59 days...
My time as a part-time caregiver lasted 59 days.
59 days from the time he was walking and talking to his death.
59 days for the healthcare system to fail him in so many different ways.
59 days for everything to go so horribly wrong.
59 days.
I did his laundry.
I cleaned and sanitized everything in this room at the care facility.
I cleaned and sanitized his wheelchair.
I bought him donut cushions and wedge pillows to keep him off the bedsore on this tailbone.
I badgered him every two hours to turn so the sore didn't get worse.
I helped him shower.
I brought him snacks and books.
I changed his briefs and bedding.
I argued with the doctor and nurses about his declining health.
I tried to get him transferred to a better facility.
I tried to advocate for him to the best of my knowledge and abilities.
But...
The one thing I didn't do... the thing I didn't know ...his bedsore was infected.
I didn't know how bad things were until the nursing home called me at work and said he was disoriented and his blood sugar was too high and then they dumped him off at the ER.
That's when I learned he was septic and it wasn't just an infection, it was necrotizing fasciitis.
4 debridement surgeries later, the surgeon tells me the infection cannot be controlled. The infection has spread too far and in just a matter of days, it will take my husband's life.
My husband didn't want any more surgeries, antibiotics, or anything else. He just wanted to go home to die under the care of hospice.
I took care of him at home for one week.
I honored his wishes and did everything he asked. No more turning him. No more excruciatingly painful dressing changes.
No more insulin shots and blood draws.
He wanted to see the babies (grandchildren).
He watched them play from his bed in the living room.
He spent time with our adult children.
He held my hand as I talked, prayed, sang, and read to him.
Now he is gone.
My darling husband passed away early Sunday morning.
I don't know what to do now, I am so very lost and broken.