The Sun Rises Another Day

Two days ago, I faced another crisis with my husband’s failing health.  There was a dramatic change in his physical condition.  He was unable to stand or walk without full support.  He was breathing erratically.  He would be so hot he was sweating and then chilled he would be shaking.  His blood pressure reading was 200/100 mmHg then it plummeted to 80/56 mmHg in one fell swoop.  He refused to eat or drink.  He was consigned mostly to fitful sleep.  He could speak but only in labored whispers.

The agency nurse at the Hospice only had grim news to share.  He is “transitioning” --- a kind and gentle way of saying, he is “dying.”  And so I called our families as we were told it would be a matter of a few days to two weeks.  We donned our somber faces and wiped away our tears, coughed back the lumps in our throats and soldiered on in silence.  The family talked about death and dying in complete surrender to its inevitability.  We were all ready to accept fate in its own terms.  For the first time last night, we slept feeling defeated, humbled, and less hopeful.

When I woke up this morning, I almost fell back in disbelief.  There was my husband at the breakfast table asking for food to eat.  He is clean shaven, freshly bathed with clean clothes on.  I asked him who helped him prep up for the day and he said with gruff irritation, “I have to do all these by myself since all of you are sleeping so soundly.”  I am profoundly and deeply inspired again and again by my husband who defies every doctor’s poor prognosis; every secretly hushed naysay and off kilter crystal ball prediction.   It isn’t a miracle.  In his life, he was told more than once that he had X amount of time to live.  Like a pugilist, he gets back on his feet and keeps fighting. 

Maybe tomorrow will be a different story.  But right now, it feels wonderful to see him rise with the sun ready to face the day!

Written June 20, 2017