The Day I Found Out That My Husband Was Sick

This post, and the ones that follow, will not be easy to write, or to read I expect. But as more than one poster and email has reminded me, I don't write about widowhood itself, or care giving, or any of that stuff, as often as I want to or should. I began this blog in serious over two years after my husband's death. And while I've made a few posts about that time, the grief, and all the not so good stuff that has happened afterwards, much of what I write tries to accent the good side of being single in retirement and living on a fixed income. And that is all true, but it's only part of the truth. So here we go, for the next few Wednesdays at least. Do be aware that I am writing this from a ten year perspective and that mine will not be the same as yours if you are freshly widowed and a caregiver. 

Also be aware that my perspective and those of other widows and widowers are all different. When you lose, or know you will lose a spouse, it can happen many ways. Your husband or wife may have an accident, or a stroke or a heart attack, with death being fairly immediate. Your spouse may have a long, lingering illness. Your husband or wife may have a fairly short illness-or something in between all of the above. Some times there is pain, sometimes not. Sometimes we have early notifications, and sometimes we have a respite, of some sort, even though we have prepared ourselves for the end result. My later mother fought cancer for over three years, during which time there was about an eight month period of normalcy. So sometimes, things may be better-at least temporarily. How death and illness affects us (the wife/husband/partner/spouse), will sometimes depend on the illness, how long our husbands were ill or other differences. Having said that, many things in widowhood and care giving are similar. So my experiences are and are not those of other people, or of you. I encourage other widows/widowers and caregivers to "jump in" here.

ETA: As the comments show, this hits a couple readers very hard. And since I have both widowed and caregiver  readers, I apologize. But as I started to write this I realized that beginning with "my husband died of cancer in 2006, and then I was alone", was not the solution for this topic. Many of my readers will have partners will illnesses, deadly or not. Many of them will be caregivers. And those people deceive to here everything-including the nights that I said "why me" and "what will I do" along with taking care of his comfort and pain. So I will try to title this so that people understand what they are reading as I go along, while still being as honest as I can about the good, the bad and the ugly, from beginning to end.

And finally, although I know this first introduction is long, it needs to be said. At least one in five boomers have Hepatitis C-and probably don't know it. It's a silent killer. When my husband was diagnosed in 1989, there was no cure, and no one was testing for it. The fact that he lived sixteen years when there was no treatment, and lived an active and normal life is not necessarily usual. There is a treatment now-IF you are tested and know that you have the disease. Please don't assume this is disease that only affects certain people. If you ever received blood, if you ever even tried a single recreational drug once, if you ever at sixteen had unprotected sex, if you shared a toothbrush once up on a time, or even if you had what you think is a fully protected life, you should get tested. More people die from Hep C than from HIV on an annual basis. At the minimum have a serious conversation with your doctor that doesn't end up with "You don't need to worry about that". You do. Now, the next time you have a physical. Because this could be your story otherwise:

I remember the day it happened. To say that I was unprepared was, well, not a surprise. Although possibly I should not have been. After a fully active summer and a long (30 day) vacation, my husband was back at work, son was back in school, and life had returned to normal. My husband had been having some low grade diarrhea for a few days and happened to take his temperature-which was also slightly elevated. After making an appointment to see the doctor later in the day (he was very careful about not going to work ill), he headed off for the day-and all was well.  

Until the phone call I got late in the afternoon. My husband was in the hospital. The doctor wanted some tests, and I needed to get some things to him. His liver levels had been a bit high.  Something that is a thing you watch when you have a chronic condition, silent or not.  It wasn't until I got to the hospital that I realized his liver levels had not just been "high".  They were off the charts. Blood work, an MRI and an abdominal sonogram were on the schedule. Immediately. 

There really was no warning. It had been a full summer, and one of the hottest in Germany and Europe. We had had the world cup for a month, with an influx of players and fans from everywhere, parties in the streets and gigantic TVs in every park. We were out and about celebrating and doing our normal things when my husband was not at work. Admittedly work was a bit crazy, even for him and he was happy to chill out many a night between the heat (no air conditioning in government offices, just really good fans), work and life in general. 

After a brief respite from those activities, my sister had come from Denver and we had been road tripping for over a month-through most of Eastern Europe. Still in the intense heat. This was mid July and the temperatures were above 30 degrees Centigrade. Great for sitting on the beach, but we were climbing to castles, walking on cobblestones and exploring old cities in Germany, Poland, Prague. Yes, we all imbibed a great deal at each meal, and took refreshment breaks every hour or so. Yes, my husband was fairly exhausted at night, and our intimate life was zilch during that time. But my husband was recovering from a high stress job period at the time, the heat was almost one hundred degrees, and we had a 16 year old and my sister either in the next room or somewhere in our suite. And there was the beer. And wine. So we both wrote it off. Even with a chronic (albeit mainly silent) condition, we saw nothing amiss. In away,  suppose, this is a blessing. My sister, son and I often share pictures of and talk about that summer.

German hospitals are different than American in that you provide your own stuff with the exception of those times when only a hospital gown would do. So,  gathered  loose fitting sleep pants and shirts and slippers and and grooming supplies and whatever else I could think of including a book, and headed down to the hospital with all my goodies. The busywork was good for me, and I needed to think about how to tell my teenage son where I was and why-it wasn't like he wouldn't notice his stay at mom wasn't home, or that his dad never picked him up after practice. I also grabbed a chocolate milkshake (a whole other story). I stayed with my husband until his dinner came and the doctor came by-to tell us what tests would be literally that night and then in the morning. We were in a medical system that might make you wait for optional care, but when it came to serious health issues, we were going to know within a short period of time, pretty much exactly what was wrong. Not after the weekend, not when we could be fit in but right now-or at least the next day. There was no waiting period.  Like it or not. God bless the German health care system.

And so I went home to my teenager. Who was worried, but not excessively so. Yet. His father had a chronic condition, had to take extra good care of himself on occasion. Once in awhile he would go to the hospital to be part of a clinical trial, or need to get some meds or a diet to lower his liver levels. It didn't happen often, but it had happened. So mom and son had a fairly normal night, son left for school. Mom took the dogs out and did the things moms do in the morning. And then headed to the hospital.

After grabbing another milkshake and things I knew my six foot tall thirty inched waist husband would probably like, I arrived in his room. Where he was just returning from a full morning of tests, one after the other. After visiting, and talking about my son, and about me going to his office to get his laptop and other things for about an hour or so, the doctor arrived.

My husband had liver cancer. His cancer was so advanced that that it had involved the blood vessels around his liver, both large and small. He would need immediate, intensive treatment before he could tell us more. But we were beyond a transplant, because the cancer was now in other parts of his body.

Whatever either of us (or any of the three of us) was thinking about, this was most certainly not it. Not what we expected, not what we thought, and not what we had planned for. Ever.

......I'll be continuing this next week, because I need a break in between. And you probably do as well.