Tuesday

As soon as I woke up, I called Joe's cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. Each time I called it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't until I eventually made it to ICU, that I realized cell phones weren't allowed in the unit. I was no longer able to talk to Joe. Or more accurately, Joe was no longer able to talk to me.

My sister drove up from NYC first thing in the morning. My mother had flown to Europe for work the same weekend that Joe was hospitalized. We began trying to contact her through her work to tell her to come home.

I called the hospital and asked for permission to come visit. The Dr. told me that it still wasn't safe, but hopefully by the afternoon I could come in.

I got a phone call around noon. My sister and I had just sat down for lunch. It was the Dr. She told me that Joe was having a lot of difficulty breathing, due to the chicken pox in his throat. They decided that the best option for him was to put him in a medicated coma, so that he could be comfortable. Then, in a few days, when things were better, they would take him out of it.

I asked questions about the procedure, and kept making her reassure me that he would come out of it. She said she couldn't 100% guarantee it, but he was just too uncomfortable the way he was. There was really no alternative.

She then told me that she was going to put Joe on the phone with me, so I could speak to him prior to the procedure.

Regret number three is not jumping into the car, and driving to that hospital before they began the procedure, but I just wasn't thinking clearly, and there's no way they would have let me into ICU without clearance.

They put Joe on the phone with me for what would ultimately be our last conversation.

"Hello?" he said weakly.
"Hi babe," I responded, trying hard not to cry.
"Did they tell you what they're gonna do?" he asked me.
"Yes. How do you feel about it?"
"I'm scared," he said, choking up.
"Don't be scared. The Dr. told me this is just to make you more comfortable. You'll be awake on Friday, and this will all be over."
"I've got to go," he said.
"I love you!" I yelled.
"I love you," he whispered.

Finally, in the late afternoon, I was given permission to visit Joe. Nothing could have prepared me properly for the world of ICU. I'm not sure if any of you have ever been in ICU. First you have to ring a bell to get in. Then when you get inside to the unit, there are curtained off areas with beds in them.

But there are also mini rooms in the ICU, for those that are contagious. You need to go through one set of glass doors to a scrub room. There you need to put on a mask, gloves and gown. Then you're allowed to go through the second glass door to the patient.

That is the room Joe was in. But he was no longer Joe.

He was connected to numerous IV's, and was blown up like a balloon. The nurse, greeted me by saying, "We were wondering when you would get here." I felt like screaming at her, but instead focused my attention on my husband, who was a shell of the man I left on Saturday night.

Unless you saw Joe, I cannot accurately describe what he looked like. The best way to describe it, is that he was filled with about 20 pounds of fluid. He had gone from 160 pounds to 180 pounds in 72 hours, and at least 10 of them were in his face.

The nurse told me that although he couldn't respond, he could hear me. I spoke awkwardly to him for about an hour, and then we were told that we needed to go. I told Joe that I would be back in the morning, squeezed his hand through my gloved hand, kissed his cheek through my mask, and walked out of the room.

-b