Replies to '12/23 Real Life: Heart Shattered'

You have my complete, hearfelt sympathy.  My 21yo daughter had 2 surgeries within a couple weeks of each othr. She had complained of headache and nausea since the first.  I got her out of the hospital on Thursday, and she went into seizures on my LR floor Monday.  The ambulance got lost.  Every time I would touch her, she would go into another seizure.  By the time the ambulance arrived, her lips were purple from lack of O2.  In all, it took almost 30 min. to get her to the hospital.  They unplugged her 2 days later, although I begged for more time.  She had 2 children (10mos and 22mos) who had lived with me since birth.  My 2 other daughters blamed me for her death because I did not perform CPR.  I ended up loosing one daughter to death, two daughters to grief (we are estranged), both grandbabies, and my home, car, breeding dogs, etc. do to lawyer fees and no medication coverage. Everything was lost.  My health is too poor for me to develop new friends or support system.  My prognosis is 3-5 yrs.  Therefore, I sit daily and weep for ALL that was lost ---alone---waiting to die.  I do not know how to move forward even if my life expectancy was longer.  I agree with your sentiments.  A blogger above claimes she had nothing to do, but see her grandbabies.  I consider her blessed.  I would cut off my legs just to SEE my babies.  I WILL pray for you, but have no words to offer---just my empathy.  I have never believed in the adage, "Misery loves company."  Knowing someone else hurts does not make me feel better at all.  It just makes life seem more filled with pain and loss.  People encourage you to be positive.  How can you do this when ALL, ALL, ALL you had was lost and you do not have the health to be master of your own fate, or just someone to watch a TV show with even.  I don't know.  I admire your ability to deal with her illness for so many years.  Take care and God bless.

   This is one of the times when I have to reply, "You are not alone.  I understand because I have shared your pain."  It was a long time ago.  I was 32 years old, and I was having my first child.  Labor began at 1:30 am.  I started timing my contractions, and by 3:00 I awoke my husband, telling him it was time to go to the hospital.  Like all husbands, he took the time to argue with me.  Nevertheless, after Larry became fully awake, we got into the car and drove off into a warm spring night.

     The sky was filled with stars.  It was so beautiful.  And, it was going to be someone's birthday.

     At the hospital, my favorite nurse began fussing over me.  I'd been having bouts of "false labor" and everyone of them knew me.  She looked thunderstruck, then she began jabbing me with a stethoscope.   Then, there were three nurses jabbing me.  She told me she was calling my doctor.

    And then, I knew.  It was so awful.  I murmured, "Oh, no."  I had to promise not to fall completely apart until my doctor arrived.  I kept that promise.  At 3:20, they wheeled in the machine and my doctor sadly informed me that "When you can't find a heartbeat with three stethoscopes and a Doppler, it is because there isn't one." 

     I suppose there is no graceful way to tell a woman that her baby is dead.

     The world opened up, and I fell  into the chasm.  The earth mercilessly closed over the top of me, and I knew that from this living hell there was no end.  That is how heart break feels.  My baby had died, and I wanted to go with him.  Instead, I had to be wheeled into the delivery room.  I had to sign my baby's death certificate.  It was my first duty as a parent. 

    Six weeks later, my PAP smear results returned:  Suspicious, probably malignant.  I had to have two biopsies to see if I was going to have a hysterectomy that summer.  While awaiting the results, I tried killing myself.  I was shocked an appalled that Charley was dead, and I was developing cancer.   The worst part was that he was going to stay dead.  Forever is a long, long time.  I decided the world was just too awful to bother living in anymore.

    I developed a nasty depressive disorder.   It is a life sentence.  It doesn't  go competely away.  With treatment, I can trudge through life.  There has been more than enough unhappiness in my life, but that is all I wish to confide, now.  I take my medicine and trudge on.    

    I don't suppose that anyone can be prepared for life's most serious challenges.  Disappointments, perhaps.