Thursday night between 12:30am-1am, I was in my recliner trying to sleep; Dennis was in his chair. He had been having a very bad breathing day. I gave him some morphine doses to help alleviate the problems. Also gave him some Nyquil as he had a cold. I heard him getting up from his chair, holding on to his walker. Trying to stand, he fell backwards; luckily, he fell right into his chair, avoiding injury. I had lowered the footrest on my chair, ready to help him. After getting back up and starting towards the bathroom, he started falling backwards again. I was able to grab him and kept him from falling all the way to the floor. I helped him into the bathroom and back to his chair once he was done.
Friday, December 17th was the beginning of the end. We found out during the ALS Clinic appointment with the respiratory therapist that his breathing capacity was down to 21% (it had been at 25% the previous visit in November). While his oxygen levels were still over 90 (which is good), it was becoming more and more obvious that his days were numbered. Little did we know that he only had one week left to live.
When we got home from the appointment, there was no one to assist me with getting him into the house, so we took it real slow while he leaned on me getting up the steps. We needed to stop at the landing about halfway up so he could catch his breath. But we did prevail and got him into the house safely. I've mentioned this before, but because he couldn't lie flat on his back, he had been literally living in his recliner, including sleeping. My perception must have been on high, because I decided to sacrifice my own sleep patterns by trying to sleep in the living room with him. I'd start in my own recliner, move to the couch, back to the chair. I was not having all that much luck trying to sleep, but I felt I needed to be in the same room with him as much as possible. I didn't realize it at the time, but my subconscious mind was preparing me for the end. To make matters worse (if that's even possible), our TV died over the weekend. The TV was the only thing that Dennis had to rely on for entertainment, whether it was watching nature shows, the Science Channel, the History Channel, or just listening to the blues on the audio channels, it was all he had. I went through the Sunday supplemental ads from the newspaper, found some pretty good prices on TVs and went to Best Buy to check out their specials. I found what I wanted, and arranged for it to be delivered, installed and the old set taken away on Wednesday. That left Sunday through Tuesday without a TV. I dug out my old portable tape/CD player, and for most of Sunday, we listened to CDs. I contacted our friend, Hugh, who is a high-end audio guy. I told him about the problem with the TV and wanted to know if he could stop by and adjust the cables so we could listen to the audio channels without having to have the TV on. Once he arrived, it took him all of about five seconds to make the switch, and we had sound. Dennis was quite happy that he'd be able to listen to the blues again.
I had been on the phone all weekend long with the hospice, trying to come up with volunteers, or anyone who could show up to stay with Dennis while I went to work. I hated having to go into the office now, even though I was working shorter hours. I just didn't want to leave him alone, I was that worried about him. We were never able to come up with anyone though, so back to work I went on Monday. I'm at most only 15 minutes away (with bad traffic), so I made sure that the phone was right next to his chair in the event he needed me for any reason, he could call.
While he was trying to make himself some lunch on Monday around 12:30, he dropped a spoon on the kitchen floor. In attempting to pick it up, he fell and had to crawl back to the living room and struggle to get into his chair. About 3pm, the doorbell rang. The pharmacy had delivered a prescription for him. After closing the door, he dropped the bottle on the dining room floor and when trying to retrieve it, he fell once again and had to crawl back to the living room, as he could not get himself back up to walk. He stayed there until I got home shortly thereafter, when he told me about his two falling episodes.
We had a very frank discussion about his health. I said, "You know, dear, I really think you're going faster than either one of us realizes at the moment. Neither of us want it to happen, but I'm just afraid the end is near. I'm not going anywhere, I'll be here for you. That's one thing you can definitely count on. I love you so much, and it really pains me to see you suffer so much. I wish there were more I could do."
"I love you too, babe. Thank you so much for everything you do for me."
"While I enjoy the compliments, you don't have to thank me. I do what I can because I love you."
Author note: I need to stop for a while. This is becoming very difficult to write through the tears. I'll come back later.
Tuesday was pretty uneventful, at least until I got home from work that day. Dennis had a difficult night with his breathing. I gave him a couple of doses of morphine during the evening into the night. I was still attempting to sleep in the living room with him, though my sleep was very erratic (not really used to sleeping in a recliner). By Wednesday morning, he had a slight improvement but not enough for me to feel comfortable leaving him home all day by himself, so I called Claire that morning and told her Dennis was in no shape to be by himself and that I wouldn't be in that day. Shortly after 1pm that day, the crew from Best Buy showed up with the new TV, installed it and hauled away the old one. I told Dennis before we turned it on for the first time, "Be prepared to be dazzled. You won't believe the picture as compared to the old set that they just took away."
And dazzled he was! I had to push his chin up because he was staring at the TV with a dropped jaw. I said, "See? I told you."
"Wow. That's all I can say. Wow."
Needless to say, we were both very pleased with the new TV.
Depending on how he was feeling once Thursday morning rolled around would determine if I was going to have to go to work that day or not. He told me he was feeling better than the day before, so because of all the year end things Claire and I do, I decided I'd go in. I made sure and put the phone right next to his chair, in the event he had to reach me. Even then, I didn't really want to go in but I did, though I only stayed until it was time to leave for lunch. I had all the checks written that we were going to do before the Christmas holiday, so I told Claire I was leaving for the day and to enjoy her holiday.
While I was home with Dennis that afternoon, we had been switching between audio channels—the blues channel for him, the classic rock station for me. While I was reading, he was trying to take a nap. At the time, the classic rock station was on. I knew the song as soon as the first couple notes hit—Walking on the Moon by the Police. I looked over at Dennis when it was starting, but his eyes were closed, so I assumed he was sleeping. This had become "our song" when we had first gotten together in 1980. One day after we had become partners in September that year, the song came on the radio while we were at home. Dennis came up behind me, grabbed me in a big hug and said, "Do you know why I like this song so much?"
"No, why?"
"Because it reminds me of the way I feel ever since I met you."
Go ahead; you're entitled. Awwww. I know, sweet, wasn't it? How could you not love a man who says that to you?
Once the words of the song started (there's some instrumental first), I looked at Dennis again to see if he was still sleeping. Much to my surprise, his lips were moving—no sound coming out, just his lips moving. I stared at him throughout the entire song, and he was lip-synching all the way through. Once the song changed, I said, "I saw your lips moving."
The only thing he did was smile. He didn't open his eyes, or turn his head to look at me, he just smiled. We both knew the meaning of the song—no other words were necessary.
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