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The Hardest

 


During the almost 27 years of marriage, and almost 30 of getting to know each other, Christina and I talked about death very few times.  Most of the time it was I who brought the subject up.  Christina never liked these conversations to which she would tell me that I was strange and if she did not know that I was Hispanic, perhaps would have stepped away from me.  That is how much she did not like the subject, but since I brought it up her answer was always to fight for life as hard as we could; that was the plan, never to unplug, never to give up, and if the inevitable was about to happen then home would be the place to end the journey and stat the next.  

Earlier in the year, Christina had a meeting with her family doctor. Her extended family and I were present at that meeting. When her doctor asked her what she wanted to do near the end, she refused to speak or give an answer. At that moment we looked at each other and I gave her my approval by nodding and looking her in her eyes. I knew what to do: we do not talk about death; we fight for life.

My advice to anyone in the same situation is to follow your heart and never doubt.  However, in our case; the promise stood. Promises are meant to be kept, especially the ones Christina and I made to each other.  For this reason alone; the promise I made, as hard and difficult as it might be, was sacred.

The palliative team assigned to Christina while at home during her final days was extremely professional and very supportive of our plight and her wishes.  The most difficult for me was not my dedication to the care of my dying wife but pushing back on well-wishers insisting on taking Christina into a hospice.  To them, I always said "no" but this was not always easy because the pressure on me to take her into the hospice was extreme.   In my negative, I used to tell them that the only way I could remove my promise was if I was not providing her with the care she required.  

In situations when a person is facing the end of life at home palliative nurses assist the family during the care.  We were receiving this help.  Because I was concerned that Christina could not be receiving the proper care by me, as I am not a trained nurse, I requested that palliative doctors would inspect my post regularly to assess the care she was receiving.  These inspections went through the schedule of medications, her vitals, the condition of her body...  Christina died without a single bed sore.  Because I was handling strong narcotics I would even keep records of used syringes to account for every single milligram.  Sometimes two doctors would attend these inspections and their answer was always supportive of me in defending Christina's wishes.

I would have given my own life to save hers, but it does not work like that.  The hardest thing I have ever done was to fight for my wife's life and I do not regret it one little bit and would do it again.

I would like to believe that at the end of my journey I will reunite with my wife.  At that time, we will have a "post mortem" and she herself will tell me if I met her expectations.

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