My best friend died last Monday, May 14. After some debate, I’ve chosen to write about Marlon’s time in the hospital, his passing, and, eventually, ‘lighter’ stories of his wonderful life. While I’m still in a state of denial, writing about him brings me much comfort, as did your incredible, thoughtful, comments on his passing. I can’t begin to tell you how overwhelmed I am at the outpouring of support and love. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
He awoke with a gut-wrenching groan a little before 3 a.m. Saturday. This was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary as he’s had stomach pains for years following a complicated gall bladder surgery in 1997.
I wasn’t alarmed. This was normal.
What wasn’t normal was him clenching his chest and telling me he needed to get to the hospital. I immediately called 911, threw on some clothes, and ran outside to wait for the ambulance. Marlon followed me, staggering, but strong. He was always strong. Big and strong. At 6’4”, weighing more than 300 lbs., ‘big’ is an understatement. The EMT’s barely opened the door before he was inside the truck being hooked up to whatever it is they hook up to someone complaining of chest pain. By the time I gave them his name and basic info, they told me they were taking him to Mercy San Juan Hospital.
The thought of a “severe indigestion” diagnosis was replaced with the dread of “heart attack”. But as I followed the ambulance I kept hoping, praying. It’s possible, isn’t it? You hear it all the time, don’t you? Someone thinks they’re having a heart attack and it’s just a case of severe indigestion. Surely that’s the case. Surely nothing is seriously wrong with Marlon. Not Marlon! Marlon is the one who takes care of all of us. Marlon is the one who we all depend upon. Surely this can’t be serious.
At 3:10 I make my way to bed #26 and my husband is writhing in pain. I stand back as ER nurses start hooking him up to more machines. I watch the EKG as if it’s speaking to me, as if it makes some sort of sense. Big spikes, little spikes in a regular rhythm. That has to be a good thing, right? But I’m not asking the question. I’m letting the nurses work. I’m acting calm. I’m trying not to hyperventilate.
One of the nurses – Brigette – asks if he’s still in pain. He nods. Does he want something for the pain? He nods his head vigorously. Now I’m worried. Really worried. This isn’t him. He doesn’t want pain meds. Ever. In 21 years he’s had two serious knee surgeries, a blown gall bladder removal, and he rarely took any pain meds. This is not a good sign.
Brigette returns with a syringe and I’m focusing on the rhythmical spikes and my own breathing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. My cell phone rings and I nearly jump outta my skin and Marlon barely notices. This is not a good sign either.
Our oldest son wants to know how Dad is. I have no idea. I haven’t even seen the ER doc yet. I’ll call you when I know. Right now I’m busy. I have to breathe. I have to stay calm. But it’ll be okay because it’s Dad and you know your dad – he’s big and strong and he takes care of all of us. He’ll be okay.
But he wasn’t okay. His pain was incredible. The ER doc told the nurse to up his morphine dose. Then they switched to Dilaudid. Nothing seemed to help. He’d doze a bit but when he’d wake up, he’d ask for more pain meds.
I knew this was a bad sign. The pain and the fact that they couldn’t bring his blood pressure down. My focus shifted from the beeping spikes to the blood pressure numbers. 212/100? Something else was wrong and I couldn’t bring myself to ask the nurse or the doctor why his pressure was so high.
I assured the ER doc Marlon was not hypertensive. At his size and being black, not to mention his family members all have high blood pressure, it was just assumed that he too was hypertensive. But no, he wasn’t. I don’t think the doc believed me. Just another patient’s wife in denial.
From time to time, when he’d stir just a bit and groan, he’d reach is hand out to me. At the time I didn’t think anything of it. He wasn’t afraid. He was just in a lot of pain. To anyone else, a man reaching his hand out to his wife in the emergency room would seem perfectly normal. But that wasn’t “us”. That wasn’t Marlon. Did he know? Did he sense that things were critical? Was he preparing me? I don’t know.
Around 5 a.m. Dr. told me they were going to do a CT scan. By this point Marlon was dozing more than he was awake and I was grateful that he wasn’t in as much visible pain. I prepared myself for the diagnosis. It’s probably his stomach. They’ll probably have to go in and remove some scar tissue from his gall bladder removal. My mind reeled with the logistics of taking care of him post-op, my mother, and our grandson. How am I gonna handle this?
What I wasn’t prepared for was the actual diagnosis – an “aortic dissection”.
Being an ex-medical transcriptionist, I know what the aorta is and I know what dissection is but nothing could’ve prepared me for what a tear in the aorta actually means. Dr. Griffin told me he’s never seen this condition on someone who’s alive – he’s only seen it on autopsy.
But you’re in a state of shock, I think, when your loved one is in the ER. You think you’re ok, normal, dealing with things. Looking back, I realize I wasn’t. Because I thought the vascular surgeon they were calling in would just repair the tear, it’d be a long, arduous recuperation, and we’d continue our life together.
I was wrong.
I’ll continue with the surgeries and the story of his passing. It might seem strange to read all of this because it sure seems odd to write it. At some time, our sons and grandsons will be ready to read it though. So far I’ve written about saying goodbye, his hospitalization and passing, and my Manifesto.
Marlon’s memorial is this Thursday so I’m busy writing his eulogy, making phone calls, and all of those things that one must do when your husband dies. I’m anxious to paint again, to talk about anything other than how I’m doing. People keep telling me “You’re so strong!” No, I’m not. I’m pretty much a mess. But writing is keeping me sane and this blog is my salvation right now. I appreciate your indulgence as I go thru all of this.
Love you, Colleen. Sending you and your whole family huge hugs. I’m glad that writing is helping you get through this.
I agree with Steph – I am glad you are continuing to write down your thoughts and feelings. I am sending you and your family thoughts and wishes.
I agree also, Colleen. I just have no words and am so sorry. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.
Hang in there, Colleen. I can imagine that the coming days will be very difficult. Stay strong.
We are keeping you in our hearts and prayers Colleen.
Lean on the people that love you, there you will find the strength to deal with all of this.
Marion is with you too. In time you will feel him there.
Hugs,
Morena
Colleen, just one step at a time. Keep going and doing. You ARE doing great, you’re doing what is expected and normal for this. Hang in there sweet girl.
I’m so sorry for you loss you and your family will be in my prayers! Hang in there you sweet strong woman!
I pray your feelings of loss and pain will be quickly replaced with the good memories of love and laughter. Blessing to you.
I can’t tell you how frustrating it is to be behind this computer screen and not be able to reach out and take you into an enormous hug. You’ve been through so much this week. I’m glad you are finding some release in your posts. Prayers for you and your family.
I just came across your blog a week ago and decided to check in for a new dose of “fill my painting artistic hole” and I am sadded by your loss. Please know that I read your story like I’ve known you forever and tears were shed with you. God Bless you as you go through your next difficult days. Use those close to you to lean on and share in memories that make you smile. Prayers being said for all of you.
Oh this is awful. I’m crying too. Blessings.
Will be thinking of you on Thursday and sending prayers to you and your family from the other side of the world.
Colleen I so second Brittany’s comment about the computer wish I could hold your hand be by your side .
sending prayers & healing hearts to you & your Family.
Love you Ann.
Colleen, even strong people can be a mess. The fact that you are brave enough to share, brave enough to plan, brave enough to comfort others proves that you are strong. You are tossed on a storm-tossed sea right now, but if you can hang on moment by moment, you will get through the storm. We believe in you, hope for you and pray for you.
You keep writing, or painting or doing whatever helps you get through this and stay sane. Lean on us, we are here for you. I echo Brittany’s feelings, I wish I could reach through this screen and give you a big, comforting hug. Know I am sending it your way, all the time. Please write if you need to. I am up at all hours! Be patient with yourself, there is no “right” way to grieve and you are probably still in shock.
Be assured of my continued prayers,
Maureen
Do what it takes to find some solace. Keep writing and we will keep reading. Your journey is ours, as is your tradgedy. Please take care of YOU. Second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day, time hurts and heals. Karen
colleen, i am a new follower of your wonderful blog. i am so sad for your loss. i cried too reading your story. take comfort in the fact that people all over are thinking about you, sending prayers and positive thoughts.
take care of yourself.
carol
I am so sorry for your loss…there are no words I can write that will comfort you or your family. Keep writing it is important for you and your family.
I am so sorry. Please know that your beloved husband is by your side helping you and your family. Will continue to pray for your family.
Take care,
Marie
Colleen, The power of prayer in numbers is astounding. Clearly you have many people praying for you. As you deal with the loss of your husband and best friend, may God give you the strength you need and deserve. There really are no words to tell you how sorry I am that you have suffered this loss. Your blog and your Pinterest board have inspired me many times. You are so gifted. Thank you.
Colleen you are carrying on so bravely even if you think you aren’t. I know you are on autopilot right now taking care of all the details that have to be done, just don’t forget to take care of yourself. Give yourself time to grieve and hold your family close. We, your readers, are praying for and thinking of you. God bless. Kath
I have no words of comfort to offer but wanted to let you know that I will pray for you and your family.
Keeping you in my prayers. Sandy
Colleen, please know that my prayers are with you and your family. I’m so sorry for your loss.
Hi Colleen, I’m a new follower who has went back through many, many months of posts…so, I feel like I know you. I was so saddened to get the post on your husband’s passing and my heart just sank for you and your family.
Things are just hard right now. Grief has no clock or calendar…so, take the time to do exactly what you feel in your heart, and let all the prayers and warm thoughts, your family and friends, and your own words comfort you for as long as needed.
God Bless you and your family.
My sympathies and condolences go out to you and your family. It is never easy to lose a loved one. You will be kept in my prayers and hopefully one day you will be comforted by good memories. But until that time you must do whatever it is that helps you through and writing is supposed to be a good catharsis.
Pour it out…………..we’re here to listen! (((HUGS)))
God Bless You
Sending my sympathy & prayers to you & your family. May GOD bring comfort, peace & strength.
Colleen, this is my first time reading your blog,. I am so very sorry that you have lost your best friend and your love. I too lost my dad this week so I know no words can prepare us for the hurt that we feel but hopefully each day your mourning and sadness will be replaced with joyful memories and celebration of his life.
God bless you!
Praying for you and your family in your pain and time of loss……..
Sending lots of prayers your way today, Colleen. Please know we’re all here for you if you there is anything we can do.
Hugs, hugs, HUGS!
Layla
So how are you today? I found your site about painting and as I was glancing through the things you have posted the ER post caught my eye. I was thinking, hmmm, I wonder what she did to herself while painting, so I opened the dialog. I thought I was reading my own story. But my husband passed over 9 years ago. But all the comments about indigestion and bad pain was so similar to my husband’s passing. He had a severe heart attack and died (age 50) before I could get to the hospital and see him. I must say God is so good and he has healed my heart and my life from that terrible time. I just did not know going through it that I could ever breathe again, or put one foot in front of the other again or even be happy. But I am breathing, I am walking and I am more than happy. I pray you are doing well and if there is any thing I can help you with please let me know. Beth, Gran Art
Hi Beth! What a wonderful greeting to receive. It gives me such hope to hear that I might be ‘more than happy’ one day. Not that I walk around with my head hanging but I have my days. It still seems surreal, like he’ll walk thru the door at any time.
I’m sorry to hear about your husband. But thank you so much for sharing your story. It helps more than you can know. xoxo