When Paul Died

I've shared pieces of this story with many of you but not all of you had the whole story so here it is.

Paul and I were married in 2012. He was a very youthful 74-year-old. We went dancing, hiking, and traveling. It was a beautiful life. Two years after Paul and I got married, he started getting tired. He regularly gave blood and one day, after a donation, he got a letter from the blood bank that there was an antibody in his blood and he could not donate anymore.

His doctors ran many tests but could find nothing at the time. But Paul became weaker and weaker. When they would run blood tests, his platelets and red blood cells kept disappearing. They thought he was internally bleeding so then came the colonoscopies and other "probing" tests. It took two years to diagnose his disease. He had a rare autoimmune disorder, a form of hemolytic anemia called Evans Syndrome.

His immune system had turned on him and was destroying his blood. There was no cure and no effective treatment. Friends usually asked, why don't they just give him blood transfusions? The short answer - his immune system destroyed that too. Another question, what about iron tablets? The short answer again: He wasn't low on iron.

Paul bounced between a variety of medications to keep his blood as stable as possible. His condition could change overnight. One blood test, he was fine. Two weeks later, he would be hospitalized because he was almost out of blood.

Each visit to the hospital left his body weaker and weaker. Perpetual anemia has a devastating effect on the body.. He developed AFIB and kidney failure among other things. Paul never gave up or gave in. He still mowed the lawn, planted a garden, pulled the weeds and climbed on the roof to sweep the leaves off. [Frightened me to death but I couldn't stop him.]

Each go around, Paul came home weaker. In June of 2022, Paul became very weak and went to ER. He had developed pneumonia. Another side effect of his condition - since he didn't move around as much, he wasn't breathing as deeply as he should. He had had several bouts of pneumonia. Between ER, ICU and two nursing home stays, Paul finally came home on August 30th. Almost three months after he went in. Three times during that stay, doctors pulled me aside and prepared me for the possibility that he wouldn't make it through the end of the day. But he did. They didn't think he'd regain enough strength to walk again but he did - with a walker. He came home and worked with physical therapists to build his strength. Amazingly, he even started driving his car again. That was sheer grit though.

In April, 2023, I had cataract surgery on my left eye. Paul was able to drive me there. I returned on Monday May 8 for my second one. Paul also drove. The night before he started coughing. The day of my surgery, I was very tired. I thought it was because of Paul's coughing all night. I came home and went to bed. I awoke a few hours later with paramedics in the house. Paul couldn't breathe and had called 911. They took him to ER and a short time later, called me and said that he had Covid which meant I had it too.

I was laid out on the couch all week while Paul was in the hospital. We talked every day on the phone and every night before he went to sleep. They were going to send him home to finish recuperating but his heart was acting up, not related to Covid, so they started running tests. His cardiologist called me on Thursday night to let me know that they wanted to put a stent in one of his arteries in the morning. They also wanted to "flash" his heart valve to loosen it up. It needed to be replaced but he was too weak for that. Flashing it would loosen it up a little and hold him over until he was strong enough to replace the heart valve a few months into the future.

On Friday morning, I got a call. I thought it was his cardiologist, telling me that they were going forward with the stent. But it was a nurse. Paul had aspirated fluids into his lungs the night before. He coded twice and they were able to bring him back but he wasn't going to make it through the day. Everything in his body was shutting down; lungs, heart, kidneys, etc. In spite of my Covid, they said I could come and be with him in the ICU. Paul was not conscious, but they said that he could hear me. So I sat with him and held his hand, sang familiar hymns and prayed over him. I didn't pray for God to bring him back - that would have been selfish in his condition. I prayed that he would feel the peace of God and enter Heaven joyfully knowing that he was deeply loved. His oxygen levels dropped steadily throughout the day. About 4 PM on Friday May 8th, they turned off the machines that were breathing for him and I said goodbye for the last time.

He was a special man. I loved him very much.

In spite of all this, there was a humorous moment. I knew the end was coming and my mind went to "practical" things - What happens next? Do I meet with the doctor? Do I have to sign paperwork? With all that going on in my head, I said to the nurse on duty, "What happens after he dies?" The look on her face. She thought I was asking about spiritual matters. I realized what she was thinking before she could open her mouth [you really should have seen the look on her face.] And I clarified my question quickly. She looked so relieved. And the short answer – nothing. When it’s over, it’s over.

So that's the story.