When It Comes To Illness And Disease, I think I Might Just Know What I'm Talking About

To anyone who has been reading and following the series "Playing God" by Connie, I am delighted and honored to be remembered in prayer by so many. I am Robbie' s Mother. There is so much more to our story, and if you're interested, stick around.

Just before I discovered I was pregnant with our second child, Robbie, I had decided to sober-up, so to speak. My husband had been ill for a few years with an autoimmune disease, and we decided it was time to move on with our lives. We began looking for a new house in a nicer, more 'family like' neighbourhood. We finally found it! The perfect home! Only by luck, prayer, an act of God, and a good real estate agent we aquired this fine home (within minutes of the deal closing).

By this time I had 7 months of sobriety under my belt, sciatica, an abruption early in my pregnancy, a toddler to look after, and boxes everywhere. Without warning my husband became extremely ill. Dehydrated, anemic, with yet another flare up of his intestenal disease. An already slender man, he lost 25 pounds in less than 2 weeks. Weakened by blood loss, and severe dehydration, I took him to our family doctor several times in that week. Each time we were told to 'relax, and take it easy. Don't worry, everything will be alright soon.'

After exhaustion and frustration, when my husband was at what I thought was at his worst, I dragged him to the hospital. They gasped at the sight of him and brought him in immediately- asking me why I didn't get him there sooner. Four hours and 4 letres of interveinous saline later, they sent him home-under my care. I was to feed him 10 mls. of applesauce every 10 minutes and 1 ounce of Gatorade every minute.

I did my best, family came to relieve me once in a while and to help with our daughter, Rachael.

My husband, Dylan got worse. I feared for his life.

In a fit of fear, I phoned my Mom to tell her the latest. "Take him to the hospital!" she said. Thankfully I listened. At the hospital, they did further testing, and they had discovered a blood clot in his lungs-a direct result of dehydration. Dylan had to give blood directly from an artery in his wrist, and was given 'clotbusters' and something for his anxiety. Surgery was briefly talked about. The next morning I accompanied him to the nearest hospital via ambulance to have nuclear testing on his lungs to locate the blood clot and its' size.

A miracle happened that day- the blood clot, was gone.

No surgery, but not quite out of the woods yet.

Again, he was sent home with heavy doses of prednisone and other medications, a strict diet, complete bed rest, around the clock care and a feeling of helplessness.

Shortly after that, once we had established a routine in our

no-yet-unpacked-new-house,

things started to settle down, slowly Dylan stabilized.

I began to wonder what affects all of this stress might be having on the baby. I tried to tell my doctor that I felt like something was wrong- and again, my feelings were quickly dismissed. I should've persisted, I guess.

A week or so passed, and after coming home late one night from being with my grandmother who has alzeimers disease and was just admitted to hospital for internal bleeding, I began to think more about my own recovery. I rested, trying to come to grips with all that was happing around me and within me.

Shortly after falling asleep my husband gently woke me up.

"Barb...my chest really hurts." I feel ashamed to say this, but I sharply said

" does it feel like an elephant is standing on your chest?!"

Not really knowing the seriousness of the situation, I was shocked when he replied

"yes"

"Do you feel short of breath, or have pain in your arm or jaw?"

And again he said

"yes"

He refused to call an ambulance. He thought it would be faster by car.

So I bundled up our daughter, as he sat curled at the bottom of the stairs waiting for us to get things together, and off we went again- to the hospital

To be continued

Love Barbara