The next
morning, MaryEllen was off to work and I was alone again, though Ellie soon
returned, along with the support. On the
doctors’ rounds (either that morning or the one before), I remember talking to
Dr. B outside the room, telling her that Mike was having a lot of anxiety,
and to just keep things light for his sake.
I left the room and let them visit with him. I did, however, notice a bump on the back of
his leg at one point, and panicked within myself. I tried to covertly point it out to the
doctor, and he said it could be a few different things (the leukemia being one
of them). I remember the nurses’ aide
coming in to sponge bathe him, and Mike was so gentle and sweet to her. She was a middle-aged woman, a woman he’d known for a while from previous
hospitalizations. More and more the
staff was needed to do things for him, and I wasn’t able to handle a whole lot
on my own anymore. I remember talking to
my mom, trying to let her know how dire the situation was, but somehow still
trying not to panic her. I remember her
asking me about trying Cancer Treatment Centers of America, but I tried telling
her things were beyond that. She wanted
to come up and see Mike, and I think talked about getting up there on
Monday. I just remember trying to convey
to her that they didn’t think he had that much time, while at the same time not
wanting to believe it nor wanting to say it.
Throughout the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, family
started coming around again. I was in
and out of the room, and I continued to help Mike with anything he needed. Though for weeks he drank a variety of the
Nantucket Nectars I would buy him, all he wanted now was water, and he had a
great thirst for it. I, meanwhile,
couldn’t eat or drink a thing. AnnMarie
and Jay were up that afternoon, as were Brooke and Karen, and they brought me a
coffee from Starbucks as well as some fruit, just to get something into
me. I think I took a couple nibbles of
the fruit, but couldn’t get any more of it down. I remember sitting in the lounge, trying to
eat, but not being able to take it in. I
remember crying and feeling so helpless.
I remember getting a call from my stepmother, who said she and my
dad were planning on getting up there over the weekend. She asked me what they could bring, including
clothes for me and wanted to know my size.
Family would continue going in and out of Mike’s room, spending time
with him. At one point, Mike asked
someone (I think Debbie) where I was, and when they said I was in the lounge
and asked if he wanted them to get me, he said, “No.” I think he just wanted to know where I
was. I love thinking that he just wanted
to know I was nearby. One thing I’ll
always remember was his last “I love you” to me. I was around his bed and, as always, I just
told him that I loved him. Looking
intently at me, as if to make it very clear and direct to me so I would
remember, he struggled but forced out the words, “I love…you.” It still breaks my
heart to recall it.
AnnMarie
made a little video of the kids sending get-well and I-love-you messages to
their Uncle Mikey. They also broke out
singing “It’s peanut butter jelly time!”
It was a silly song Mike taught the girls, which was a reference to a
“Family Guy” episode he liked. He always
thought it was hysterical that he could get the kids to sing that song, knowing
it was from such a bawdy show. They were
cute and silly and so unaware of what was unfolding. I attempted opening the video on our laptop,
but we could only get partially into it before it started freezing and
“thinking.” We kept trying and trying to
get it to play, replaying the beginning often.
Poor Mike, as tired and half out of it as he was, was trying to pay
attention to it, and was alert enough to try to tell us that the video was
buffering or something, which is why it wouldn’t play. He never got to view or listen to the whole
video. At some point I also remember
telling him a little bit about the surprise birthday scrapbook I was putting
together, and I shared with him a contribution from his college friend about some bird or marquee thing that he once took as some kind of sign from
God. He interacted a little bit,
obviously recalling the story. I just
told him that he would get to see the scrapbook when he was better.
As the
afternoon wore on, AnnMarie, Jay and Brooke left, and I was there with Karen,
Ellie and MaryEllen. I spent some time
on the phone with Rene, as she gave me support and prayer, and told me how she
and her church friends had been praying so fervently for him and felt they had
a breakthrough. She told me to keep
visualizing our future together – to envision Thanksgiving dinners to come when
he would be healthy and things would be alright. She said, “He needs a visitation [from angels].” She was the only one who gave me the strength
to keep going and gave me any hope of a healing.
The rest
of the day, we spent time with Mike while he slept on and off. Karen sometimes sat next to him, to his
right, and rubbed his leg and even gently sang to him (Karen later told me that
he nicely asked if she would stop, which kind of made us laugh a little.). Mike again needed meds to calm down and get
him to rest, which he got. Even in his
sleep though, his breathing was labored, and was more like sharp, quick breaths
followed by nothing for seconds at a time.
They all tried to get me to rest, though I knew there was no rest in me
regardless of how exhausted I was. I did
agree to try to take a little nap, so I pulled the recliner right next to his
bed and tried to sleep along with him. I
could never get more than a few moments’ rest though, and I was constantly
looking over at him to check on him. Nurse
Karen soon came up to pay a visit, though Mike was asleep at the time. Ellie, MaryEllen, Karen Coyne and nurse Karen
visited quietly and spoke in whispers. Suddenly,
I sort of sprung up and looked over at Mike to do one of my checks, but this
time I didn’t see him moving (MaryEllen later told me she felt a whoosh of cold
air at this same time). I just kept
looking at him, but saw nothing. I
looked over at the others, who were off in the corner talking, and desperately
mouthed to them, “Is he breathing??”
They rushed over, and nurse Karen immediately left the room and called
in Mike’s day nurse. I jumped up out of
my chair and darted over near the window, away from the bed. Mike’s nurse came in and went over to Mike’s
bed. She bent down and put her
stethoscope on his chest. After a few
seconds, she looked up at us and with a sad, forced half smile, nodded, “yes.” It was 4:47PM. Mike was gone.
The nurses left the room. Karen, MaryEllen and Ellie began weeping and
went to Mike’s side. I turned and walked
towards the window, my mouth open and my head shaking “no” with disbelief. I just kept saying, “No.” While they were all around him, crying, I was
alone at the window, muttering softly to myself and frantically telling God
that this wasn’t what he promised. It
wasn’t over. It couldn’t be over. What about all the plans? What about all the prayers? What about all the promises of life we had
from God? The doctor came in at this
time, listening again to Mike’s chest and making the official call. He came to us, expressing his sincere
condolences. He also said to me, “I hate
to say this, but I have to ask. Do you
want an autopsy?” I just shook my head
“no.” This couldn’t be happening. Dr. B, and maybe even Dr. A, came in
and tried to come comfort me, but I just turned away, not wanting anyone to be
near me or say anything. I didn’t want
to hear any of it. I just wanted my
husband back. There had been a terrible
mistake. John also showed up at this
time, and just put his arms around me and kissed my head. I could hear him sniffling and saw his tears
fall. I had never seen my brother show
this much emotion.
Finally, I made my way over to Mike, the oxygen supply
still flowing into his nose. I still
wasn’t having any of it. I crawled into
bed and curled up beside Mike, who himself was curled up on his right
side. I just got as close as I could to
him, put my arms around him and just started whispering frantically in his ear,
“You can come back….You can come back….You can come back.”
After a few minutes of pleading for his return, I
somehow made my way back to the couch. I
sat there, just staring at him. I kept
watching his chest, waiting for a Lazarus healing. It never came. Sometime during all of this, Debbie arrived,
too. I saw her walking up to the glass
doors, in her formal work attire, with red face and eyes, and a terrified look
on her poor face. Her brother was her
idol, and now she had to enter the room where he lay lifeless. John went off to make phone calls to our folks,
and anyone else who needed to be notified (my mom later told me that she just
screamed when John told her, and that she just kept yelling, “No! No!”).
It all began to sink in for Ellie, too.
She approached me over on the couch, crying and in a sudden panic. She sobbed and said, “He needs the Last
Rites!” My commander-in-chief control
briefly washed over me, and I tried to comfort my grieving mother-in-law
saying, “We know where he is. He’s
OK.” Ever the dutiful Catholic, my mother-in-law
remained frantically focused, and my words didn’t ease her hysteria. She was convinced her son needed this sacred
ritual in order to enter Heaven, and I wasn’t going to stand in the way. I think she feared I wouldn’t allow it, but I
immediately told her it was OK – we would have someone give him the Rites. Through tears, I could see her begin to calm
down, and she just thanked me over and over.
Calls were made by the staff, and soon a hospital priest arrived to
console us. We gathered around his
bedside and the priest said the Last Rites.
I knew it didn’t matter – to me, at least, and certainly not to Mike –
but it gave Ellie some peace.
Once the prayers were done, we knew it was almost
time to go, and to leave Mike for the last time. MaryEllen, being a nurse and being
hyper-vigilant about these things, was becoming very uneasy that soon things
would naturally start happening to “the body." She wanted us to say our goodbyes and leave
without having any incidents. One by
one, we touched him and said what we felt we needed to say. I was the last one to leave. The others left the room before me. In the minute or so I spent with him – his
tired jaundiced eyes still slightly open – I don’t remember what I said. I just remember barely being able to pry
myself away from him. I didn’t want to leave
him, and yet I couldn’t handle looking at his lifeless body. I said a few words, most important being, “I
love you, Mikey.” I touched him and
kissed his lips one last time. With one
last tearful glance, I left the room.
What now? I
knew the nurses had to come in and take care of him and do their jobs. I knew he had to be taken away. We all walked
down the hospital corridor like zombies.
We didn’t know where to go or what to do. We ended up outside the unit by the
elevators. We just sat on the couches in
near silence. I didn’t want to talk to a
soul, not even my mother, but I managed to send several texts to Mike’s closest
friends to tell them the news.
Meanwhile, people got on and off the elevators, leaving visits or
beginning visits with their loved ones.
Some of them were talking and laughing as if life was completely normal. I hated them.
How could they act so normally when our lives were shattered? Even the nurses, coming in for their shift
change, were going about their normal day.
It was like a horrible dream.
Debbie and MaryEllen excused themselves for a little while to go down to
the hospital chapel and say some prayers.
All I wanted to do was sit. And
all I could think about was what they were now doing with my precious soul
mate.
Finally MaryEllen decided to take tired Ellie back
home. The rest of us (me, Karen, John,
Debbie and Debbie’s boyfriend, Michael) now had to kill time while the nurses
did what they had to do before we could get back into the room to clear out our
things. We decided to get out of that
place and try to grab something to eat.
As we entered the elevator, we found we were sharing it with the nurse
who came in to declare Mike as having passed on, and she didn’t say a word to
us. She wasn’t unfeeling, but she was
composed and relaxed as if it was just another day at work, and now her Friday
night was to begin. I’m sure that’s just
how I viewed it, seeing as I despised anyone connected to Mike’s demise. As we were walking out of the hospital, into
the cool evening rain, I said to Karen, “He’s just off getting a scan. He’s just going for tests.” It was a bold-faced lie that I had to tell
myself in order to handle leaving that building knowing Mike was never coming
home. Karen just put her arm around me,
made her motherly Karen grin, and agreed with me. We moved on and made it up the street to a nearby
restaurant. I didn’t care where I was – I just
wanted to escape this entire awful nightmare.
Everyone began to order food and drinks.
I don’t remember what small meal I finally agreed to order at the urging
of the others, but they wanted to make sure I ate. I just remember barely picking at it. I ordered a glass of wine, but barely drank
half of it. I was in too much shock to
even make the effort to numb myself with alcohol. I think I even participated in a surreal
attempt at a toast to Mike. While at the
table, I also got my mom on the phone for the first time. She just cried and told me how she couldn’t
believe it. I think I tried to tell her
I was OK, though I knew I wasn’t. She
told me she’d see me tomorrow, as John was going to pick her up the following
morning.
Finally Michael was asked to call over to the
hospital to make sure it was OK for us to return. When it was, we headed back. This time when we returned to the floor, we
entered an empty room. Mike was
gone. The bed was cleaned and made. The red baseball
t-shirt Mike was wearing was folded neatly on the counter. The emptiness was palpable. The place that was our home for well over a
month was now a regular, sterile room, save for our belongings on the tables
and in the cubbies. Now, we had to clear
out. In a fog, I began gathering our
things – our bags of clothing and toiletries, our laptop, our DVDs, our books,
the cards, drawings and get-well gifts we’d compiled. Everything had to be gathered up and put into
whatever bags we could find. We took the
DVD player we’d been using (an old one Debbie had given us) and brought it to
the reception desk and told nurse Ann that we’d like to donate it. Then, we were gone, forever. This place was no longer the place that would
house Mike as he healed. This was the
place in which he took his final breath, and the place I could never return to
again.
I dreaded having to go up to the parking attendant
and face paying a parking fee for a car that had been in the garage for nearly
a week. I didn’t want the questions, and
I didn’t want to have to give the explanation.
Karen took over that job. She
went in and talked to them and dealt with that whole thing. Then, she drove my car back to Jack and
Ellie’s house. I don’t
remember the ride home. I just remember
entering the house and seeing Jack, hugging him as he choked back emotion and
hearing him say things about how hard Mike fought and what a long road this has
all been. He was saying whatever he
could to cope with losing his only son, and best friend. By this time, everyone was completely
spent. The only thing we could do was
sleep. The girls (me, Karen, Brooke and
MaryEllen) decided to make a sort of makeshift “slumber party” by all sleeping together
in MaryEllen’s room so nobody had to be alone.
Mary and I shared the bed while Karen and Brooke slept on the
floor. I had no clean pajamas with me,
so I put on a pair of Mike’s pajama pants. I was swimming in the pants, due to them being
Mike’s size and also being worn by a woman who’d been losing weight for days
from near starvation. I asked them all if
we could keep the TV on, so I wouldn’t have to sleep in a completely dark and
quiet room. I think I found “Three’s
Company” or something equally mindless just to fill the room with nonsensical
background noise. Thank God for my
exhaustion, because without it I don’t think I would ever have gotten to sleep
that night.
When I finally awoke the next morning – around 8AM
or so – I immediately realized my new reality and got the sickest feeling in my
stomach. This was the first day of the
rest of my life without Mike, and I wanted to die rather than experience
another minute of it. I made my way out
to the family room and kitchen, where the rest of the family was gathering in
an equally somber and confused manner.
Over the next few hours, friends and family began to converge on the
house, bringing food and support. I could
not believe how empty and meaningless life suddenly felt. I remember AnnMarie taking me out of the
house for a while to grab something to eat, though I knew I wouldn’t taste a
bite. I went along with it though, since
everyone’s eyes were on me, terrified that I was going to completely fall
apart. She got me an iced
coffee – always a favorite of mine, and Mike’s – and I barely sipped it. At a nearby café, I ordered the most easy and
benign thing I could – a salad – just to appease everyone. Back at the house, everybody milled around
trying to find whatever they could to keep moving. I, on the other hand, could only sit in a
catatonic state. Debbie agreed to help
me spread the terrible news by sending a “reply all” message to a mass
prayer-request e-mail I’d sent less than a week earlier. I told her to use the wording “passed on”
rather than “passed away.” I grasped at
anything that made the whole thing seem less awful, which was a nearly
impossible and futile endeavor.
By early afternoon,
John arrived with my mom. I watched her
get out of the car, looking horrible, like she hadn’t stopped crying in nearly
24 hours. I watched her approach the
house, knowing she was in complete fear of how she would find me. We hugged and she cried and I tried to hold
it together. She went around the house,
hugging everyone and crying with them. I
soon called my grandparents. That was
the call I dreaded the most. I couldn’t
handle the thought of hearing their voices and hearing their pain, both for me
and for Mike. When I called, I
immediately heard the choking up on the other end, but I sprang into protection
mode and tried to tell them everything was OK.
It was another bold-faced lie, but I was all about protecting them. Meanwhile, the house had filled up with a
variety of guests – cousin Kristin, family friends Mark and Frank, and Mike’s
best friend, Tim. My dad and
step-mother also soon arrived. I
remember sitting in the family room with both my parents, my brother and my
step-mother. It was the first time we
were sitting all together, sort of like a family, just talking and supporting
each other. Hours later, when they were leaving, my step-mother spoke to me by the stairs in the family room. I will never forget her words, “Lauren, you
have your whole life ahead of you.” I responded with, “That’s
the problem.”
To be continued....
No comments:
Post a Comment