Seven Years But Who's Counting (I am)

There's a voice in my head that says that at seven years, maybe I shouldn't be counting anymore. But I'm telling that voice to be quiet.

It was seven years ago today, a Monday morning, the week after Valentine's Day, that I left Alan sitting at the dining room table and I went to work. He'd been sick the day before, throwing up, feeling awful. We went to Geri Ann's and he slept. He tried to go for a walk when we got home but he was losing his balance and needed a walking stick. I made him a nutritious dinner that he threw up. I was terrified.

We made a list together that I still have of his to-do list for the day. It said "Take Tylenol. Take a shower. Eat lunch. Feel better." We had an appointment with a psychiatrist, because at that point he'd been diagnosed with depression.

I called him throughout the day and then picked him up for the psych appointment around 1. He told me he'd thrown up his breakfast and I was absolutely terrified. We got to the psych office and he couldn't remember where to go, although he'd been the week before. The psychiatrist gave him a baseline exam with me sitting there and it was like watching a horror movie as I realized that there were parts of my brilliant, funny husband's brain that were simply not working.

The psychiatrist gently encouraged us to immediately go to Alan's primary care, Dr. Plante. And we did. Dr. Plante dismissed Alan's complaints as psychic pain--and then suddenly Alan started screaming and spasming in his office and I was rushed from the room. I thought he'd died right there.

More dismissal of "psychic pain" and I was told that if I wanted to see a neurologist, maybe the ER was the place to go. I insisted on an ambulance and SMC Rescue, ironically, picked him up while I raced to get baby Carl from daycare, get him home and get myself back to the ER before it was too late.

I can remember all this both vividly and as if through a fog. The terror and confusion we both felt. Seven years. It was the end of one life, the beginning of a different life. I am sadder than sad today. I am sad and afraid and angry and I miss my husband.