In May of 2010 on a beautiful Sunday morning, Bill and I were playing in the gardens. Spring had started to spread its wonderful medicine through my husband's body and mind as it always did. The SADS season was over and he was planning for the summer and the additional work we wanted to finish in the gardens. We were going to finish the last little bit of wrapping the long garden all the way around the house and ending it in a bed of hostas at the back.
He started to stretch his back and I noticed that his colour was not turning pink in the sunlight but rather a little more ashen. I asked what's up? He said that he was starting to feel that pain again, the same pain he once had when a kidney stone had made him ill. I suggested that we not wait and go straight to the hospital. He didn't like that idea and suggested that I get some cranberry juice like the last time. I raced to the grocery store and got the juice and raced back. By the time I got home, he had turned a whiter shade of pale and was now looking like he was going to throw up. He could not sit still and when I put the glass of cranberry juice in his hand, he took one sip and threw up. I suggested again, that we would want to get to the hospital and he refused again. He tried taking a few more gulps of the juice and threw up again. I knew in my heart that this would not go away with juice this time and felt helpless not being able to convince him to get to the hospital. An hour later, after pacing, throwing up and feeling the pain more intensely, he finally said, "Maybe we should go." I had waited him out.
It did not take long in the ER to be triaged and brought to the back. It did not take long for the doctor to show up with an ultrasound machine checking on his back and on his belly. Now I was the one getting worried for the doctor explained the symptoms were also symptoms of a ruptured aneurism. Being a little more familiar with medical terms, I knew this would not be good if it were. I put on my poker face because I could see that the meaning of this had not phased on Bill. I chastised myself for not having "insisted" on getting to the hospital sooner. When the doctor was done with the ultrasound, he said that he did not see anything and that it was probably a kidney stone. Relief ~ I started to forgive myself a little. The doctor had the nurse give Bill some wonderful loopy drugs and off Bill went to have his kidneys scanned. When he got back, he was a happy guy on drugs! I smiled at his silly drugged up grin. I sat by his side and he grabbed my hand. He said, "I am so not good at being sick!" I agreed and a sinking feeling hit the pit of my stomach, knowing that cancer had taken his dad ... what if? I helped him up to the bathroom, wrapping my arms around his waist to hold him steady ... and as I watched his beautiful long hand on the wall, I thought, what if? We walked back to the bed and he whispered, "This is good sh ... but I can still see your worry. I'm okay." But I kept thinking ... what if?" The nurse came in and asked about his pain and came back with another injection. She mentioned that it would be a little bit before the results of the scan were in. Bill was dozing off, so I mentioned I would go back home to tell the boys he was okay and would be right back. I got into the car and let the tears flow ... not over this but over the ... what if.
Two months later, after a game, again I could not convince him to go to the hospital and I am left with the ... what if.
It took a lot of courage for you to write this, Ginette. You'll get no platitudes from me about the way you feel. We all have things we so deeply regret. Sins of commission. . .and sins of omission.
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