It was the evening of March 1, 2020. I was at home alone, about to watch the evening news, when my phone rang. It was a doctor from the hospital where my husband was being treated in the ICU. He had been there for five days, with still no updates on his condition.
“Your husband’s heart just stopped,” she advised me. “I suggest that you get here as soon as possible.” After a few more words, I asked her to keep trying to resuscitate him until I got there. Unsure of my ability to drive, I called the police department and asked for a ride to the hospital. After a few minutes, my escort arrived. In the meantime, my son Jonathan called me, because he was his dad’s second proxy, and he had received a similar call from the hospital. He was living in Wisconsin, and I was still in Boston, where my husband and I lived. Jon and I promised to stay in touch.
The doctor who had called me was waiting for me in the hospital lobby. She saw me get out of the police car and scooped me up in a wheelchair. Running down the hallway with me, she got us in the elevator and pushed the button for the seventh floor. As we got off the elevator, and she continued to push me, I remember saying “So, this is what the ICU looks like!” Clearly, I was in shock, or I would not have made such an inane comment.
As I was brought into David’s room, the immediacy of the situation finally struck me. David was still intubated, and several doctors were trying to resuscitate him. After a total of about 45 minutes, they called the time. It was 7:22pm.
I sat there, trying to grasp what had just happened. The doctors and staff were extremely gracious, offering their condolences and explaining that they had tried for so long to revive David, but that they could not accomplish that. I asked why they did try for so long, and they said that it was for two reasons: because I had asked them to until I got there, and because his heart had stopped so suddenly, when he seemed to be doing better. They could not understand that. (Since then, I have read about Electrical Heart Ischemia, and I think that may have been what happened).
I stayed in the room for probably another half hour, just taking it all in, as I continued to hold David’s hand and talk to the nurse who was left in charge. There was a female chaplain there, also. After awhile I realized that I should leave, but I wanted to say some things to David, first.
I had been struggling through our second marriage. Nevertheless, this is what I spontaneously said to him:
“Honey, I love you, and I always did.”
“I hope that you will be at peace now, and out of pain.”
“The greatest thing that we ever did was to create Jonathan.”
“Now he has his family, and we have grandchildren.”
I started to leave the room, but quickly turned back and said to David: “If you discover that you can check in with me, please do.”
Since his death on March 1, 2020, at the age of 69, he has done so—
Five times.
A very sad but touching story, Ann. I sense it was a most difficult time for you. Thanks for sharing
Yes, it was. Thank you, Jim!
Ann,
I am so sorry you had to go through such a loss. Thank you for sharing. My heart aches for you.
Thank you, Peggy. I can’t believe that it is nearly five years!
I am so sorry, as I did not know. Memories of David take me back to happier times with him. I grieve with you and Jonathan over your profound loss at such a young age.
Thank you, Ric. I thought you might have seen references to my “late” husband on the website and picked it up from there…