It was somewhat of a normal Monday, except for the chest pain David had been experiencing over the weekend. We had an appointment with his cardiologist on Tuesday.
David had experienced heart trouble off and on since 1990, including having stents on 2 separate occasions. So to experience chest pain and shortness of breath was (I to hate to say this) normal in our household. It wasn’t all the time, but this time it was unfortunately several days in a row. He knew what the cardiologist would say, and the sad thing is that I believe he was prepared to do what it was going to take to feel better. In the past he was afraid of being out of work 4-6 weeks. (He was the sole doctor in his private Optometry business).
We had gone about our morning and early afternoon without incident (that I knew of) as the chest pain was only if he exerted himself. He was finishing up with a patient around 2:30, when I saw him take a nitroglycerin. (Prescribed to ease immediate chest pain). My words to him were, “wow, you aren’t even exerting yourself.” Still I wasn’t super worried.
Five minutes later he called me out of the bathroom to tell me the chest pain wasn’t going away, it hurt badly and I needed to call 911. I coaxed him to follow me to my desk so he could sit in my chair, but he never made it the 20 feet. He eased himself to the floor in the hallway. (Thank goodness we were behind closed doors so that all of the patients in the waiting room couldn’t see him.) My first thought was to call from a land line so they would know where to come should I need to hang up. I know that was the right thing to do, but this meant I was attached to a cord and I couldn’t calm him with my touch. Finally, (even though it wasn’t long), I got off the phone and was able to attempt to conform him. He just kept saying it hurts. It’s not going away. I’m scared.
I quickly called my son from my cell phone. He’s a deputy sheriff so he was able to get to the office just after the paramedics got there. David told them he needed oxygen and something for the pain. We both heard the paramedics say, your oxygen level is good and we don’t see anything on the EKG. To us, this was great news. He was going to get to the hospital, they were going to fix him (even if it was surgery) and we would only be dealing with him being out of work.
(In the meantime, our receptionist that has been with us for 8 years had cleared out the waiting room.)
Our son helped the paramedics get him on the stretcher. They rolled him out of the office. There was no urgency in actions or words, which again, was great news. I didn’t even kiss him or tell good-bye. It was the last time I saw him alive.
At the hospital, we waited for news. They told us he had 2 stents put in the main artery that he would be going to ICU. His heart was in shock and they were optimistic it would recover.
We decided at that time that our son would go to tell David’s mom (who is 86) and bring her to the hospital. While he was gone, I waited in the ICU waiting room. Two doctors came to get me and told me David took a turn for the worse. That’s all I heard. My thoughts went directly to the fact that I was by myself. While the doctors were talking to me, a code blue was announced and they feared it was him, so they left me standing in that hallway alone while they went to try to save my world.
I am a Christian. I thank God every night in my prayers. I never ask Him for anything. At that moment, I prayed: God, please. I never ask for anything, but please don’t take him now. Not now while I’m alone. If you have to take him, please wait until I’m not alone. The doctor came out to tell me that they had a pulse. I immediately thanked God.
About that time, our son came around the corner. (When David coded, I was on the phone with a relative and told them to tell Jeff to get to the hospital now.) He looked at me with his big brown eyes, pleading for me not to tell him his Dad was gone. I said, “they have a pulse.” I’ll never forget the deep sob that came out of Jeff’s soul. A cry no mother ever wants to hear.
Not 2 minutes later, they come out to tell us he coded again, but they were doing everything they could to bring him back. Jeff’s wife brought David’s mother and we waited in the waiting room for about 10 minutes for news. I already knew what the news was going to be. I just knew. When you spend your life with someone, you just know. And I was right.
They let us in to see him. He just looked like he was sleeping. Oh how I wanted those big green eyes to look at me one more time. To tell me everything was going to be ok. Instead, we were all heartbroken. How could this have happened? Our lives would never be the same.
It’s been 2 months today. (8 weeks & 4 days). I feel like my heart will forever be in pieces.
People say: Let the memories comfort you. I call bull dookie on that during this stage of grief. It’s the memories that make me cry.
And the future. Lets not even talk about mourning the future.
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