mortality

I’ve been running a lot lately–for me, that is. I ran just over 15 miles each week for the past two weeks. They all felt just so…good. I ran in Springfield, Massachusetts two weeks ago while I was at a conference, and it was so atypical of my runs while traveling. Usually I’m over tired and cranky but desperately want to be outside for a bit and log a few miles. But this time it was just….freeing.

The Lorax at the Dr. Seuss Memorial Sculpture Garden in Springfield, MA.

I am trying to be present in not only my running, but my life. Breaking up with social media has helped me do that. When I run, sometimes I can’t really be where I am or be fully conscious of each step I take because it can be torturous and I just need to finish, damn it! But sometimes I can really enjoy my surroundings, the wind on my face, the sight of the gorgeous fall foliage, the way the light has changed now that we’re into autumn, the crisp smell of the air–it’s all really quite wonderful.

And sometimes, you just have to drag your ass downstairs and onto the treadmill because there’s a nor’easter and the rain is just a bit too much. Whenever I run on the treadmill, I try to be elsewhere in my head. Just focus on that ink blot kind of spot on the basement wall and think of running outside. The other day, though, in that rainy weather, I was halfway through my run, when my husband came downstairs to continue to sort his father’s belongings. After his father died in March, his mother moved back to Maine and brought much of their “stuff” with them, which is currently being housed in our basement. My husband’s job is to look through what’s here and determine if anything should be kept, donated or thrown out. Watching this man, whom I’ve loved and spent nearly my entire adult life with, slowly pick up every one of his father’s items and toss in one bin or another, was difficult. I saw this wide range of emotions pass over his face (grief, apathy, confusion, joy) and I couldn’t help but wonder if some day, I’ll be doing the same task with his things.

As many of you know that read this blog, my husband has had a variety of health challenges over the past four years, with the worst being congestive heart failure. Just this summer he has finally gotten control of his diabetes, which was a huge contributing factor to his worsening health. He feels better now that his blood sugar is where it should be, doesn’t ache as much, feels like living again. And yet…he has chosen to face up to the fact that he may not live another 10 years. In this day and age, when you’re 55 you think you might have at least another 20 if not 30 years left. But when you have a chronic health condition, especially one like congestive heart failure, living to a ripe old age is just not reality.

But while he was sick, he didn’t want to talk about, nor was honest about his mortality. Nothing. And now? This weekend I mentioned that one of the retirement accounts I have, I can actually start withdrawing from in 10 years. He said, so matter-of-factly, “I’ll never see you do that.” At first I didn’t know what he meant. Then I asked, “Because you won’t be here?” He replied that yes, he’ll be dead before then. There was no joking, no laughter like we often do when we talk about our health or aches and pains. It was just a fact and nothing more.

For several years, I’ve known that my husband will not live to be a very old man. And I’ve been ok with that fact. Sound cold-hearted? Maybe, but I come from a long line of women who outlived their husbands and kept living anyways. It’s what women do. Plus, in all honesty, I am very different from my spouse and live a different life, a healthier lifestyle for sure.. I am more social, do different activities than he does, often eat different meals.

But the reality of living alone, after our son has grown, isn’t the most welcoming thought I always figured it would be. Just the other night, I was lying on the couch, reading, with the tv fireplace glowing. My kid was out and my husband was sleeping, so I felt like I was all alone in my home. And for a few minutes I just sat in that feeling of being alone, or rather, being widowed. I have my son and many friends and a few family members, so I am not lonely but often enjoy being alone. This night, though? It was a little scary, a bit sad, and not the best feeling. It’s something I’ve been talking to my therapist about, to understand what’s going on in my brain and heart.

So now, I really, really try to enjoy my time with my spouse. There will always be moments and hours that I’m angry with him or frustrated or fed up, but that’s ok. We’re humans and living with and loving someone for decades is not an easy thing to do in all honesty. I think it’s tough as shit. But we do our best, right? We carry on, we try to live our lives as well as we can, and we love as much as we can, too.

So that’s what I’m going to do.

Love well and carry on.

This past week has been filled with nearly every emotion that exists. Fear, surprise, sadness, guilt, frustration, grief, joy, and anger. These were all felt by everyone in my home and they continue to ping pong from one to another in each of us every day.

On Saturday, I spent the morning with my husband at the hospital. I crawled into his hospital bed, we held each other, and I cried for the first time since he had his heart attack. They were tears of relief but also fear of what the future will bring, and even grief for what he has lost. His life, our lives, have begun to change, and the changes can be difficult. But necessary.

The husband came home on Sunday afternoon. As we waited for someone to bring us a wheelchair, I scrounged the hospital floor, found a chair with no owner, and snagged it. I was done waiting and this guy needed to be home! It was kind of fun–like we were breaking out of prison. We laughed and waved to the nurses and enjoyed the moment. But on the way home, I could feel little bits of anger escaping. I snapped at him for telling me where to go then again when he said I didn’t pick up one of his meds when, in fact, I did. “You wouldn’t know because you were in the hospital!”

Oh.

Then I went to the pharmacy to pick up his new medications…10 of them. TEN. The pharmacist wanted to speak with me since these were all new. We had gone over all of them with the nurse so I basically knew what to expect and what he had to stop taking at home, but as the pharmacist started to tell me how Wal can no longer take ibuprofren for aches and pains and if he does need to take a nitroglycerin that the package is only good for 3 months after you open it and he (or I) would need to put it under his tongue…I started to cry. Could this be any more overwhelming? The pharmacist looked at me and said, “I know. It’s a lot. I had to do this with my father, too.” I just nodded but inside I was scoffing and yelling, “But it’s my husband, damn it!!” She went on to say I should probably keep a list of his meds and I said that yeah, I had done this with my mom so I was good.

I was so not good.

Once we got home, Wal went directly to a rocking chair we have in our library where our son has his computer. They sat together and we all talked. It was ok. We were ok. But as the evening went on, both my son and I were harboring feelings of anger, maybe resentment that Wal had put us through this again? I’m just speculating because I really don’t know what I’m feeling sometimes. I know that our son was being kind of a dick and I was flying off the handle at the most foolish things. And yet I was also trying so hard not to yell or upset my husband at all. But I could not be calm. I think I had kept my cool throughout this entire event (thanks to the support of my friends) but now that he was home, I could truly lose it…for a little bit.

But I felt so incredibly stressed and overwhelmed that night. What was he going to eat? What could I cook for meals? I put together a few snacks and salads for all of us, then realized he can’t eat leafy greens or broccoli because of his blood thinner. He can only have 8 cups of liquid a day, so let’s make a little chart for that. He’s diabetic so needs to eat as few carbs as possible.

Oh. My. God.

I spent the rest of that night cooking meals ahead for mostly my son and I and making snacks for my husband. I tried not to hover, but any kind of noise he made I asked him what was wrong. I didn’t sleep well that night because I was afraid he wouldn’t wake up again.

I needed to work all day on Monday, so after running my husband to the lab to have bloodwork done, I went to work but called home 4 times just to check on him. He is sad and scared and frustrated, too. Facing your own mortality must be some scary shit to deal with. He wasn’t awake or very aware of that fact last year, but this event is completely different. He felt himself dying this time.

Yet when I took Wal to our doctor on Tuesday, one week since his heart attack, I found myself getting angry again. He doesn’t think he needs to have a biPAP machine (he was not able to get one before he left the hospital). Since he’s slept well for a few nights, he thinks it’s ok. I did tell him that, in fact, he stopped breathing the night before, which why I had been awake since 4am. This has been a near daily occurrence for the past umpteen years, but since he nearly died the week before, I’m hyper aware of every little sound or movement his body makes…or doesn’t make. Once our doctor insisted that he seriously think about getting a biPAP did Wal concede that it might be a good idea.

*insert silent scream here*

Each day this week and part of next, I’ll take Wal to various appointments, work when I can, and will take our boy to have his wisdom teeth out. Most of our meals will be made by various friends, restaurants and an online premade meal service. It’s one thing we’re hoping to stop stressing about, at least for a few weeks. We’re all trying to find little things that bring us joy or peace. Our son had a friend over and they played video games and talked to other friends and just enjoyed themselves. My husband has been watching YouTube videos about camping…he has no desire to camp anymore but loves watching others do it, and playing Space Engineers where he gets to build his own space stations. That brings him a sense of accomplishment and happiness. I have been taking walks when I can while listening to fun podcasts and started running again after taking a few weeks off. Typically reading calms me and lets me escape, but I haven’t been able to concentrate on much. Today was the first day I’ve been able to get at least a few pages in and actually enjoyed it.

As we go about our day, none of us seem to be at the point where we forget Wally nearly died. Our groceries look different, the calendar is covered with appointments, and our phone rings more often with check ins and reminders of said appointments. And even the mail. Today’s mail was a lovely mixture of kindness–an encouraging card for both Wally and I from a dear friend–then a letter from the hospital with a different type of encouragement–to make an Advance Directive. That little piece of mail was such a kick in the ass. First because…holy shit. If anything can remind you of your mortality it’s someone telling you to get your shit together before you have another heart attack. And second, because the man already has one and they should have had it on file!! (I had to bring it to the hospital last year when he was in a coma.)

Thanks to all for your incredibly kind and uplifting words and thoughtful gifts. We have a long road ahead of us– physically, mentally and emotionally. I will need to work harder on trying to support my husband and to understand what he must be feeling. I am also aware that I need to take care of myself. I haven’t been great at it before, but I think I’m getting better. I am finding little moments that I take as mini vacations for my mind. Like these photos:

As I waited for my husband at an eye appointment today (yup, he can’t see well out of one of them due to diabetes), I found this little garden hidden behind the office. Pretty sure it was meant for the staff, but no one was there so I took the opportunity to sit in the sun, read a bit, take a few photos and just breathe.

That’s the key, right? Find those moments you like and suck every bit of life and love and joy from them.

So go hug, kiss, touch someone you care about, then find a few of those mini vacations for your mind.

We have to keep living one day (or moment) at a time. We just have to.