I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. I wrote much of the following piece months ago but decided to wait to see how it turned out before finishing. I missed y’all.

Each time my husband takes a shower, I stay in our bedroom next to the bathroom. If he’s having a particularly unsteady day, I hover in the doorway. I started doing this sometime last year because he asked me to. Now I do it for both of us.

Will this really help if he falls? No. He’ll still fall, and it will still be scary. But being there gives us both peace of mind. Well…it gives him some peace and me anxiety along with a deep sense of responsibility and obligation.  But I have no desire to stop. If having me nearby makes him feel more secure, then I’ll do it.

This past summer, I received a raise on my 2-year anniversary. When I looked at my paycheck, I started doing a bit of what I call “widow’s math.” I looked at our bills and thought about the life insurance my husband has and what debts I could pay if he died tomorrow. Then, with what I take home for pay, could I do it on my own? Could I pay the bills and not have to eat cat food?

Yes. For the very first time, yes. Things would be tight, especially since I just  got a loan to help the kid pay for college, but it would be doable.

I have never felt so relieved and ecstatic in the weirdest way. I told my husband and said I hoped this wasn’t too morbid, but he, too, was relieved. “That gives me such peace of mind,” he said.

We both kept saying those words, “peace of mind.” It’s really gotten me thinking about our levels of anxiety we’ve endured over these past 20 months (and truly much longer). Walter’s health became bad enough 20 months ago that he could no longer work. In my eyes, that was the beginning of his decline. He’s had so many good days and occasionally a good week–although it’s been some time since that has happened. We’re now looking at good days and/or nights. At some point, we’ll be grateful for good hours or moments. Some days I feel like that time is rapidly approaching.

We’ve been discussing palliative care over the last few months. If you’re not aware, palliative care is all about supporting folks with a long-term illness. Congestive heart failure combined with Type 2 diabetes is typically terminal. In my husband’s case, it is absolutely fatal. He no longer wants many kinds of treatments due to some of the side effects. And as angry as I used to be about it, I now just want him to be happy and comfortable.

Every person has the right to refuse certain treatments, no matter the outcome. You can live your life on YOUR own terms. This is the conversation my husband finally had to have with his doctor.

The problem with death being such a taboo topic in this country, is that it ends up causing communication problems and skews the healthcare decisions people make. If Wal had felt more comfortable with his doctor or maybe if the doctor was much more realistic and offered options that were not curative but comforting, then this experience would have been so much better. Instead, we have a doctor saying things like, “I know people with CHF that got so much better they felt 20 years younger!”

Oh my god. Shut the hell up, man. My husband could barely walk into the doctor’s office, he can’t work, he does very little now.

But doctors are in the business of curing, right? Even when there is no cure. Which is why more doctors should read books like, “Being Mortal” by Dr. Atul Gawande. Think about your patient, the torture you will put them through when you know they won’t survive whatever treatment you’re prescribing.

After the doctor finally referred Wal to palliative care, that palliative care office had to refuse him due to budget cuts. And how did he finally find out? Because he called them to see why it had been a few weeks. The doctor never passed this communication on. Instead, they wiped their hands of my husband and his health care.

THANKFULLY, a local health care organization is taking Wal on as a patient and recently came to our house. Soon he’ll meet the doctor from that office, and we’re hopeful this will be the end of this particular drama and absolute lack of both courtesy and respect. We’re finding our way to peace of mind once again.

The nurse we met was a joy and just gets it. She understands that Wal is in charge of his body, his health care, and his life. “My body, my choice,” right? THAT’S how it should be.

Thanks for listening, everyone. I really hope you have all been well, or as well as you can be in this dumpster fire of a world.

Hugs, y’all. 💜