On January 19, 2012, my husband was in the bathroom vomiting. We called 911, and he was taken to the hospital.
In the hospital, we were given a diagnosis of pancreatitis. Over the next couple days, he got worse, and was transferred to a hospital with ICU capabilities.
In that first hospital he transferred to, they told us his kidneys were shutting down and that he needed to be transferred to a hospital with dialysis capabilities.
We got to THAT hospital.
I went home that night.
The next day, I set up dinner in the crock pot, left my kiddos playing video games with neighbours as emergency contacts and headed to the hospital.
I thought, in my infinite, uneducated wisdom, that we would be going through the same situation we’d been through before.
You see, 3 years prior, he’d had two heart attacks. A few days in the hospital, and we were home. New regime, new diet, new plan of attack, new medications. Each time. A few days of driving back and forth between the house and hospital – about an hour each way.
So I thought that this would be the same.
But it wasn’t.
It really really wasn’t.
And just under 6 months and another hospital later I left the hospital for the last time, knowing that I would never be back there again, that my role of being a “patient’s family member” were over.
Except it’s not.
In just under 3 weeks, my youngest, my baby, my gorgeous amazon woman of a daughter will undergo a craniotomy to remove a brain tumour. In all the reading, all the literature, it says that they will go in, do the surgery, she’ll be transferred to the ICU and then after 3-5 days she’ll be sent home.
3. to. 5. fucking. days.
Are you KIDDING ME?
I’m supposed to be ok with this?
I’m not. I’m not on any level.
3 – 5 days and then she’s sent home?
I don’t know how to make my brain go back to that uneducated, naive view of life that will allow me to say “she’ll be fine. It’s a couple days, maybe a week in hospital then home for recovery.”
BECAUSE THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN THE LAST TIME.
The last time someone I loved went into the hospital they FUCKING DIED.
And so I’m in a constant state of panick. I’m trying desperately to be calm and keep things normal and be positive and upbeat but…
HE DIDN’T COME HOME.
And I don’t know that I will survive it if she doesn’t.