Hey all, I'm still kind of reeling here. I lost my George this morning to CBD. He was in hospice and had gone into respite care last week to give all of us caregiving for him a much needed break. They called Tuesday morning and I answered thinking they wanted to make sure that I was at the house so transport could bring him home. Instead they said he had a mild fever and had been pocketing the food from his meals in his mouth. He wouldn't/couldn't swallow. They didn't feel it would be safe to keep trying to give him anything by mouth, as he was starting to choke and didn't have the strength to even cough properly. He'd been eating great up until that time--which I know to be true. His lungs were clear, he'd had a decent bowel movement and no change in his urinary habits. They felt they needed to keep him longer to see what was going on. Okay. I told them I'd be up to see him in a bit.
When I got there, he didn't look the same. His eyes were open, but not seeing. He didn't respond to me like I was even there. One of the nurses came in and asked me if he looked different to me. I told her yes. She said that's what she thought too and that the change had taken place a couple days prior. When talking to his best buddy, he said when he'd gone in to visit him on Sunday, he didn't acknowledge him at all, but that he was there when the aid was feeding him and he ate well.
I guess what I was concerned with initially was would this be something he was going to bounce back from and return home...or was it the beginning of the end? Well I got my answer. So I don't know if we were just blessed that he never developed swallowing issues until the very end...or if he just flat out refused to eat or drink because he could feel his time coming to a close and his body just needed to get on about the business of dying.
I've been keeping up with everyone's posts here and it seems like we've lost a lot of loved ones recently. Not going to lie, I was kind of blindsided that I also ended up in that group. I didn't think that we weren't doing that poorly yet. Just goes to show you--we're not in charge.
George was only 62. I remember asking the neurologist how fast these brain diseases progressed. He told us that how fast it starts out is how fast it was going to progress. We knew something wasn't quite right back in 2014-2015, but it was subtle and we couldn't quite put our finger on it. Probable diagnosis came mid 2017 after some crazy, crazy months.
My husband was devout in his Christian faith, but I decided that in lieu of a somber, sad church service that we were going to go rogue and have his celebration of life be in the form of a Bluegrass Music Pickin' with all of our musician friends and family. We will celebrate through song and fellowship. George didn't like to think too far ahead with his illness--took it a day at a time--so we'd never discussed what he would like me to do when he passed. So as he was laying there in his hospital bed last night, I did what I've always done in true wife fashion.I told him what "we" were going to do and I whispered in his ear "guess what I decided to do for your memorial service?" I think he will be pleased.