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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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)

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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'nanythingevenchocolateandcurry

andfloppsies.

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!

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.


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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.

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.

Very simply. 1 Jan, 2008

I just want him back.

God I just want him back.