Saturday

I got up with Jacob at about 6am, as was my usual weekend routine. I fed and played with him for about an hour, and then we both went back to bed.

I awoke an hour later to the sound of Joe throwing up in the bathroom. While this make me anxious, it wasn't unheard of in our house. Joe has an intestinal disease that acted up from time to time. We both assumed that his feeling sick was due to this disease.

In fact when Jacob woke up about an hour later, I told Joe that it was his turn to get up. He got Jacob up, went down and made coffee, and was soon back in our bed complaining that his stomach hurt, and that the bump in his ear was driving him crazy.

I took Jacob for a walk with my neighbor, and actually complained about the fact that Joe was complaining. I attributed it to him being a guy, that he was acting like he was in such pain. (no offense guys, but you're not the best at dealing with being sick.)

I then took Jacob to his music class, and brought him home for a nap. I was supposed to meet my friend for lunch, and I asked Joe if I should cancel or go. He told me to go, but asked that I try to be back before Jacob woke up from his nap. The restaurant was 30 minutes away, but I thought that due to music class, Jacob would sleep for 2 hours. So I went.

As we finished our meal I heard my cell phone ring. (I discovered later that it had rung numerous times during our meal, but it was too noisy to hear the ring.) Upon hearing Joe's voice I knew something was really wrong. He could barely speak, but asked me if I was almost home. I told him I was on my way, and got in my car.

I called my neighbor and asked if she could go get Jacob from my house. She agreed, and so I called home to tell Joe my plan. He heard me and hung up without saying a word. My neighbor later told me that she found him lying on the ground. He could barely lift his head up.

I told Joe that we were going to the ER. He went to take a shower. I'll never forget the horrors of that shower. He brought Jacob's plastic stepstool into the tub, so he could sit, but even so he was sobbing while the water splashed him. (Joe wasn't one to cry at all.)

I helped him get dressed and we got in the car. Joe brought a pillow with him, and was squeezing it in pain the entire ride, while crying. At one point I asked him if I should pull over and call an ambulance, but he told me to keep driving.

I dropped him at the door to the ER and went to park the car. By the time I got inside the ER, he was already on a stretcher with a morphine drip in his arm.

It was a busy day in the ER, and Joe was never given a curtained off area. Instead his stretcher lay next to the nurse's station in the middle of the room. The noisiest spot he could possibly be. At times the morphine drip would work enough to allow Joe to speak calmly, but most of the time he was in so much pain he was either screaming or crying. The nurses told me repeatedly to quiet him down, and that he needed to be patient. I think of those nurses often, and wonder if they ever found out that the patient they considered impatient was actually dying in front of their eyes.

Throughout the day we spoke to numerous doctors, and retold the same story to each of them. A rash had begun spreading all over his body, and I asked at least 3 of these doctors if the rash could be chicken pox. All of them quickly said no.

Joe had a cat scan, which showed that his intestines were totally clear, but that his liver looked inflamed. This puzzled all of us, because we assumed that his pain was due to his intestinal disease.

It was at this time (about 7pm) that Joe began feeling like he had to pee constantly. I would take him into the bathroom, helping him stand, and pushing his IV. But each time he was unable to pee at all, and instead would have horrible pain. I thought that maybe he had kidney stones, but the doctors couldn't see any evidence of them. They decided to give Joe a catheter, so he would be out of that pain at least.

I sat by Joe's side until midnight, at which point he insisted I go home. "You've got our baby in you to care for. You need your sleep," he said.

I kissed him, told him I loved him, and left, still unsure of what was wrong with him.

That was the last time I got to see him conscious.

-b