Warning: This is a very long story. It took me several hours to write, but I wanted to include everything that my fingers typed out. So make sure you're comfortable, have something to snack on, something to drink and are ready for a long read.
Or ..... just read it in parts.
:)
Jim and I had been married for 24 1/2 years. We met in college, in a speech class. spring semester of 1981. The story of that and how we finally began dating is another story for another time. But suffice it to say that we were each other's first love. Seriously. Neither of us dated much in high school, I dated more in college but never felt any relationship was the "right one". And so we met. And after a rather tumultuous few months, we started falling in love. And one night, one clear November night ..... in the middle of making out (sorry kids) .... and, ahem ..... JUST making out ...... he said those three oh so small, yet oh so powerful words, "I love you." And in that instant I knew with my entire being, for the very first time, that I loved him ..... and always would.
We became engaged a year after we met and then married a year after that.
And so began our life together. So began our love that continued to grow and mature over the years into something deeper and richer than I could ever have anticipated
.
A year and a half after our marriage, we had our first child. A daughter. Jim was amazed by her and would hold and stare at her often.
Two years later we were blessed with twin daughters. Two more miracles.
And then, after 3 years .... a son. I remember thinking while I was pregnant that I hoped it was another girl. Because Seriously? What did I know about boys? And we already had all of those pink clothes.
But the moment ..... the very second .... that Son #1 was born, I remember thinking, "Why didn't I want a boy?!" When they handed him to be I told Jim that he looked just like Daughter #1 ..... and that he was beautiful. And he was/is. Many people felt awkward using that word for a baby boy, but he .... was .... beautiful. And really, it's just creepy to say a baby boy is handsome.
Two years later we were blessed with a screaming, angry-to-be-out, son. No kidding. The boy had only his head out of my body when he started screaming. And he never stopped. Not until the age of about 5 months when we finally found out that he was screaming, and alarmingly thin because of a milk allergy. One so severe that I had to quit nursing him because any food I ate that had event a hint of dairy in it would send him into screaming pain. But he got better. So very much better.
And then, two years later ..... we were surprised by the arrival of another son. Surprised and thrilled.
And so we ended our child-bearing years with the easiest baby a parent could ask for. So easy that yes, I did indeed forget about him one day. I loaded up my 5 children (aged 10, 8, 8, 5 and 3) into the car and prepared to drive away for a play date. Fortunately Daughter #1 asked, without judgement ..... "Mommy, where is Son #3?"
Crap! My greatest fear was true ..... I was a HORRIBLE mother.
Son #3 was happily snoozing upstairs in his crib, blissfully aware that I had forgotten that I even had a sixth child (until the moment he reads this ..... and then no doubt will add it to his "book").
So the kids grew, Jim thrived at his job in a major accounting company, climbed the ladder of success, became very involved in some wonderful organizations in Houston, from helping the homeless become successful, to being on a new board dedicated to bringing life to downtown Houston.
At home he was very involved in the Y and their Indian Princess and Indian Guides programs (which have bowed to the political correctness mania of this country and since changed the programs' names). He served on our church's board of directors, later becoming the president of our congregation for 2 terms. When that was up he decided to run for election to our school board. And he won. Twice. He also became the president of that board, and was in the middle of that position when he died.
Life was good. I worked for our church, played tennis and was active in our community and its schools. Our children were mostly doing well in school, the Daughters had all gone off to college and Son #1 was a senior ..... and looking forward to graduating and heading off to college asap. He, like his father, was born 40 years old. Seriously.
In 2007 we took what would be our last "family" vacation, although none of the girls could go. We went to Alaska to visit my brother and his family. We had a great time, saw whales, black bears, moose,
a grizzly bear and lots and lots of fish.
Jim, an avid biker, rented a bike so that he could ride through the wilds of Anchorage. He feared for his life only once ..... when he came face-to-face with a moose. A very large moose. But he managed to back away slowly and then pedaled for his life. And yet, went biking again the next day.
Thanksgiving came and I had just returned 3 days before from a mission trip to Kenya. I was exhausted. The girls had just gone through finals (except for D1, who was living at home while doing an internship in Houston that year). They, too were exhausted. I told Jim that I thought he should take the boys and go spend Thanksgiving with his parents.
That thought came totally out of the blue. We had never spent a holiday apart as a family. I was a little stunned that I said it. But I also told him that I thought it would be neat for his parents to have time with him, without me there. Not that they didn't love me, because they did .... as much as if I were their own, but how many times does a mom get to spend time with a grownup married son .... without sharing him with his wife?
After giving it some thought, he agreed.
And I am So. Very. Grateful.
It was the last time he would see his parents. Here anyway.
They all had a great time.
Christmas was fast approaching. Suddenly it was the week before Christmas, 2007. The girls had not come home from school yet so that weekend we took the boys to the lake. It was one of the best weekends we ever had there. Jim and the boys played football, we watched movies, fished, etc. And for the first time .... EVER .... Jim didn't give the boys any chores to do. None. We all just enjoyed being there and being with each other.
The girls came home on Saturday, the last one arrived Saturday night.
We returned home on Sunday afternoon. Jim and I got ready to attend an annual Christmas party with a wonderful group of friends. He had a good time, as usual. Even though he hated the "Chinese gift exchange" we always did. But so did the rest of the men. :)
We got home around 11:00 and went to bed, exhausted and happy after a really good weekend.
At 4:00 a.m. Jim woke me up. He was very uncomfortable and thought something was wrong. He had pain in his throat and upper chest. I, being the oh-so-selfless-person that I am, thought that he was describing heartburn, more specifically reflux (and couldn't believe he had woken me up at 4 AM with heartburn!). So I suggested that we lift the head of his bed up to see if that helped. Then I went to get a few antacid tablets. I was just about to give them to him when something stopped me. "What if it's not heartburn?" I thought. If it wasn't then it might not be good for him to have taken these, so I just held them in my hand.
He continued to have pain. Then he had to run to the restroom. Several times. He said that he thought it might be gastrointestinal.
But his throat still hurt. Not like a sore throat, but pain inside the throat. He found it difficult to describe. I started running through the list of things he had eaten at the Christmas party. He was highly allergic to malt, which made his throat close up ..... worse ever single time it happened. I couldn't identify anything that might have had malt in it.
By now it was 5:00 and I asked him what he wanted to do. Did he want me to take him to the hospital? He wasn't thrilled with that idea. Besides, it was an unnatural 20 degrees outside that morning. Neither of us relished the idea of getting into a freezing car and driving anywhere.
And so I waited. I couldn't go to sleep, I just stood and watched him. Still wondering what the hell was going on and still hanging on to the the thought of relux, though the tablets were still clenched in my fist.
Finally ..... he said he thought we should go. So I helped him get into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, put slippers on his feet and then led him to the car. I was still less than thrilled by all of this, especially knowing that once they found out it was reflux, we'd be humiliated.
We drove to our local hospital's ER. There was one family there .... waiting while their loved one was being checked out. I signed Jim in. I noticed a sign that read, "If you think you are having a heart attack, or heart related episode, please ring this bell immediately".
I knew he wasn't having a heart attack, but I thought about pushing it anyway so that we wouldn't have to wait. I didn't.
I sat down next to Jim, who was in more and more pain, and watched him. He couldn't get comfortable. Our hospital, like most airports, evidently doesn't want patients lying down in the waiting room, so each chair is separated with arm rests. Jim very much wanted to lie down. Actually, he just very much wanted the pain to stop.
Minutes ticked by. Too many minutes. I finally went up to get someone's attention and asked how long they thought it would be. The nurse on duty snarkily replied that we would have to wait, as she was still with the woman who came BEFORE us. So I sat back down.
After about 30 minutes I told Jim that we were leaving. I was going to take him to a bigger hospital a few miles away. Just as we stood up, they called his name. We went back into the room behind the front desk. The triage room. The nurse asked why we were there. He said, "I'm having pain in my throat."
She snarkily (yes, again) commented, "It must be a pretty sore throat for you to be here at 5 in the morning". I looked at her, refrained from using the word "bitch" that was blaring in my head, and told her he didn't have a sore throat. He had pain deep inside his throat, which was totally different.
By this time I was still thinking, more hoping, that it was reflux.
Snarky nurse took his temp and took his blood pressure.
She had a strange look on her face as she listened with the stethoscope and read the gauge. She took the cuff off and put it on his other arm. And she started looking a lot less snarky. She moved the cuff once more, to the first arm and re-did the test.
She then grabbed her phone and half-shouted, half-whispered for help .... and a wheelchair, which appeared the very next second. And I knew that this was not ..... reflux.
I asked her what was going on. She said that he had a bit of high blood pressure on his right side. And his left? None.
What? No blood pressure??? How is that possible??
It's possible when something is very, very wrong. That's all she said.
I followed them into the curtain area where they hurriedly pasted electrodes all over his chest, put an IV
into his right arm and then came over to his left side, where I was standing, holding his hand. The male nurse took hold of his left arm and inserted one of the biggest, thickest needles I had ever seen.
And at that moment I knew, without a doubt, that this was indeed very, very bad.
I asked him what was going on, what they thought was happening. He was very kind when he explained that that kind of blood pressure, or lack thereof, indicated a heart attack ..... or a stroke. I was stunned. Jim had just had his yearly physical, along with the stress test, two weeks earlier. He was fine. His heart was great. He was a bike enthusiast. He rode miles and miles and miles .... just for fun. This had to be wrong. All wrong.
The nurse told me they were taking him in for an MRI and it would take about 30 minutes. I waited inside the now-vacant curtained area. In less than 5 minutes they were bringing him out and rushing him to an enclosed room. Another nurse came to me and said, "the doctor needs to talk to you." So I followed her into the room in which Jim lay. They had finally given him something for the pain, so he was more relaxed, but still very aware. He had been aware the whole time and would stay that way, until they took him into surgery.
The dr. came in and, maybe due to the rush of things and the seriousness of this, showed me no bedside-manner at all.
"Do you have children?", he asked. I said yes. Then he said, "You need to call them. You need to call all of your family and you need to do it now. He has a tear in his aorta. We have to life-flight him downtown and it's not likely he'll make it there. If he does make it they'll have to get him into surgery right away."
And my heart almost raced itself right out of my body. My body started shaking so hard that I found it difficult to push the buttons on the phone.
I tried calling home. At 6 in the a.m. there's usually NEVER a teenage awake enough to answer the phone. So I started calling their cell phones. All six cell phones. No answer.
So I called one of my best friends, who's a nurse and lives close to the hospital. She answered the phone, thank God, and I told her what I knew. She said she'd be there immediately and that her husband would head to my house to get the kids.
I then tried to call the kids again. On my 4th attempt, one of the daughters answered, mostly asleep. I can't remember which one now. But I do remember saying, "I need you to wake up. I need you to be fully awake so that you can listen to me. Please! Sit up and pay attention!" And she did. I then told her that Dad and I were at the hospital because he got sick in the middle of the night. I told her that it was serious and that they were life-flighting him to the best hospital in Houston. I sounded a lot calmer than I felt, as mothers usually do when trying to spare their children pain. I told her to wake everyone up, even the boys, and tell them what I had told her. I told them to get dressed and wait for our friend, who would take them straight to the hospital downtown and that I would meet them there. I then said, "Don't worry. Just pray. It'll be ok."
And then, I called another of my best friends, our pastor. My nurse friend walked into the room right then. As soon as he got on the phone I think I got out the words, "I'm at the hospital with Jim. He ....." and then I completely broke down. I was unable to speak. I handed the phone to my friend, who told him what she knew. He said he was on his way.
We stayed in the room with Jim, while he, as well as we, continued to ask the dr. questions. Why were we still waiting? Where was the helicopter? How could this have happened?
The helicopter was on its way. And he wasn't sure how it happened. He asked if Jim had been in an accident, had been hit in the chest, fallen off of his bike, anything that would cause a blow to the chest?
No. Nothing.
Nothing.
Our pastor came in. He hugged me hard and then he walked over to Jim and took his other hand.
The dr. told us the helicopter had just landed and that I should head downtown now so that I could be there either before or soon after Jim arrived. Our pastor said that he would stay with Jim, would not leave his side until he was safely on the copter.
So we left. Right in the middle of everyone-driving-to-work-downtown rush hour. I think it was the longest drive of my life. I had no idea what to expect when I got there, except that he might be dead.
We finally arrived, found out where he was, CICU, and headed that way.
I went through the heavy swinging doors into a very long, very busy room, divided by curtains. I was lead to one of the curtained areas and there was Jim. Alive.
Alive and with not a single tube attached to his body. Nothing. He did have electrodes on, which showed his heartbeats, his oxygen level and his blood pressure which was being automatically measured every 20 minutes. I think I just stood there and stared for a while. Speechless.
How could a man who was life-flighted here, with a torn aorta and at death's door NOT be hooked up to any IV's ..... or better yet, NOT be in surgery????
His nurse (another male) came in and introduced himself. I'm sure he thought I was more than a bit crazy as I lit into him with all of those questions. I mean .... what the hell????? The first hospital scared the crap out of me ..... out of all of us, but this one was being very laid back with the love of my life .... and his life.
The nurse calmed me down by telling me that Jim was doing quite well. Yes, he had a torn aorta and yes, he needed surgery. But they thought it best to not do surgery until later that night, or even better, the next day. He told me to trust him ..... Jim was in THE best hospital for this problem and would have THE best cardiac surgeon in the world (which, I later found out, was pretty much the truth). He said that if Jim needed to be in surgery STAT, the surgeon would stop the surgery he was now in the middle of, and immediately start on Jim.
The idea was to let Jim rest, pain free, and let his body adjust to the trauma it had experienced. Let his blood pressure improve, as well as the rest of him, so that surgery could be much more successful.
I was still stunned, but was returning to normal. I felt encouraged, but wondered why the first hospital and flown into full-on Code Red mode.
I stayed with Jim for a while, just chatting with him and watching him sleep on and off. Then a nurse notified me that the kids were in the waiting room. I went out to see them and was surprised by the number of friends who were also there.
The kids were very upset. Some of them had been/were crying. I went to them and told them that everything was OK. I calmed them down by telling them that Dad was in no pain and was having a pretty good time with the meds. I also shared with them that this wasn't considered an emergency, but he would be having surgery sometime in the next 24 hours. We had to wait for the surgeon to be done with his surgeries before he'd be able to talk to Jim and me.
I hung out with them for a while, chatted, joked with them and our friends, turned down offers of food, and then went back to be with Jim.
This is how I spent the next several hours. If I wasn't in the room when he woke up, he'd immediately ask where I was, so I spent as much time as possible with him, leaving only to update everyone, or to bring someone in for a visit. He could only have one visitor, plus me, at a time.
So one by one the kids came in. They chatted, told him there were better ways to get attention, hugged him and told each other they loved each other.
Then our friends came in one at a time, except for a few times when I'd walk out so that two could go.
By this time the large waiting room was very, very full. People from church, from Jim's firm, from organizations he was involved in and just from our very large circle of friends filled that room.
Every time I stepped into the room to update them, someone would offer me food, which I re-buffed. I had no urge to eat, wasn't feeling hungry, wasn't feeling much really, except wishing that the surgery could happen sooner rather than later, because the later it was put off, the longer I'd worry about him.
Thank God that He disagreed.
I was told the surgeon would come in around 1:00. Around noon a radiologist came in to do an ultrasound of his heart and aorta. She was very kind, but of course, very silent about what she saw, or didn't see.
Next the nurse came in to start a PCC line. I knew enough about medicine, cancer patients, etc. to know what it was and to explain it to Jim. The nurse was impressed. Maybe it was just all those years of watching "E.R."
Jim was still alert. He'd nap but immediately wake up if someone walked into the room. He spoke with every single friend who came in. He'd joke with them about being here and apologize for taking time away from them. Of course, no one minded.
And everyone thought he was doing well.
Finally, at little after 1:00 the surgeon came in. He had all of the reports in his hand and was flipping through them as he introduced himself to us. Then he told us what was going on. Jim did indeed have a tear in his aorta. In fact, he had one in his ascending aorta and one his his descending one. He had one large one in front and a few smaller ones, too.
He, too, asked if Jim had suffered a blow to the chest. Then has asked ..... "Have you ever been told that you have Marfans?" What? No, never heard of it. And what was it. "Well," he said, "It's a syndrome and it's genetic. People who have it are unusually tall, have long fingers, problems with their eyes and aortas that tend to tear." I told him that Jim wasn't unusually tall ..... he was 6'1" (the dr. thought he looked taller in the hospital bed), and yes, he did have long fingers, but his eyesight was great and he had always been very healthy, other than needing meds for cholesterol.
So then he started asking about Jim's family. Had anyone ever dropped dead from an aortic aneurysm? No, know that I knew of. Not that Jim knew of. His family usually lived very long lives.
Puzzling, yes. Emergency, no?
(It wasn't until after Jim's death that his mom told me that her mother had died of an aneurysm. I was stunned, sad and angry. Why had no one known that? Why were families "back in the day" so secretive about illnesses? She didn't know if it aortic or brain. And really, having that knowledge wouldn't have saved Jim's life ..... not at that point. But maybe it would have been something to keep an eye on if we had known? Who knows. There's no going back, no reason to carry anger. It just makes me sad.)
The surgeon said that we would continue to wait but he was really shooting for the next morning. He explained what would happen during the surgery, that he would fix the one larger tear in the front, drawing pictures for us as he spoke. We asked about the others and he said that they usually repair themselves. Jim asked what his limitations would be after this surgery. He's have to be on meds the rest of his life to keep his blood pressure down (high blood pressure also tears aortas ...... another question asked and answered. He had NEVER had high blood pressure ..... not even 2 weeks prior, at his physical).
I asked if he'd still be able to ride his bike. Ride it? Yes. Ride it on long rides or races or anything other than leisurely around the neighborhood? No. Never. I was secretly a bit thrilled by this info, as I didn't like him going on those 2-day bike rides in the heat and humidity.
I asked how long he'd be in the hospital after the surgery. One week. I quickly calculated in my head that one week from today would be Christmas Eve. Thank God!! He'd be home for Christmas. Yes, he'd have a huge bandage covering a long stitched up scar, but he'd be home.
I pictured him sitting in a chair in the living room as we handed him presents to unwrap. I was relieved and knew then that he'd be fine.
The surgeon turned to leave and then said, "Don't worry. I do these surgeries all of the time. He has an 85 to 90% of coming out of this just fine. We'll continue to wait but will monitor him very closely. If anything changes then we'll take him right into surgery."
And so he left.
And I felt great.
Jim would not die. In fact, I never again considered the possibility that he would. Never.
Not.
One.
Single.
Time.
I went into the waiting room and gave everyone the good news. The crowd had grown even larger. Everyone was relieved and happy. Food was brought in and most everyone settled in to wait and see when the surgery would happen.
I went back to Jim.
I chatted with him when he was awake, read a book when he was asleep.
At one point he looked at me and said, "I know I don't need to tell you this, but all of our financial stuff is located on my lap top. It's an icon on the desktop. Just in case ....".
I said, very nonchalantly, "OK. Thank you. But you're right. I won't need that info." And we smiled.
We held hands a lot. I crawled into bed next to him a few times, just to hold him. I wasn't sure how worried he was about the surgery. Or if he was scared. He didn't seem to be, but he was also higher than a kite.
The nurse came in to check his vitals and then received a call from the surgeon, who asked if Jim had urinated and if so, what was the measurement. The nurse said no, he hadn't since he'd been there, and I told him that the last time was at home .... at 5 or so in the morning.
The surgeon ordered a catheter so they could monitor his output and know how is kidneys were working.
I stepped outside of the curtain because .... really ..... who wants to watch that done??? I peeked in once or twice because it took a very long time. I realized the nurse was having trouble accomplishing this task. And I prayed that the drugs Jim was on were strong enough to cover this.
He finally got it in and taped everything in place.
I re-assumed my place next to him, holding his hand.
About an hour later I stepped back into the waiting room to say that nothing was happening, so all was well.
And then I walked back to Jim's curtained room. The nurse was on the phone .... and then he handed it to me. It was the surgeon. "Mrs. Eggers, we're taking him into surgery now. His kidneys have shut down." I tightened my grip on the phone, turned my head to look at the bag hanging on Jim's bed.
The very empty bag.
I said OK, and he again told me not to worry. Jim was in good hands and was very healthy, other than having a weak-ass aorta.
The nurse and one of the surgeon's assistants came in to get him ready. I asked if the kids could come back again. The nurse said yes, but only two at a time. So I asked him to go get two of them. As they walked in, the surgeon's assistant came back in, looked at them, looked at me ..... and then looked at the nurse. I thought she was going to yell at him for bringing in 2, instead of the legal number ....1.
But here's what she said, "Are these your children?" I said yes. "Don't you have 6 children?' Again, I said yes. She looked at the nurse and asked, "Where are the other four?!" He said they were in the waiting room, because they couldn't all come in at the same time. To which she replied, "Are you kidding me??? This man is getting ready to go into heart surgery! You get all of the kids back here right now!" and then she uttered a sound that showed how much that choice had disgusted her.
The next thing I heard was the nurse's voice on the intercom, calling all of the Eggers children back into CICU.
Then we were all there. All 8 of us. None of us knowing, none of us even suspecting that it would be the last time we'd all be together.
Jim told each child that he loved them very much and that he was very, very proud of them. One at a time. And then he told each one .... "I'll see you later". Tears were shed and hugs and kisses were given. Then the kids left and it was just the two of us.
I held his hands and just stared into his eyes. I could feel a breakdown coming on, after having just witnessed his interactions with our precious children. I could not, would not, break down in front of him. I wanted to show him that I wasn't worried. I wished he didn't have to go and have his chest cut open, but I had no doubt that it would go well, and he'd be sitting amongst us on Christmas Day.
The attendants came in to wheel his bed out. We kissed. We squeezed each other's hands. I said, "I love you."
And he said, "I love you. And I'll see you later."
I said, "Yep! I'll see you later." and I smiled at him, trying very, very hard to hold back the tears. One of the attendants said, "You can walk with him to the surgical room.", but I knew that I wouldn't make it one more step with him without starting to cry. I wanted him to see me calm, not worrying, not breaking down, but being strong ....... for him.
So I said "that's OK", smiled at Jim one last time, and walked away.
The surgeon said the surgery would last about 7 hours. So I sent most everyone away. I sent Daughter #1 off to a Christmas party and sent the other 5 kids home. There was no reason to be there, sitting around waiting for that long. The oldest 3 said they'd go home for a while, but they'd be back to wait with me. And to bring me a suitcase full of clothes and toiletries, books and magazines. Because we all knew that I would not be leaving the hospital until Jim did. He would need that, as would I.
A few friends stayed. After a few hours the older kids came back with my stuff. It was then decided that a couple of our friends would take me out to eat something and then to another friend's house who lived nearby so that I could take a shower and change clothes. I was still wearing my pjs under sweats.
After a little food and a wonderful shower, the wait continued. More and more friends began returning, waiting for the end of the surgery and the good news of the results.
After about 9 hours I remembered that I hadn't contacted my father in Oregon to let him know. My friends had called as many people as they knew, and used my cell phone to call other friends and family throughout the day. So I sat down at a computer and started typing an e-mail, telling him what was going on, that the outlook was good and that I wasn't worried.
Before I could finish the e-mail, a nurse came out to tell me that the surgery hadn't been going quite as expected, and would take a little longer. Maybe another hour or so. I nodded and said thank you, and then returned to my e-mail.
My "medical friends" were going crazy with this news ..... wondering why I hadn't asked what specifically was going on. Truthfully? I didn't want to know. She never said anything that indicated things were going badly, just not "as expected", so that was all I needed to know. I still had no doubt that I'd be seeing him soon in the recovery room.
Two more hours went by and then one of the surgeons came out. He found me, got very close to me, and said, "Mrs. Eggers, things are not going well. Not at all. We are doing everything we can to save him. We won't give up." ..... and then he left.
Someone mentioned that we should call Daughter #1, so that she could leave the party and be here.
And so she was called.
And though I felt frozen ..... and unable to move, speak or think ..... I still did not doubt. STILL.
He has said they weren't giving up, everyone in this room was praying for Jim, had been praying for him all day, as well as thousands of people all over the country ..... all over the world. There had even been a news item on Houston's Christian radio station about Jim and a call for people to pray.
I knew that he was covered. I knew that God would not allow him to die. I KNEW it. Jim was good.
He had done so much good, for our city, for our community, for our schools, our church and our family. He was 47. He still had a lot of good left to do.
I.
Did.
Not.
Doubt.
And hour later the same surgeon came out and said, "I'm sorry. We've done everything we can. We're going to try one more time, but I'm afraid he's not going to make it."
And then ..... only then ..... did I collapse to the floor. I sat against a pillar and rocked back and forth, never opening my eyes, which were running over with tears ...... and prayed one word, over and over and over and over and over ....... "Please."
I was begging God, whispering the only word that I could ..... "Please." Over and over and over.
Rocking back and forth, most likely looking and sounding like an adult in the middle of an autistic moment.
Begging with every "Please" in my mind .... don't let him die. Don't do this. Don't take him. Don't do this to our community, our church, our friends. Don't do this to our kids. Don't do this to me!!!!!"
I could feel people surrounding me, some putting their arms around me, some praying into my ear, some praying nearby. But I never looked up, never opened my eyes. Just kept rocking and praying ..... until I heard those swinging doors open and heard footsteps getting closer and closer to me. I still never looked up, but my "please" turned into "no". "No.No.No.No.NO ....."
I heard the nurse bend down to me and say, "The doctor would like to meet with you", at which my "No's" turned into mourning "No's". Not screaming, I don't think, but pain-filled, gut-wrenching, heart-rending mourns.
I refused to get up, so I think I was half-carried, half-dragged into that room. That room that nobody wants to walk into. That room that probably most doctors don't want to walk into.
Somehow I found myself sitting in a chair, face to face with the surgeon who had pulled his chair right up to mine so that he could hold my hands. And tell me how very, very sorry he was and how surprised he had been because once they opened Jim up ..... his body turned into a huge train wreck. The aorta completely split, he had several heart attack, the heart started to fall apart ...... one big Freakin' train wreck.
And then he proceeded to tell me that all 6 of my children could be in grave danger of the same end. They all needed CT scans ASAP and would need them for the rest of their lives. Because, although we had no definite reason (and never did receive one) this kind of thing is hereditary in many, many cases. And if it's caught early, my children can have surgery to correct it ...... and thus never die from it.
So in less than 5 minutes I learned that my husband was dead and that there was a strong possibility that my children could die from it, too.
WHAM!
And then, after what seemed an eternity, I was led into another room. The room that held Jim's body. Not Jim, just his body. I stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead. I told him that, even though he wasn't really there, I loved him. I would love him forever and be thankful for the rest of my life for his love for me. His unexplainable love.
And I said good bye.
Blessedly, all 6 children were clear that year. It's now time for the next series of CTs. And so it will continue. For as long as they live.
And if one is found to have this, then Jim died to save their life.
Kind of like John Ritter. Who also died from an aortic dissection.
And whose brother got a CT scan. And then had surgery.
And now lives. For most likely a lot longer than he would have.
If John had not died.
I later found out that Jim "should have" died at home .... in bed. It's rare for a victim of this even rarer occurrence to live past the initial tear.
So all of that time Jim spent in that curtained room was a gift from God.
Truly.
We all got to talk to him.
We all go to hug and kiss him.
We all got to tell him that we loved him.
And .... we all got to hear him say that to us.
So there you go.
"The Story".
Sorry it's so long.
But I find it interesting ..... that grief has caused me so much memory loss ..... except for those 20 or so hours. Those hours are engraved into my brain.
