One year ago today, at 10am, we were all gathered around, listening to the doctor tell us what could and couldn’t be done for Mark.
He wasn’t getting any nutrition. Anything they were feeding him through his tubes was leaking out his drains. Slowly he was starving to death.
There was an experimental TPN treatment out of the UK that could be tried but it would take a few days to get here and there was no guarantee that it would work.
If he had another dip, it would not be in his best interests to bring him back.
And still, Mark said he wanted to fight.
We settled in for our usual routine of visiting, chatting and care.
Around 1pm… Mark looked at me and said, “Take me home”
I told him that if I took him home, he would die. Yep, I used those words. He. Would. Die.
He looked at me again, and with more determination and force… he again said “Take me home”
I held his hand and said to him… “Do you understand? You won’t survive. You’ll die. There’s no getting better if we go home”
He nodded and said “Take. Me. Home.”
I said… “ok, I’ll go talk to the doctors.”
And that… was the beginning of the end.
It was always his choice. He put me in charge of his care, I was the one making the medical decisions, but it was because he trusted me to make the choices based on what was best for him. I always knew what the best decision was because I knew what HE wanted.
And he was done. He wanted to go home.
One thing that needs to be known… he would have moved MOUNTAINS for me if it was possible and would make me happy. He would have pushed himself as far as he could… just to make me happy.
In our wedding video, and in the memorial video, he said to the camera “You make me happy. I want to make you happy.”
At the end… he had no more to give.
So when he said he was done, when he said he wanted to go home, I knew that was it and I supported him fully.
Today is the anniversary of the beginning of the end.