The Hardest Decision I've Ever Made

My husband was finally moved to the CCU (Coronary Care Unit) of Brookhaven Hospital around 2:30 in the afternoon. I had run home to get my phone charger, and they moved him while I was gone. I didn't find him until 3:00pm, as I went to the ER first. Then I was told that he was "in two," so I went to the second floor and wandered around. A nurse finally found me and helped me find him.

 

He was in the last room of the CCU. I walked in and he was lying on a bed. He was talking to me, asking me about my casting company, work, and other mundane things. He was sweating profusely and breathing rapidly, but he was a lot calmer than when he was in the ER. I plugged my phone into the wall and set up to be with him for a while. I expected a doctor or two to come in and tell us what was going on. At this point, remember, we were under the impression that he had cancer and masses on his liver.

 

No sooner did I sit down than did a nurse walk in. "You have a phone call, Mrs. Cain," she said. I was puzzled. I looked at my husband and he shrugged.

 

"I do?"

 

"Yes," she replied. "You can take it at the nurse's station."  I walked out of the room, and didn't notice that two nurses walked into my husband's room. I found out they were in there later.

 

I sat down at the nurse's station. Another nurse was to my left and handed me the phone.  "Hello?"

 

"Hi, Mrs. Cain," a familiar voice said. "It's Dr. Bohenski."  Dr. Bohenski is my son's pulmonologist. I knew I recognized the voice, but didn't understand why he was calling me.

 

"Hi Dr. Bohenski," I replied. "How are you?"

 

"I'm fine," he answered. "I'm not going to ask how you are, since I already know the answer to that. I'm going to make this brief, because time is of the essence. We do not expect your husband to make it through the night. We fully expect him to stop breathing, and we need to put him on a respirator."

 

Bells started ringing in my ears. I felt instantly dizzy and nauseous. I started shaking. What? My husband was going to die? I was just talking to him! How was that even possible?

 

"Wh-what?" I stuttered.

 

"Your husband isn't going to make it through the night. We fully expect him to stop breathing. He is in septic shock and his organs are starting to shut down. We need to put him on a respirator now in order to save his life." Dr. Bohenski was very matter of fact.

 

"This is the only way?" My voice was weak. I wanted to vomit.

 

"This is the only way," he replied. "He will be in an induced coma. He will be asleep so that we can fix what is wrong. He is in very critical condition right now."

 

A million thoughts ran through my mind, most of which were of our six year old twins. How was this possible? I was just talking to him! He was asking me about my clients, for crying out loud! How could this happen? He was going to die?

 

"Okay," I replied. "Do what you need to do. Please take care of him."

 

"I will take care of him like he is my own son," he promised.  Shell-shocked, I put the phone back in the cradle and staggered in to his room. He was lying on his back with an oxygen mask on. The two nurses were standing to his right. I unplugged my phone from the wall and stuck it in my purse. I dropped my purse in the chair to his right and looked at him.

 

I've never seen my husband look so frightened.

 

"Did they tell you?" I asked, trying to control my voice.  He nodded.  "Okay."  I pulled the oxygen mask away from his face and kissed him.

 

I didn't know if it was going to be the last time I was able to kiss my husband. I can't even begin to tell you what that feels like.

 

"I love you very much," I said, starting to cry.  "Goodbye."

 

"I'll see you in a couple of days," he answered.  I kissed him again, then replaced the oxygen mask.

 

"I love you." The tears started to roll down my cheeks. Sobs hitched in my throat. I pulled my phone out of my purse and started texting the last person that texted me:

 

I NEED YOU HERE

GET HERE

PLEASE

I NEED SOMEONE HERE

PLEASE COME

PLEASE

 

I didn't even know who it was. I went into the waiting room and collapsed in hysterics by myself. Alone. Thinking my husband was going to die.

 

It is the worst feeling that I have ever felt in my life. I can only explain it by saying it was like being at the bottom of a cavern, in the dark, alone with no lights. My sobs echoed in my head.

 

At some point, a doctor came in for me to sign the consent form. I don't remember much about that.

 

I just sat and cried. I have never felt so utterly helpless.

 

I soon felt an arm around me. I looked up and it was my friend, Kristin. I didn't even tell her what was going on-- I just leaned on her and cried. I couldn't even explain what was going on. I couldn't form words.

 

What simply amazes me is that Kristin and I were never close before. Our kids go to the same school, but we've never had a play date or anything like that. We've worked together on projects at school, her kids are a part of my casting company, our daughters are in the Daisy troop that I lead...But we've never hung out.

 

She just happened to be the person that sent me that last text.

 

And she came.

 

I don't know how many people would do that, unless they were close with the person asking them to come to the hospital. I honestly don't even remember what we had been texting about beforehand. I know that I would have shown up, regardless of who texted me. But I don't think that anyone else would have-- Especially someone with two small children.

 

Kristin is my hero.

 

I wasn't close with her before, but now I can't imagine my life without her or her family. I can't even begin to express to you what a rock she was for me, especially that day. Once my husband was on the respirator and in the coma, she somehow managed to get me to the diner across the street to get something to eat. I vaguely remember sitting across from her and eating something Greek (although I do remember her specifically getting a French Dip), but that's about it. I don't remember how long she stayed with me, but I know it was well into the night.

 

Back in 2000, I had to tell my sister that our Aunt was killed in a car crash. I remember thinking that was the hardest thing I ever had to do; the worst moment of my life. July 16, 2014 beats that day without a second thought.  If it weren't for Kristin, I would have had to face it alone.

 

Kristin, you are my hero. I love you and appreciate you more than you will ever, ever know.

The Cancer Scare

I don't know what it is about Emergency Room doctors on the graveyard shift, but they suck. I apologize for sweeping generalizations, but they do. I mean, I nearly died in the BMH emergency room a few weeks back when I was in anaphylaxis for an allergic reaction, and I was told that I wasn't having an allergic reaction. I know the hours suck-- I've worked overnight before. My husband worked midnights for YEARS. But, seriously, get your shit together and don't take your dislike of your shift out on the patients. (Again, this might not be the case for all night shift ER doctors, but it has been for every freaking one I've ever run into.)

So, my husband had been laying in a bed for an hour before they told me that they expected he had a pulmonary embolism and needed a CT scan. They wheeled him away at 2am, gave him the intravenous dye and did the CT scan. While he was getting the scan done, I called his job and told him that he wouldn't be in for Thursday or Friday. He was wheeled back to the little area they had him (bed #19) at about 2:30, and we waited for the results.

At 3:15am, the ER doctor arrived with results. "I have some good news," he said. "You don't have a pulmonary embolism. However, we were able to see part of your liver, and there are a couple of masses on them. They might be cancerous. I'll be right back." And then he left.

I'm not kidding or exaggerating. That's what happened. He dropped the C-Bomb and took off before I could even say, "What?????"  He just left.

After disbelief, rage was the next emotion that hit me. I was furious at my husband. He is 43 years old, and he has effing CANCER????? How did he not go to the doctor earlier? I remember exactly what I said to him...

"You are stubborn, stupid and selfish. If you went to the doctor sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation. How am I supposed to explain this to the kids? I am PISSED at you!"

And then I paced. I paced for hours. Literally. I walked from the foot of his bed to the nurse's station and back. I think I wore a track in the floor. So many thoughts were going through my mind, especially since something similar happened to a friend of mine. My friend's brother wasn't feeling well for weeks. He finally went to the hospital and, long story short, they found out that he has STAGE THREE colon cancer. Oh, by the way, he is only 34 years old.

As you can imagine, thoughts were running wild through my head. What kind of cancer is it? All of the body's blood filters through the liver, so it could have been anything. How far along is he? What stage is he in? Is he going to die? How long do we have to prepare? Is our life insurance paid up? How am I going to tell the kids? What are we going to do?

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I let rage consume me, since it was a lit easier than grief. He had his eyes closed, but I shot him dirty looks every time I laid eyes on him. I was livid. I was furious with the doctor for dropping the bomb like that. I asked to speak with him again, but he was "busy."

I saw him sitting at his desk, and he was "busy."  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but he was "busy." I wanted to stab this frigging doctor. I had so many questions and he wouldn't come to me to answer them. He didn't come over to me for HOURS, while my husband shuddered and sweat in his hospital bed, waiting for the next steps.

The secretary told me at 5:45 that he was going to be admitted. I demanded to see the doctor and threatened to walk over to him. He reluctantly walked over to me.

To be completely honest with you, that was a week ago and I can't remember what I asked him. He kept telling me that someone from Oncology would speak with me, and he couldn't give me any answers. I asked him a lot of questions, and he said that they were questions for the oncologist-- literally every question was answered like that. I think the only thing he confirmed was that he was going to be admitted.

That's it. That's all I had.

By 6:45, I was absolutely exhausted. I was drained. I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew that he was sleeping. I woke him up and told him that I needed to get a couple of hours of sleep, and would be back. I kissed his sweaty forehead and left.

We live about 7 minutes from the hospital, give or take the traffic lights. I got home at about 7:00 and jumped online to let those closest to me know what was going on. The kids were waking up for camp, so I got them ready, gave them breakfast, and didn't mention anything about Daddy. I think they thought he left for work. our kids are 6, so they really didn't need to know anything at that moment-- Especially anything about cancer.

My mother left with the kids at 8am. I slipped into my bed and closed my eyes.

How it all began.

On Monday, July 7, he wasn't feeling well. He complained that his stomach and back were bothering him. He worked Bingo the night before for our daughter's baton twirling team, The Sparklers. He brought home food from Wendy's and flopped onto the couch. We went to bed. Everything was normal. He woke up on Monday morning just not feeling well.

On Tuesday, he was grumpy and complained that his back and stomach were really bothering him. He had the chills when we went to bed. They were so bad I told him I'd shut off the air conditioner. He said he was cold and hot at the same time, and wanted to leave it on but use another blanket. I grabbed an extra blanket and covered him with it.

On Wednesday, he was worse. He still went to work, though. He actually worked both of his jobs-- He's a police officer and works in two different towns. He didn't get home until midnight and looked absolutely horrid. He told me that he made an appointment with Dr. Rac for Friday.

On Thursday, he only went to one job, which is very unusual for him. The guy NEVER calls in sick.  He came home and sat on the couch. He didn't eat dinner. He went up to bed at about 7:00, and didn't come downstairs. I checked on him a few times, and he was sound asleep.

On Friday, he went to the doctor. It was the second day in a row that he called in sick. The fact that he called in sick two days in a row really worried me. He came back from the doctor and told me that his back was in such spasms that he got 12 novocaine shots up and down his back. The doctor prescribed Vicodin and Cipro for what she felt was a kidney infection. He was prescribed a couple of other things, but I can't remember what they were. He went to sleep at about 5:30.

He didn't wake up until Sunday evening around 7pm. Sure, he got up to go to the bathroom, but nothing else.

On Monday, he made his way back to the couch. He was crabby, snapping at me and the kids. He wasn't himself. He hadn't gotten his blood drawn the way the doctor ordered, and I went into nagging wife mode. He ignored me. Usually, when I nag, he does whatever I'm asking. (I rarely nag.)

On Tuesday, I had enough. He still hadn't gotten his blood drawn. His color was off. He wasn't getting better. I got him in the car and took him to get his blood drawn. While I was waiting, I called the doctor and told him that he needed to come in. My friend, Stacey, was nearby, and she came in to watch the kids while I brought him to the doctor. The doctor suggested he go to the hospital, but he said that he was feeling better. She told him that this was a warning sign and if he feels ANYTHING different, he needed to go to the emergency room.

We caught up on an episode of Masterchef and went to bed at about 11pm. He called in to work for the rest of the week. We went to sleep.

At 12:31am, he woke me up with, "Candice, you need to take me to the hospital." I flew out of bed, woke my mom to let her know what was going on and to listen out for the kids in case they got up, got dressed and drove him to the hospital. No joke, I dropped him off in front of the ER at 12:45am.

By the time I parked the car, they already had him on a gurney and were wheeling him into the back of the ER. I followed, no idea what was going on. I must say, though, I was pissed that it had come to this point. Why hadn't he taken care of himself? Why didn't he get his blood drawn sooner? I was livid.

And so that began our unfortunate adventure at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital...