There are no longer just ordinary days.

Last night was terrible. It was the second night in a row the Major woke up in a confused and panicked state. He is not himself when this happens, these episodes are caused by the brain lesions. Last night was the worst. He has no idea where he is or why there are things stuck in him. As an EMT my instinct is to not let the patient harm themselves. Yes, he is my husband, but he is also very ill and the same rules apply. I would never want to see him hurt. So as he tries to rip at his IV and his catheter, I take his hands, very calmly and lovingly and try to calm him. At this point the confusion builds and causes rage. I push the button for help and our wonderful nursing team came running. By that time the Major had a death grip on my wrist (which is very tiny) and it took two people to pry his fingers off as I cried out in pain. I know he would NEVER, EVER hurt me, or anyone else, unless defending myself or my daughter, or fighting for our country and was given an order. I was angry at the cancer. I was angry at life for doing this to such a smart and wonderful man. For stealing our life.  

Tonight I'm lying here on my semi comfortable sofa bed that is pulled up beside the hospital bed, thinking. I have no idea how to even process this day. Living in a hospital is just plain weird. I have never felt out of place or not at home or anything...I grew up going to the hospital where my mom worked as a respiratory therapist and loved going around exploring. I guess that's why my brother and I both became EMT's...it was just comfortable and natural to us. However, to say I have errands to run, and having them all be within the hospital is weird. Right? I have a post office downstairs, a mall across the parking lot, all of my doctors in the same hospital, and the Major's unit spread out over the campus. I love the convenience, I'm not complaining. I just thought as I showered in the Major's bathroom and did my make up between doctors and nurses coming in, how normal it has become.

So I make my way around to the different places I need to make appointments with and only have luck with one. As soon as the first thing didn't work out, I could feel my resolve weakening. Some days I can get up with determination and not let any road block stop me or get me down. Today was a day that everything that didn't work out just added to my sadness. From not being able to get an appointment for the Tink's pre-K physical to the post office being closed for lunch when I finally got there. I should have skipped going to the starbucks at the Warrior Cafe, but the only calories I had all morning/afternoon were in that frappuccino and I probably would have collapsed without it. 

There is also no partner to help with the things I need to get done. The Major is unable to communicate clearly with his words and has trouble comprehending. Some days are decent in the morning, but he has been getting worse every day. I have been alone to pay the bills and take care of things during deployments and such, but it's odd seeing him and not being able to ask him if I am doing everything right. I am trying to hide the fear that is so constant. I am trying to make him proud and let him know I can do it, that I will do it. 

Today we were visited by two of the therapy dogs. One is a german shepherd who has the most awesome mom. The other is a lab mix who specializes in recognizing depression. He takes his leash from his handler when he senses something. As he trotted toward me in the hallway today, I was finishing up a phone conversation with my psychiatrist's office...no I am not ashamed to say that through all of this I need a psychiatrist and psychologist as well as medication. After wonderful puppy kisses, he turned to his handler and took his leash. He dropped it before he turned back to me, but the handler saw that he sensed something. Such a smart and wonderful creature...the dog. It made me miss the lump of chocolate we call Mason, who is staying with my mom right now. 

This evening the Major's awesome oncologist came to visit. He is so amazing with the Major and even Little Tink. She loves him because he is so silly with her. After some general catching up the Major wanted to have the hard conversation with him. We cleared out of the room so he could be alone with his doctor. After a few minutes I was called back in. I knew exactly what my husband was wanting to know. As any physician will tell you, they have no crystal ball. There is no exact science to predicting time. He respects the Major enough to give him his estimate though and when he said 7-14 days I wasn't surprised. Don't misunderstand, I still felt the devastation and shock. Even as honest as we have been with ourselves about knowing we were just fighting for more time, I still believed deep down there could be a cure. That if anyone could keep fighting and get up and walk out of here again, it would be my Major. I held it together because it was his moment to be angry, sad, scared, lost, and every other emotion he must have been feeling. I also have a little girl who was waiting outside the door and until all of the right people come together to talk to her, we will keep the estimate of days out of her earshot. She is here every day, happy to see her daddy. Spending time with him. Not afraid to get up and kiss him, hug him, tell him to stop picking at his nasal cannula...he's just Daddy to her. Not a sick person, not weak or different. 

After the room is quiet for the night and I'm lying here as the Major drifts in and out of sleep, I get frustrated because he tries to tell me things, but the words don't make sense. For the past 3 weeks I have just wanted to have a conversation with him. I am seeing the same eyes, the same smile, hearing the same voice, but part of my husband is gone. I want to punch through walls and rip things to shreds. I want to scream and yell and throw anything that isn't nailed down. It was an overnight change that I wasn't ready for, and finding out it won't resolve just about kills me. Seeing him struggle with his iPhone or seeing things that aren't there, feeling like we are speaking two differently languages but desperately want to talk to each other, is unbearable. 

There is nothing else I can do right now except be here. I am grateful for the opportunity. Some people don't get to hold the hand of a loved one in their last days, in their last moments. There is no way to escape this pain. I have to live it, experience it. Some day I will learn how to live with it. I just know that this is a hole in my heart that will never be filled.