Angie, you can read part of Mike and I's story way back in "The Other Side of No Treatment" thread. Now nearly three years after his death, I will have a different perspective but I will share what I can about
this journey.
Mike knew he had Hep C when we met. It hadn't affected him in any way. We met working construction for a temporary agency. Mike was the hottest man I ever met in my life. I can still see him in my mind's eye, just the same as that day. We worked roofing together at first in the winter. In the summer, we worked concrete that first summer. When we began to date, I felt like I was dating James Dean. He took my breath away. His memory still does.
It was a couple years into our relationship until the HepC affected him. Our bathroom looked like a war zone. Mike had a TIPs done and that lasted for quite a while. He was unable to work construction anymore. In the end, I worked a night shift job and took care of him days.
Mike struggled with sobriety. He would be sober for years but a death in the family brought on binge drinking and that is what was his downfall and in the end undid the TIPs. He died sober.
He fought through the issues of sobriety and was considered a candidate for transplant. It was not to be cancer got him first. We left the Mayo Clinic with the words "no treatment" hanging over our heads. The Mayo Clinic gave him six months. We had four and a half months.
My daughter and Mike were very close. He was like a father to her. She has not gotten over his death.
Mike was on blood pressure pills and that was what made his blood pressure crash. He went into multiple organ failure and died. I came home to take him over to remove fluids once more. He could not get off the bed. I called the ambulance. 24 hours later he was dead. I watched his last breaths and within 30 minutes the social worker was asking me where I wanted the body taken. I asked her "Whose body?". It had not sunk in yet.
Mike was able to get around and take care of most of his needs up to the day before he died. I took care of many things but he was ambulatory. He wanted to die at home. He was ready to go. We had time to say our good-byes. He made all his final requests known. I told him over and over that I didn't know what I would do without him. He said "You will go on". I am but I am a different person. I have not yet let go of him and nor do I ever think that I will. He resides very close in my heart. I see him and feel him every step of my days and nights. He is in the music I hear. I hear his words and his encouragement. He continues to bless my life. He died the way he wanted to and that is a quick death. He was not dependent on me for total care. I was ready to do that. He was at peace with his life and with his death.
Today, I struggle with his death and I celebrate his life and our walk. My daughter is traumatized by his death yet. We are still working through it. It has not been an easy walk and there are times that I can not get through the day. I am not incapacitated and I have gone on. I walk alone with my partner in my heart. The name Sandia means watermelon in Spanish and was his special name for me. I have no clue why. It holds me close to him. The path has become endurable and less painful. This forum helps.
Sandia... prayers for your journey...
Post Edited (arneeb) : 2/18/2013 9:21:09 PM (GMT-7)