It started the same as any other day, Carol was up in the morning and then had a nap after lunch. Dr Anderson came round as she hadn’t seen Carol for a while so I filled her in on everything that had been going on, just confirmation of what she’d read in Carol’s notes plus my own input. There are 2 key things that stick with me from this conversation.
Dr Anderson talked to Carol about how hard she’d fought and how it was ok to stop – at the time it just sounded like a sensible discussion to have but looking back it was almost like Carol being given permission to let go. When I spoke to Dr Anderson the following day she said it was strange just how often it happens like that – a doctor says it’s ok to stop fighting and many people decide to do just that.
The other key point was Carol agreeing to a diamorphine injection. Dr Anderson explained that the dose was very small and there would be no impact on Carol’s breathing. What we needed to do now was keep Carol as comfortable as possible for as long as possible – days / weeks / maybe even a month.
Carol was calm and appeared very accepting of what was going on – it’s difficult now looking back but I’d like to think that Carol had already made up her mind that it was time.
I spoke to Dr Anderson before she left and we discussed how I was coping – “just getting on with it” was my usual reply, that brave face being put on again. I asked about the urine problem and Dr Anderson said it was possible that as Carol’s body was weakening her kidney function was being affected. We would keep an eye on it over the next few days.
Carol wanted to get up then and a short while later one of the nurses arrived to give the diamorphine injection. It made Carol sleepy, but that was nothing out of the ordinary so we just carried on as we would have done on any other day.
When it was time for the evening healthcare visit I said to Carol that I wanted her to go back to bed as she couldn’t keep her eyes open. This had been the regular evening visit routine for a few days now but this time Carol flatly refused, saying that she wanted to stay up in the chair in the lounge. Again looking back now I firmly believe that Carol had made her mind up, and she didn’t want to be in the bedroom on her own. But, despite this being my personal belief, on the actual day Carol didn’t say anything to me.
When Carol came back into the lounge I noticed she looked very pale, but when I asked if she was ok she said yes. The girls finished and left with the usual “see you tomorrow, hairwash in the morning” – you see there was nothing out of the ordinary about the day.
I’m really struggling to remember what happened in the last 2 hours. I’m trying to find something, just some sign that Carol was trying to give me that I missed, just something that would have told us it was time – but I can’t remember anything like that at all. I got the bedroom ready for bedtime, as I did every night, and we were just sat together watching TV as we did every night – me on the sofa right next to Carol in her chair. My mum and dad were also in the room with us. I kept checking Carol (as usual) and she was dozing in the chair (as usual) and then…..I just turned to her as I’d done a million times before…..and she was gone…..
Very quietly, very quickly, very peacefully – my beautiful, brave, amazing lady just fell asleep.
Despite all the bravado and the stiff upper lip crap I’d put out there for everyone to see over all those many months I just collapsed. Despite all the planning and preparation leading up to this precise moment I was just not ready to let Carol go.
My mum must have made the phone calls because the next thing I remember was one of the ambulance crew having to pull me away from Carol so they could do their checks. This acted as some kind of spell breaker because part of the sensible, organised me suddenly reappeared.
I had to go through Carol’s Advanced Directive with them (they’d not seen one like it before) explaining Carol’s wishes – even though they were clearly visible in their computer system. They informed us that the Police would be visiting, as they do for any death outside of hospital. That was initially a shock but it made sense that they needed to ensure all was in order. They all did their best in very difficult circumstances for our family and the way they handled Carol and our situation was appreciated.
Only Kyle was in the house at the time (and he was a great support for me right at that moment) - we had to get Jim, Samm and baby to come round and get Bec from Jasmine’s house. That’s when the enormity of the loss really starts to hit home – our children have lost their mum – that just shouldn’t be happening when their mum is so young.
The rest of the evening was a blur of tears, phone calls, despair, anger and such pain at the loss of the beautiful lady that held everything together and fought so bravely for so long.
The house felt empty – so empty – as if it sensed that such a massive presence was gone.
I hope that was how Carol wanted the end to be – with no fuss – in my mind I know it was, but all you do afterwards is question yourself. You just can’t help feeling guilty – that’s a stage of the grieving process that isn’t on the list…..
…..and suddenly that scary future is here.
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