Only two years ago, we went to this park on the other side of town, had a picnic,
walked around the lake, watched birds, so different from those in the canyon. We were happy.
In my last post, I shared relatively happy news. My husband, my love, was doing better. Then he took a turn for the worse. And last night I gave consent to yet another surgery, to repair another or the same leak in his abdomen.
I talked to his attending physcian, the surgeon, whom I trust. He said my husband has a strong will to live, and he had been a strong man, physically. Although he no longer is, he can can get through this, said the surgeon.
I gave my consent to the surgery. I can't hold his life in my hands. I don't like to have to make these decisions. The operating room nurse called at 2:37 this morning, said they were wrapping up the surgery. Couldn't/wouldn't tell me how it went.
When I called this morning, the nurse said he's very critically ill. She told me of a few procedures they had to do. Left me feeling that even if he recovers, he will never really recover, will never be the man he was happy and content with being.
I don't know what this will mean. Will he still want to be alive? Will he be depressed? Will he have the mental fortitude to work through all the obstacles ahead? Will I?
Or should I prepare myself for the end of our lives together, for the end of his life? Practically, yes, that I can do, but emotionally?
Tom was going there this morning to see about my husband. He will let me know more. I will call the surgeon later.
I wanted to let you know.
