Our Last Conversation

The nurse came in and we shared the news that Brian and I decided to no longer fight. She asked if he wanted to have a CT scan to see if the chemo was working. It had been day nine since his first chemo treatment and he had been declining daily since before chemo. Brian knew he wouldn't live more than four months even with chemo and we knew even if a CT scan showed it was working, he still had seven weeks before receiving any type of prognosis. We knew it was expected that he would remain in the hospital until then. Brian knew his body better than anyone and even if the CT scan showed progress, his body was already shutting down. It was something the NP of Oncology and I had talked about previously. Brian told the nurse that he was tired of the false hope and didn't want to be let down again and I agreed with him. He had suffered so much. Can you imagine feeling like your lungs are filling with cement? That is how Brian described it. It was such a struggle to breath every single breath. He shared with me how we take breathing for granted because we do it automatically without thinking, until you have to. When you are gasping and fighting for each breath, you realize how hard your body truly works automatically to keep you alive. 

After talking with the nurse, we talked with palliative care, hospice care, and the doctors. We determined that Brian would not come home but would be admitted to Hospice within the hospital. He would be moved to his room as soon as they had a bed ready for him. I asked the Hospice Nurse how long they expected it would take for Brian to pass, and she stated, "in his condition, about four days." Brian and I just looked at each other with peaceful thoughts and loving eyes. I remember adjusting his pillows for him and they were drenched. He would sweat a lot but this time his pillows felt like someone held a hose on them for a while, they were soaked. I mentioned this to him and the Hospice Nurse told us it was because his body is fighting so hard to breath. I was shocked at her statement. I didn't truly realize or fully understand how difficult it really was for him. The lady we met three weeks prior who got us signed up on Medicaid asked if there was anything we needed. Brian and I both said tissues that don't feel like sandpaper, and her and her colleague left to get us some good tissue. 

The nurse disconnected all of the devices Brian had including the PIC line. The only thing they left connected was his oxygen. No more heart monitor, no more oxygen meter beeping if it got low, nothing. It was a very surreal moment for both of us. After all our conversations with the staff, Brian asked the nurse to continue holding off on the morphine so he and I could talk while he was alert and coherent. She agreed and said she would return in two hours unless he called her back sooner. 

The first thing Brian did was give me the passwords to his phone, pc, laptop, and to the program he used that had all the passwords to pay our bills etc. When he was first diagnosed with cancer then stage four cancer, all he wanted was to come home for two weeks to teach me everything. He even mentioned this to the oncologist and the lung specialist. He was so worried about me and that just tore him apart knowing how he was leaving me behind. I apologized for not having a savings or life insurance or anything to leave me. I assured him the girls and I would be ok. 

He recommended that I should take a nice bubble bath and listen to our favorite Pink Floyd album, and I told him I will when the time is right; I knew he was referring to after he passes and I'm struggling. He knew what would help. Brian introduced me to all kinds of music and Pink Floyd became one of my favorites. We would just lay on our bed together and just listen to the entire album. He said that he wished I saw and understood the song "something to remind you" (by Stained) the way he did. He said when he first heard the song that summer, that's when He gave his life to God. When he said that, that was when I understood his meaning of the song or how it impacted his life. To Brian, it wasn't a song about dying, it was a song about giving your life to God and dying to self and writing a new song for the world to remember you by. Thats what he wanted me to know, that was how he chose to hear the song for his own personal life, and he wanted me to know this before he passed. I asked him if he ever listened to the Christopher Cross song Never be the Same. Brian did listen to and said he's heard a few times but never thought of it like that. I told him I know it's a breakup song, but that is exactly how I feel and will forever feel. I told him there will never be another man in my life. I'll never date or be married again. He said yes you will, but I'll always be the OG. 

I told Brian that I was going to get a tattoo of his name and asked what part of my body I should have it tattooed on, and he said, "Can I pick the font size?" loved his sense of humor. 

He apologized for drinking so much throughout the years and I told him not to apologize. In my mind, it was now ok, he had given his life to God, so he didn't need to apologize. He knew how much his drinking bothered me, but he was never a bad person; not to me or anyone, ever. I told him not to apologize and it's ok. "You were just doing what you enjoyed and had a good life." He then said to me "you are the most understanding person I know." and he began to cry again. I talked about when we first met and how God brought us together and how God told me that he (Brian) needed me and wanted me to stay with him. I said, "I knew there were going to be tough times, but I knew God brought us together for a reason and now I guess my time with you is done." Brian talked about how we spent our entire lives fighting for better jobs, buying a home, having nice things, nice vehicles, and everything else material, and he realized we were fighting for the wrong things. I began to cry really hard because Brian had only recently given his life to God and to hear him say this, I knew the Holy Spirit and his Guardian Angel must have been ministering to him the entire time he was in the hospital. I cried to him about my fear of giving up on God like I did when my mom passed away. I shared that I was afraid of losing him and God. We were both really crying and he said to me, don't give up on God, keep your faith because I'm keeping mine. Then he said... Theresa, in our next life we are going to do it right. He quickly said, you don't believe that. Neither do I... I don't know where that came from. I said, "I really thought we were going to grow old together" and he said, "me too." I told him I was really going to miss him, and he said, "I know." It was hard not hearing I'll miss you too. Everything about our conversation was hard. 

Somewhere in our conversation, Brian mentioned how he was worried that our oldest daughter (Jen and Koras mom) was going to do something bad. I told him he didn't need to worry about her doing anything bad to me. I won't allow it. 

He wanted to share something with me and asked me to not be offended. He said, "I don't really have anything to live for anymore and we only have dreams but not plans." He talked about our ex-sister-in-law and good friend Minnie and her husband Jeff. "They have plans and Minnie has a reason to fight her cancer, but we don't have plans, we only have dreams and the only thing I really have to live for is to have a relationship with Logan (our 2yr. old grandson)." I was not offended at all, and I knew Brian was right. Sadly, this was when I shared with him that Minnie had passed away a few days' prior. He just hung his head in sadness.

Brian shared his last wishes with me, and I promised to honor them and him because I would ask for the same. He didn't want anyone to know he chose Hospice. Not his kids, family, or friends because he didn't want anyone to suffer by waiting and wondering if this day is the day or is this hour the hour? Brian and I and our family had just gone through that with his oldest brother who passed away in December just two months before and he didn't want anyone else to suffer like that again. He didn't want a funeral or a viewing, he didn't want people gathering around his body, or songs he loved playing in background. He didn't want Whiter Shade of Pale playing even though it's what he wanted years ago, just like I wanted The Rose played at my funeral. We talked about those things years ago when our relationship was young. Now neither of us wanted any of those things. He didn't want anyone to remember him like that. He wanted to be cremated, and his ashes spread in the nature center in Albion MI. This is a place he loved very much; he used to walk through the nature center when he was young because it brought him peace and always helped him clear his head and escape reality. We tried to visit the nature center every time we visited his family. He said if I want to have a celebration of life, that is completely fine and to do it however I wanted. 

We held hands and talked for a little over two hours. Sharing whatever we could as quickly as possible. We tried to control our crying because when he would cry his oxygen would drop down below 85 and he struggled to bring it back up. It was so hard not being able to really cry together. By this time, it was getting harder for him to breathe, and he needed morphine to help. We finished talking and I gave him one final hug. He asked me to not hug too hard because it hurt. I so desperately wanted to hug him as hard as I could and didn't want to let go, but it was probably the weakest hug I've ever given him. I told him I needed to go home and shower and get clean clothes. Just then, the nurse came in and she apologized for interrupting, but it was over two hours, and she knew Brian needed his medicine. Brian told her it was ok and that we were finished anyway. 

There was such sadness in the room and Brian hated to see me sad, so he shared a funny story before I left to make me laugh. He reminded me of the night before when I stepped out of the room so he could use the commode. He and the nurse were in the room, and he accidently passed gas while sitting on the commode. The nurse, who was the same nurse in the room with us during his story, said, "excuse me" and Brian feeling really bad for passing gas said, "Oh, excuse me, I'm so sorry for not saying that." The nurse then apologized back because she was saying excuse me because she had yawned. 

We all had a good laugh, and we shared "I love you" and I left to go home and shower with promises to return in less than two hours. 

My story is being shared to help others so please feel free to comment or ask questions.