WARNING: If you were close to my husband or have had someone close to you die, you may not want to read this.
Thursday, April 10, 2003...the single worst day of my life. All day Wednesday Michael had been sick with flu-like symptoms...throwing up and general misery, but nothing extraordinary. I was a good wife. Kept fluids going into him, encouraged, cleaned up. I'll be honest, there was a bit of resentment. You see, I was 8 months pregnant with our second child and had a toddler, so taking care of a sick husband was not exactly fun. I took consolation in the thought that he would have plenty to do taking care of me when the baby was born. On Wednesday, Michael's sister called, but I told her he was sick and couldn't talk...regret. Wednesday night I had to run to the drug store to get something for Michael and picked up a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Brownie. I sat on the couch and ate the whole pint while the rest of the house slept. I thought Michael was recovering. He had eaten sugar free Jello and some broth and was keeping them down. He was sleeping and I figured he would sleep it off and be all better the next day. I slept on the couch.
When I woke up around 5, I went in to check on Michael. He was still asleep. I noticed that his insulin pump (he had Type 1 diabetes, diagnosed while we were engaged) had come out. Uh-oh. I shook him to wake him up to take his blood sugar and reinsert the pump catheter, but he wouldn't wake up. Try harder. Shake him more. He kind of wakes up, even sits up, but is not coherent. Threaten him with the ER if he doesn't test his blood sugar and take a shot. He can't do it. Try not to panic. Call my dad. Dad comes to stay with LOTL (2 1/2 years old and still sleeping.) Tell Michael he has to walk to the car. Dad and I are on either side of him helping him walk. When we get to the car he totally collaspes. A passerby helps us get him in. The whole way to the hospital I am praying and keep looking over at my husband. He is unconscious, but breathing. It is going to be okay. We are almost there. I get him into the Southcrest ER. I don't know it at the time, but as soon as they wheel him away from me, he codes. That was the end. The doctor worked on him for an hour, but he was already gone.
As I write this, my hands are sweating and shaking, my heart is racing. I can hardly believe that over 6 years later I still feel the nerves of the day. My eyes are dry, however. I know how it turns out.