While I will be glad to see this year end, it's a year you won't see and that makes me sad. Another thing you'll miss in a list that will only grow longer. 2020 will always be the year I lost my husband. How do I keep moving on without you?
Early this morning, Billy crawled into your side of the bed. In my sleep-filled mind, for a second, I thought it was you, coming home from work and going to bed.
I started writing my grief blog tonight. Something to do besides scrolling Facebook. Who knows if anyone will ever read it. God, I hope my puny words will be used by You to help someone. Because sharing these pages is not easy, it's personal.
I took a bath last night and cried a lot. I am so lonely without you. I begged God to help me. Out of the blue, at 11pm, a friend from our old church messaged me and asked if we could come over for dinner Saturday and we could talk, cry, whatever, even spend the night since they moved to the Kansas side. I told her she was an answer to prayer and she said she'd heard it.
It's crazy that I looked forward to going to the dentist today so I'd have something to do. And I sucked that nitrous in like a drowning man, so I could not care about anything for a little bit. Billy was at Jessica's, so I prolonged it by going to Walmart and then to the bank. Then there was nothing else so I took a long nap while Billy played xbox.
I've given to some more charities. I hope I'm being a good steward.
Maybe it's that I'm tired from driving back to KC. Maybe it was my great-uncle's funeral today back at Lakeview, but I'm feeling sad today.
Billy had another meltdown before the funeral.
I see your Gatorades still here from when you were sick (Billy is about to finish them off) and your diet Pepsi's and I just still can't believe you're gone. I keep expecting you to be mad I'm letting Billy play your xbox or be mad I'm spending money, which you wouldn't really be mad about, also which I wouldn't have if you were still here.
I have a feeling it's going to be a rough night and I'll end up in your bed.
Earlier today, Isidro gave me a gift. Inside was a card, a coloring book (Words of Grace) because I told him I lost my creativity, and a devotional called Peace in the Face of Loss. The first devotion covered Proverbs 19:21 and Deuteronomy 32:4 and how our plans aren't always HIS plans. How many times have I said we had more to do, places to go, PLANS? Isaiah 55:8, 9.
Yesterday I went to the funeral home. Two of the things I ordered for Scott's mausoleum haven't arrived which makes me mad. Jayde was supposed to meet with me, but she got stuck at Resthaven. Isidro came and sat on the floor with me in his suit and chatted for quite a while. We talked about family, depression, death, and being a Christian. I didn't know he was a Christ follower. He said through his depression, it moved from head knowledge to heart knowledge. We also talked about Chiefs and Raiders. He gave me the paid bills for the funeral that Jayde was going to give me. I need them for the lawyer to do probate for the house and the van.
Today I spent most of the day at mom's with Billy. Arrena drove down tonight. I watched Abundant Life's Christmas Eve service.
I've been teary all day. The music, watching It's a Wonderful Life on TV, etc. I've been surreptitiously wiping tears all day. I think Billy noticed.
Billy said yesterday that I cry all the time and that he hears me. I said I didn't cry all the time, so he asked why I sleep in Scott's bed. He's also started saying I'm an alcoholic because he saw rum in the outside fridge. He said it a few times in front of my mom, who doesn't approve of any alcohol. I had to take him aside later and explain what an alcoholic is and why I'm not one.
Anyways, here's the first Christmas without Scott. And I'm already teary and couldn't get in the "Christmas spirit" this year. Arrena put up her little tree in her room, but I didn't decorate at all. I felt like putting a black wreath on the door.
One month. 30 days. The longest by far we've been apart and no end in sight. How long til I join you there? Short time for you. Interminable for me. Tomorrow we drive to Wichita one month after we drove there with you on our final road trip together. I'm going to decorate your grave. I know you thought that was dumb and not necessary but it's how I was raised. And how I remember you. One way I remember you. I know you wouldn't have decorated mine if things were reversed but I'll still decorate yours until I'm unable to walk
We've had our first Thanksgiving without you, first anniversary without you, first month without you, now first Christmas without you. It hardly seems fair to pile them all on at once.
I slept in your bed last night, Billy usually comes in and crawls in your bed in the mornings but he was up at 3am and slept in my bed. I had therapy today. I cried when I talked about how you pushed me to take care of myself and were my cheerleader and now I have no one. We talked about me finding a purpose and motivation and energy. And about letting God be my cheerleader. I still hear your voice in my head.
A month and I still have your work shirt hanging up, your shoes on the floor, and your clothes you wore to the hospital in your belongings bag. And I can't put them away. Sometimes it feels like the grief gets worse instead of better. The grief coach said it wouldn't be so in my face in time.
I spent more on the kids for Christmas than we ever have. It made me feel a little better. I also gave to some charities. I know "to whom much is given, much is required." I deposited the union's life insurance check today. The first of 3.
My great-uncle died. I'm sure you know and have seen him. I wonder if grandpa, grandma, my great-aunt, and my great-uncle are playing dominoes together. Do they do that there? I have so many questions.
I know this is going to sound obvious but when someone dies, they just leave everything and go. It's not like a divorce where they pack up their stuff. Little reminders everywhere. His sports stuff on the walls, his contacts in the cabinet, his shampoo in the shower, his shoes on the floor. Everything is still here but him. The other thing they leave is a big hole. In your heart. In your life/time. Where he is, does he miss me? Does he even think of me?
Today Tara took me to fire HQ for "paperwork". It turned out they were giving me a Tvedten angel, named after a firefighter that died in the line of duty in 1998. It comes with a "Secret Santa" cash gift. They choose one person each year. They also gave me proclamations from the mayor, the governor, and the words that congressman Cleaver spoke on the floor of the House of Representatives. There were also flags in cases that flew at half-mast over the state capital building and a small one that flew over the U.S. Capitol. There was a challenge coin from the state marshal and cards received from all over the nation. It was a lot to take in. When I took the cash to the bank, they asked my occupation so I hope the IRS doesn't come after me. We also stopped by E2 Embroidery and they had an ornament for me and a check from a fundraiser they did the week of Thanksgiving for us and the family of the captain that died.
Two nights ago, we went to see Christmas in the Park, which takes hours because of the long lines. Billy didn't like going because he was taken away from the x-box. He threw a small fit. I must teach Arrena how to deal with these because as a sibling, she seems to make it worse.
Yesterday, Billy and I had antibody tests which showed we are immune to Covid for about 3 months after having it.
Tonight Billy had a HUGE meltdown. I need Scott. He could handle these better than Arrena and I can. And I think Billy is raging so much because he's grieving in his own way. I don't want to call the police on him, but I know I need to if this continues. Maybe I should call his doctor.
Disclaimer: I was tempted to either skip this journal entry or heavily edit it, but I want to be real and honest and raw. What was funny is that in my devotion last night, it was about forgiveness and forgiving people who are even heartless about your grief and loss. Sometimes people say stupid things. But, the author, who lost a child, encouraged her readers to forgive as God forgives us. It only festers in the heart and creates bitterness. So, I am endeavoring to forgive these ladies that hurt my feelings so deeply.
I'm so MAD! Arrena tested positive for Covid today and I posted about it and Scott's death because they are both about people not wearing masks (Arrena was around some anti-maskers at her boyfriend's church). Later, a "friend" posted about you can't blame Covid or the "face diapers" if you smoke, drink, or eat too much, It felt like she was saying Scott deserved to die because he was overweight. Arrena isn't, so what's the excuse there? How dare she say such things where I can see them and people I have known most of my life agreeing. The one posting never even expressed condolences on his death. I want to unfriend all these "Christians" that don't act Christ-like. One said, "I hate how it's assumed we aren't being Christ-like." You're NOT! If you refuse to wear masks and protect life, how can you say you are acting Christ-like? I've just had it with people like this.
Arrena officially moved home yesterday. Today wasn't as horrible as I feared, mostly because Billy was here doing virtual learning, Kimberly was here cleaning (for money), and I was on the phone most of the day handling business. But now that everything is quiet, I looked at pictures and Facebook posts from previous years and cried. I miss him so much and I don't know how to do life without him. He pushed me along with my depression and made sure I was taking care of myself. He was my cheerleader. The grief coach said to go on to honor him, but I don't know how. I slept in his Chiefs' shirt last night, in his bed (we had adjustable beds pushed together), with his pillow. and his covers. I've been turning my back on it but I wanted to feel close to him especially on our anniversary. With some help, I got into his pictures on his phone, even if I can't get into the phone itself. It upsets me because it feels like losing another piece of him. But, it's just a collection of apps.
Arrena moved most of her stuff back in today. Kimberly came over to detail the van for money. I split the donation between the two of them. I'm dreading Monday because it would have been our 11th anniversary.
I met the grief coach today. She lost her husband too. Billy found Scott's high school and army rings, so I am wearing his school ring like I used to.
I made a lot of phone calls today. Stephanie from Scott's shift came over to chat and gave me money from donations. Tara came by and gave me a check from a fund. I picked up the death certificates today.
I just feel blah and empty today. But I had to get up and get ready because I got a new counselor today. She works at Abundant Life Counseling Center. I am meeting with the grief coach Friday.
Scott Carroll Davidson was born September 15, 1975 in Little Rock, Arkansas, to Sue Davidson. He was the only grandchild to LeRoy and Grace (McRae) Kratochvil. He passed from this world to the arms of Jesus on Sunday, November 22, 2020 after a brief battle with Covid and pneumonia.
Scott was raised in Wichita, Kansas, by his
single mother Sue, a nurse, who also passed from this life this year. Scott was a student at Baptist Tabernacle and
Sunrise Christian Academy. He then went
on to Wichita State University, before receiving two degrees with Butler County
Community College in Emergency Medical Services. He moved to Kansas City in 2001 to become a
paramedic. He was also a communications specialist during his 19-year tenure
with MAST/KCFD.
Scott's friends and co-workers knew him as a
kind, deeply caring, funny, honest, good man with a gentle soul who loved big
and would help anyone. His smile would
light up a room. His co-workers already
miss him and are heartbroken. He saved
countless lives as a paramedic and truly cared about his patients. He was described by KCFD's chief as the
calming voice in dispatch. The love of the fire department was shown this week
as firefighters and EMS personnel turned out to give him a hero's send
off. He was praised by Mayor Quinton
Lucas as "a wonderful man who served the Kansas City Fire Department so
well and the community he loved." He was a friend who was there whenever
he was needed. He was held in the
highest respect.
Scott married Robin on December 14, 2009, also
taking on the job of raising three children.
Scott and Robin met in their youth department when they were teenagers
and dated. He said he felt like he
missed his chance at happiness when they broke up. They reconnected on Facebook and he knew
immediately that he wanted to marry her.
Before their second first date, he bought her a sapphire ring and had
put a diamond ring on layaway. His co-workers said that his world lit up when
they became a family, which was all he ever wanted. He turned his bachelor's home into a place
for children, adding onto the house and purchasing a swingset and a trampoline,
among other things. He always thought of
the children as his own, not step-children and was very proud of them.
Scott and Robin enjoyed traveling with the family
and had a goal to see all 50 states.
Scott was a lover of history and enjoyed visiting historic sites. They traveled from East Coast to West
Coast. He enjoyed camping. They also enjoyed two cruises to the
Caribbean. Scott was an avid KU
basketball fan, a KC Royals' fan, and a rabid Chiefs' fan. He never missed watching a Chiefs' game and
was so proud when they won the Superbowl.
On his 40th birthday, his mother and wife gifted him with ultimate fan
experiences and he was able to attend the games of all of his favorite teams.
Scott and Robin rarely argued and were best
friends. If he wasn't at work, they were
together. They were married 10 years, 11
months, and 8 days. Even while he was in
the hospital fighting for his life, he was concerned for Robin's health and
future, should he never leave the hospital.
Scott was also a firm believer in Jesus. He attended church his entire life, studied
the Word of God, preached as a teenager, and loved the Lord with all his
heart. His life exhibited what he
believed and he would want everyone to know Jesus as their Lord and Savior.
Scott was preceded in death by his mother Sue,
his uncles Bruce Eby and Bill Fowler, and his grandparents, LeRoy and Grace
Kratochvil. He is survived by his wife
Robin of Raytown; "bonus children" Arrena Flores (student at Calvary
University), Kimberly Flores (student at UCM), and Billy Flores; and his aunts
Patricia Eby of Mariposa, California and Barbara Fowler of Grant's Pass,
Oregon.
Scott worked the weekend ending with November 1. He'd gotten a cyst on his leg. I can't remember the name of the autoimmune disease, but he would get cysts on the backs of his legs and sometimes they would rupture. Both of us felt like we were getting colds or a sinus infection, but that only lasted a couple of days for me. On Tuesday, the 3rd, we got out to vote. Then on Friday the 6th, Scott felt bad enough that he asked me to drive him to Research Medical Center. His leg had gotten infected so much that it swelled up like a basketball and he had a hard time walking. With Covid, the hospital only allowed one visitor, so he had me drop him off since we had Billy (my 15-year-old special needs' son). They talked like they were going to keep him for 24 hours on IV antibiotics, but then they sent him home after about 4 hours. He was supposed to follow up with our family doctor Monday or Tuesday. But, Sunday the 8th, it was hurting worse and he was starting to have trouble breathing. He didn't want to go back to Research because he was afraid of getting Covid, as all the cases were being sent there. So, we went to overland Park Regional. I parked the truck with Billy in it and went in to help him talk to the doctor. He thought he might be having congestive heart failure. I explained everything, then left with Billy. He got a bed quick since I said, "CHF." He texted me around 7pm that they gave him IV antibiotics and it made him puke. I had just read that a friend of ours had died of Covid when Scott texted me that they'd tested him for Covid and he was positive. The doctor told him he'd have lost the bet if they'd bet on him having Covid. They were going to send him home, but he asked them not to so they were going to transfer him back to Research. They wanted to test him for blood clots by CT but he wouldn't fit, so they treated him anyway with 3 shots to the abdomen. There weren't any available beds at Research, so they put him in a positive pressure room. He finally got some pain meds at midnight. They wanted him to have oxygen and they couldn't order some for at home for some reason, so he called our doctor to see if he could, rather than being sent back to Research. Scott said he felt better. Other than complaining about the beds and that his sleep apnea kept setting off alarms so he couldn't sleep. They called his leg infection cellulitis. He kept begging to go home, so finally around 5pm Monday, they discharged him and we picked him up. As the week went on, we got sicker. I felt like I had a bad flu--extreme body aches, headaches, fatigue. The doctor's office didn't call till Tuesday. In the meanwhile, guys he knew from work brought over some small O2 tanks for Scott to use. We didn't get the O2 machine that the doctor ordered until Thursday. During this time, we were also dealing with his leg draining fluid, so we got bed pads and surgical dressings because every time he would stand up, the wound would drain everywhere. He tried to sleep in the bed, but laying down, he couldn't breathe, so he slept sitting up in his recliner, except for one night, sitting on the side of the bed. The doctor wouldn't give him pain pills while he needed oxygen because it would depress respirations. He kept track of his O2 sats with his phone and Samsung Health app. After he remembered to take his diuretic Thursday, he felt better. But Friday, the diuretic and the oxygen weren't enough. At bedtime, he started running a fever. Until then, I thought he was whiny like with a "man cold". But when his temperature hit 104 degrees, I was worried. He'd already had Tylenol and couldn't have more yet. He couldn't take ibuprofen because he was already on an NSAID. I stood there with wet washcloths on his face and neck while he shivered. I frequently had to sit down to rest since I was still sick. I finally got his temp down to 102, but I was afraid to go to bed, so I dozed off in the recliner. He woke me after about an hour and said he needed me to call an ambulance. He didn't think he could walk to the truck. I called and it was his shift (paramedic/dispatcher), so I identified him and one of his coworkers said, "oh hi, Robin." They sent out Raytown's ambulance, a fire truck, and a chief. He knew a lot of them. They helped him up and to the cot at the bottom of the porch steps. At the steps, I joked that it was "all downhill from here" and we talked about his usual joke that "all bleeding eventually stops." I told him I loved him and they loaded him into the ambulance. By this time, it was past midnight. At 1:45, he texted me he was doing better on high O2 and to get some sleep. At 10am on Saturday, he sent me a picture with his bigger O2 hoses and said he had massive pneumonia. They have a larger CT machine, so they checked him for blood clots and found none. The neighbors had seen all the commotion the night before and texted to check on us. Coworkers texted too. His nurse in the E.R. was a former MAST coworker. While he waited for a room in the E.R., they tried to make him comfortable and brought in a big recliner. They gave him plasma from a recovered donor and some anti-Covid med. He said, "So I'm stable, don't feel great, but not dying." He said if he moved, his sats dropped but recovered quickly so they weren't worried. He said it was hard to talk or take a deep breath without coughing. He asked about Billy, who'd woken up not feeling well. He told everyone to contact me so he wouldn't have to keep explaining and because he only wanted to talk to me, so I was inundated with messages. We discussed what the plasma did and he told me that he had 3 IVs and that they were opening up 2 Covid wards. He said his blood sugar was 337 so he was getting insulin and there were nurses from New Orleans to help as a payback for KC helping them when they had a surge. He was finally moved to a room (4105) around 2am Sunday morning, which caused his breathing to become labored, being moved around. He asked how Billy and I were feeling. We both watched church (Abundant Life) online--converted Muslim missionary speaking. He said this was the hardest thing he's done--missing everyone, bored, and working just to breathe. He wanted his laptop bag and his clippers to trim the hair around his mouth. So I drove up there with his bag and included some underwear and shorts. I got halfway there and realized I'd forgotten the clippers, so I went all the way back home. Since Scott likes to "stalk" me, he was watching on our app Life360 that I'd gone back. I put on my mask and left Billy in the van and took his bag to security. They made me remove his 5 Hour Energies, which are currently still in my purse. People kept asking if they could do anything for us--I almost asked someone to take his bag so I didn't have to get out. Scott was still keeping track of work shift and said they were down 5 out of 11. He sent me a picture after he'd shaved up a bit and asked if he looked Amish. His blood sugar went down to 230 and he said his sats actually went up when he was dozing. But they plummeted to the 70s when he got up. Regularly he was 88-95 on the special nasal that flowed 60 LPM. And they gave him some more meds for clots even though he didn't have any clots. He was watching movies and shows on his phone and watched 2 episodes of The Good Doctor, sad emotional episodes about Covid. He was sad about our being separated, but texted "God is good all the time, all the time God is good." On Monday morning his blood sugar was 207 and he was having trouble maintaining his O2 if he was coughing. Then he asked how we were doing. He asked if I was still tasteless and I said, "Ha, ha, yeah, I married you, right? Lol." He wanted me to use the oxygen machine if I got even a little short of breath. He said they brought in boxes of contacts for him but he didn't know how they knew his prescription. He also asked for pictures. I sent him a funny one of Shadow, our cat. Billy was acting up and Scott said to tell him he loved him and then he prayed for us. I sent him a pic of Billy. He said the "stupid" lung doctor wanted him to lay prone in an airbed, which he sent a pic of. He said he felt like his lungs were better. He wanted to get on Minecraft with Billy for a little while. The infections doc came in and told him it could be a few days to a week. His blood sugar went back up to 267 so they decided to put him on an insulin drip. They also gave him more O2 and lasix. Then his blood sugar dropped down to 196. We discussed short term disability and emergency pay. They gave him the insulin drip with sugar water so he didn't crash and ordered hourly blood sugar checks. I sent him a pic of me and Shadow. He said his blood sugar was down to 171. During the night, it ranged from 183 to 141. Tuesday he sent me a pic of his bruised forearm where they kept taking blood. He said the respiratory doc was torturing him with the "suck in device". He was expected to do it 10 times an hour. We discussed the neighbor who was noisy at midnight and he looked up the P.D. non-emergency number in case I needed it. I asked why his glucose was so high and he said that Covid was messing it up. I had been wheezing a little, so my best friend Jessica brought me a nebulizer and I sent a pic of me using it. He wanted me to check my pulse ox and told me how to with my phone. He asked me to get in touch with Arrena, my oldest daughter, and have a plan in case I got worse--he was very concerned and adamant. He said it was his job to worry about us all, which I argued, so he said it was biblical. Arrena ordered N95 masks to be prepared. He said PT made him get up and stand and he thought he was losing some of his belly. He asked how Billy was. He said he felt less short of breath and asked if I was still wheezing. He said his head was pounding and his glucose was 147. He said he was frustrated and angry because he was sick of insulin and dextrose, sick of pulse ox not reading right, and sick of being poked every hour. Sick and tired of being sick and tired. He got so frustrated, he was cursing and considering refusing the glucose monitoring. Wednesday he said he'd had a long night, slept a little, got off the drip, and had a bad de-sat after he peed. His sats were dropping every time he peed and it took extra O2 to calm back down. He said he was getting insulin injections every 4 hours since his glucose had gone down. Then he asked how I was feeling and how Billy was doing. I'd stopped wheezing but I ached all over and hadn't slept well. Then he asked how Arrena was because she had just called to check on us. He said he was frustrated with how long it was taking to heal and that he was very uncomfortable. I asked if he was on steroids and he said he was and that's why they were worried about his blood sugar. He asked if I talked to his coworker because there was a big issue with emergency pay. He forwarded me the emails. They were trying to exclude dispatch from emergency pay and the union was filing a grievance. He said he missed me and said he thought this was the longest we'd been apart in 11 years. He reminded me to keep doing my self-care (it had been a year since I was hospitalized and I was still fighting daily depression). He told me he'd paid the bills. He watched Iron Man on his laptop and had a cheeseburger (or half of one) for dinner, inspired by the movie. He again asked how I was doing and said his breathing wasn't too bad. He texted, "I spent the last nearly 2 hours listening to Christian music on Pandora and bawling and praising and praying. Feel better now...Needed some emotional release I guess." He said they were going to put a condom cath on so he could try the bed. He felt like his cellulitis was about gone. He said his legs were really swollen and he needed them up and to pray that it worked. He sent me a Facebook memory of the two of us when we ere young. He asked for a selfie, so I sent one of me, Billy, and George, our other cat. We talked about groceries and the book I was reading and selling the trailer to get a 5th wheel and the girls using the trailer like a guest room. Thursday he woke me up at 6:55am, saying being in the bed about killed him and he was barely keeping sats up. He said they might have to intubate him and he was scared and tired. They told him that laying and prone were the 2 ways to heal the lungs. He told me I was officially his medical decision maker if they called me. I asked him what he wanted and he said whatever I can deal with. He told me intubation didn't have good odds of survival. He said, "I'll fight for us, just know I am very tired." I was scared so I texted Jessica and she asked why he wasn't on a bi-pap, so I asked. They'd wanted to but he didn't want to do the face mask. But I pointed out that it would be better than being intubated and I suggested anxiety meds to help. He told respiratory and they were considering it. I sent him a pic of George curled up on his blanket. He said he was breathing better. I told him he'd freaked me out, which I, in turn, passed on. He said that he'd been freaked out too and that he didn't want to scare me, but he wanted me to be prepared. I decided to post on Facebook to get more people praying . He told me where he had some cash hidden and then told me to fight tooth and nail for Line of Duty if they worst happened because I deserve it. I told him to stop doing that. He said, "I felt like a fool last night talking about a 5th wheel, thought of the rich man story in the Bible. I just want to heal and serve God better." I was getting scared and had to take my PRN anxiety pill. Later they told him no anxiety meds because it depresses respirations, but they wanted to do the bi-pap. Arrena had texted her boyfriend's nurse mother and she said that if he couldn't handle the bi-pap, the ventilator would be next because he needed rest. He agreed to the bi-pap and told me, "I love you so much." I said I did too but I needed him around longer. He asked about Billy. I'd been so flustered by the morning texts, I'd forgotten to give Billy his morning meds so he was acting up on zoom and I had to shut him down early. The respiratory doc was hesitant to go more invasive with the bi-pap since he was breathing better but wrote the orders anyway. He sent a pic of wearing the bi-pap and said it was weird but he was getting used to it. He ended the night by saying, "I think this was right." He was on the bi-pap all night. Friday morning they were trying to change to a different breathing technique and his sats crashed. They asked him if he wanted to be intubated if it came to it. Then they had him lay prone and it was hard to text. His nurse called me at his request to tell me they were intubating him. She said she knew he was bad because he'd accepted intubation when he'd previously fought the bi-pap. I texted him, "I love you. Don't you give up." He texted back "Ok." When he got to the ICU, his nurse there, Amanda, called me too. Then later his doctor. I updated Facebook and began praying harder. I called that evening and talked to his nurse Seth, who told me he was stable. Saturday morning, I talked to his nurse, Kimberly, and things were the same. In the evening, I called and got Seth again. He said everything was about the same. His blood sugar was higher again but they weren't worried about that. They were more concerned about his kidneys because he wasn't producing a lot of urine. I went to bed, but before I drifted off, around midnight, a nurse called and said that Scott's lung had collapsed and they were trying to get a trauma surgeon there to re-inflate it with tubes. His sats had dropped so they'd x-rayed him and found the lung collapsed. She said they'd call me back when they had more info. So I sat to wait. I texted Jessica, Arrena, and mom and then updated Facebook. Then I got on my face to pray. It seemed like forever before they called. I'm not even sure if it was the same nurse and I don't remember most of what she said to me other than that it was very bad. His sats were dropping and they didn't think his heart would last the night. The pressure in his chest was too much and his lung had popped. I remember her asking me if I understood what she was saying. I can't remember if she said they'd already done chest compressions but she asked me if they should resuscitate him and I said I didn't think he'd want that, so she listed him as a DNR. I asked if I could come up. She said they'd get someone to approve it. I called Arrena and asked her to come right away. I started the van and updated Facebook. Tara, his co-worker, union rep, and our friend, texted me and begged me to let her drive me to the hospital. I didn't want to wait for her but she said she'd be fast. She was on duty and ran lights and sirens back to get her vehicle. She gave me an N95 mask to wear. We drove to Research and went in. She identified herself as my representative and said she'd wait outside. They went through my bag, then led me to ICU. The nurse said we had to hurry because he was crashing fast. I was wheezing again so rushing down the halls was hard, especially while upset. Just outside the ICU, they met us with gloves, a gown, and a respiration mask that looked like a beekeeper hat. I had to carry a machine that delivered oxygen to the mask. They put this over the N95. I was sweaty and claustrophobic.. Then they let me in. They said I was the first person to be on the ward. They took me to room 30 and he was there on his stomach, his vital signs weak. Seth was there with his doctor, taking care of him. I don't know if he knew I was there or could hear me past the monkey suit and all the machines. He was on a paralytic so he wouldn't fight the tube and fentanyl for any pain. I held his cold hand and touched his hair and told him I was there, that I loved him, and that Tara said to tell him she'd take care of me. I asked if I could take off all the garb because I already had Covid and I just wanted to hug him and kiss his head one more time. Seth said he'd ask but I never got an answer. I wanted to rip it all off anyway, whether they allowed it or not. I wish I had. I was only there maybe 5 minutes when Seth said he was gone. I couldn't tell any difference. They listened for a heartbeat and called his death at 3:23am. They asked if I wanted them to turn him over so I could spend some time with him. I went out into the hall and sat down, crying while they drew the curtain and got him into position. One of the nurses rubbed my back and said she used to work with him on the streets and she was sorry. Once they had him situated, I went back in and sat next to him and cried. I held his hand and made note of his crooked pinky so I'd never forget. They told me to take as long as I needed. I knew he was gone, that he wasn't there anymore, that his spirit was in heaven, but I had a hard time leaving him. Part of me wanted to run, but the other part wanted to stay there where he looked like he was sleeping (except for the tube) and hold his hand and pretend nothing happened. I eventually left and peeled all the gear off me and Seth walked me down to the emergency department. I told him my son has a one-on-one teacher named Seth. He told me his uncle who'd been to Vietnam, worked with special needs' kids. He led me to the parking garage, so I had to go through and around to get back to Tara. She was surrounded by 4 people. One was the chief that came when we'd called 911, one was introduced to me as Chief Cashen, one said he owned a funeral home and asked to pray with me. We talked some about God and where Scott was. Then Tara drove me home. She said one of Scott's friends had been there but had gotten a call. When I got home, Arrena had her boyfriend and her roommate over. She said Billy had gotten up and she'd told him what was happening. I felt nauseous. I went to bed, but Jessica had messaged me, so I cried to her until about 6am and slept until Billy woke me up about 10:30am. I'd already had several messages.
To be continued...
I struggle with depression, anxiety, and Borderline Personality Disorder. My latest bout with depression has dragged on for over a year and my husband's death overlapped that. Several people have suggested I blog about my journey through the grief of losing my husband so maybe I can help someone else. I warn you that this is going to be raw, straight from my journal, except where I need to edit for privacy's sake. It's not going to be pretty and right now it's not very inspiring. I hope that God can use me somewhere along the way.
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