Damn it!!!!! Just when the Luck Plane started tilting toward our heads (thanks, Bob), Marty ends up near-death again. I am honestly having trouble even dealing with this, but it's our reality.
Christmas was LOVELY, one of the best in years. (I remember Christmas of 2003, when we were really broke, and we went to the beach -- I remember writing "HOPE" in the sand in 8-foot letters with a stick. Eternal optimist, that's me.) Christmas dinner, 12/25. Marty thinks he's getting the flu, 12/27. Visit to the doctor, Fri 12/27 -- doc (who we love and trust) says, yeah, seems like the flu... then we notice his left leg is swelling and red... so he makes an appointment to see the doc who replaced his knee (with all the MRSA and related issues in 2006) -- appt is Tues morning.
Mon middle of the night, I have to call an ambulance for him -- I'm afraid he's not going to make it to morning, his pain is so great and his fever is so high.
So, we ended 2008, and started 2009, with Marty in a coma. Septic. Systemic infection, centered in his leg, but hurting his whole body. Kidneys shut down. All major systems negatively impacted -- respiratory, circulatory, cardiac. Sounds so clinical now -- but then, I was simply in a haze. Early January was spent in a dreamlike state, not even knowing what I was doing, honestly. Left the ICU every night, thinking he was going to be dead by morning. Thinking I was going to get "the phonecall" that I remember my mom getting, when my dad died. Remembering when my dad died -- Aunt Margie had come to stay with us, for The Vigil, because we "knew the end was soon".
I really could not grasp how close to death Marty was.
But it was a miracle that he pulled through. And for me and Brenna and Ayla, we struggled. Brenna is still a closed mystery to me most of the time -- she has not been the kind of kid who wants mom or dad in her world. She seems to prefer to work it out herself. Ayla alternately clung close and pushed me away, which was hard. Sometimes, just being able to put my hand on her helped me enormously.
But Marty got better. Thank god.
Now, we're holding our breath, waiting for the next round of tests, the next bit of news -- and honestly, I am expecting that the news will be bad. It's 2:20 pm on a Sunday right now, and he's snoozing in bed.
Ayla and I went swimming this morning, and then had breakfast -- and we talked nonstop. She said he's been sleeping more and more lately, which is a concern. I fear that the infection is back, despite the daily IV infusions. I fear what comes next. I fear being alone. I fear becoming a widow. I hope it doesn't come to that point.
Que sera, sera, right? I just have to roll with whatever happens. And I will.
