We were elated this past week when we learned that Hugh was a candidate for surgery for his colon cancer. His tumor was a bit low in the intestine, but the surgeon felt he could do a resection without any major difficulties. Although Hugh became more worried as the surgery date loomed on Friday, he knew that he didn’t have a choice. The tumor had to go.
We watched two seasons of House of Cards to kill time. I cancelled appointments and regular activities so I could spend time with him. We were in waiting mode. We had no clue whether the tumor had penetrated his intestinal wall or if the cancer had metastasized. We knew that we’d have to wait for those answers, as the surgery would give those answers to us on a platter.
This morning, my husband entered the surgical theater at 10:30 am. By 12:30 p.m. he was in recovery, and the surgeon greeted me with great news–the surgery went well. By 2:30 p.m., my husband was in ICU under Code Blue. At 2:38 a.m. this morning, he died. Thankfully, I was by his side.
I had wished for a clean surgery. I got that. I had no clue that the surgery would come with a cost. My husband’s liver just couldn’t handle the shock, and his body shut down. The doctors think his liver had been compromised by the cancer. All I know is that his life and his vitality are gone forever, except in my memory.
I honor my husband, who was so frightened by this surgery. He knew he wouldn’t make it out. I didn’t have a clue. He knew that, and he allowed me that luxury. He loved me well.
Sleep well, my dear. Sleep in peace.