fever of 102, so it's got to be rescheduled.
CRT is going to provide him the best long term prognosis outside of a heart transplant. He's a poor candidate for transplant for a few reasons, but mainly because he's a type 1 diabetic with extensive CAD.
He's very afraid...
So am I, actually.
He's 31 years old, and he needs CRT to basically prolong his life.
Oy. That's a mindfuck.
CRT
is going to provide him the best long term prognosis outside of a heart transplant. He's a poor candidate for transplant for a few reasons, but mainly because he's a type 1 diabetic with extensive CAD.He's very afraid...
So am I, actually.
He's 31 years old, and he needs CRT to basically prolong his life.
Oy. That's a mindfuck.
An explanation, perhaps
This is going to be the grief journal, and will include entries published elsewhere online, and bits that have never been seen before (not by humans, at any rate!).
Rob was 31 when he died during the early hours of Christmas morning (mourning?) 2007. For more background, you can go to
Rob's CaringBridge website
An online memorial for Rob
And his obituary
My usual "stuff" is over here at LJ (which is probably sacrilege, but nevertheless).
Rob was 31 when he died during the early hours of Christmas morning (mourning?) 2007. For more background, you can go to
Rob's CaringBridge website
An online memorial for Rob
And his obituary
My usual "stuff" is over here at LJ (which is probably sacrilege, but nevertheless).
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