Defining Moment

Here it is, July 7 again.

On July 7, 2014, things were looking up. We had been in a battle for the life of my mother-in-law, Barb Traff, for two weeks. Things looked pretty bleak for her at the beginning. Barb had been struggling with dangerously low blood sugars (dipping as low as 20). My father-in-law, Les, had taken her to the emergency room, where she was observed. When they got her blood sugar back up again, they sent her home. Her blood sugar plummeted again. Les was at his wits' end. He fed Barb sugar water all night while she was mostly unconscious to raise up that blood sugar. She woke up in the morning, seeming more herself, but then she started having difficulty breathing. He was going to take her back the the ER, but she fell. He couldn't get her back up again, so he called first responders. A police officer was the first one on the scene. Barb had a cardiac arrest and collapsed about as soon as he arrived, and he started CPR immediately. CPR was continued during an ambulance ride to Mayo Austin, where Barb was airlifted to Rochester. In all, it took about 15 minutes to revive her. Once settled in to the hospital, she did not regain consciousness, which was said to be a possible indicator of brain damage. Barb was intubated, but her heart was beating on its own. The doctors wanted to try a last-ditch treatment on her: a two-day process of cooling her body temperature and rewarming it, in hopes of restoring some brain function. They didn't give us a lot of hope that the treatment would work, but it was the only thing they had for us, so we gave permission for them to do it. That was a long 48 hours. We called R.J.'s brothers from Alabama, and they all came up to wait and watch with us.

Les waited for Barb to recover

When Barb started warming again and her sedation was reduced, we had more positive signs than we had dared hope for. She was able to respond to commands and gave a nurse a thumbs-up. That was so encouraging! Still, because of a severe case of pneumonia (likely from aspirating some of the sugar water Les had fed her while she was unconscious) and her COPD, the doctors didn't want to rush to remove the breathing tube. Barb needed that support longer than that first 48 hours. The doctors were finally able to extubate her late in the day on June 28. Her initial response was good. Although her speech was somewhat slurred, we definitely understood what she was saying. We had quite a crowd in the room when they finally took the BiPAP mask off her face and let her go back to a nasal cannula for oxygen - at which point she could talk. She looked around the room and said, "Everywhere I look, there's a Traff." Later, when R.J. was getting ready to leave, he said we needed to go back home and "fix supper for these yahoos." Barb said, "Don't call them 'yahoos'!" So, we were already getting scolded. Her road to recovery had begun, and it had gone much better than we dared to hope.  

Us with the Alabama Traffs who came up to be with Barb

 

I have been reading through the notes I made from those days in the hospital. The Alabama crew went home when Barb improved. I sent regular updates. We had ups and downs at the hospital. Barb would seem better one day only to struggle the next. Interestingly, many of my updates were about Les and not just about Barb. Les worried about Barb's confusion, wondering if it would clear up or if it was just going to be the way she was from then on. He worried about his ability to care for her, so we offered options to get help and told him it was OK to get help. He was incredibly stressed, being in the hospital all day, every day – a place he disliked and mistrusted. He disagreed with some of the care plans for Barb; for example, he didn't like the idea of her using a BiPAP machine at home. He missed “his Barbie” and the way she took care of him and gave him back rubs. He refused to stay with us or let us find him a place to sleep in Rochester, instead driving back and forth to Austin every day  (45 miles each way). He had chronic pain and other medical difficulties of his own. He was overwhelmed with fatigue. He displayed signs of clinical depression. He was disagreeable at times, though he always put on a good face for Barb. He held her hand and kissed her goodbye and fought for her. We worried about him and whether he was taking good enough care of himself so he would be ready when Barb was released from the hospital. 

Les, holding Barb's hand at the hospital

Barb, counting on Les as he cared for her

 

Barb made it out of ICU and into Respiratory Care Unit. She was set to be released to St. Mark's Lutheran Home in Austin, just blocks from Les and Barb's house, on July 9.

On July 8, I headed over to the hospital later than usual. Things were going pretty well, and it was Les and Barb's 53^rd wedding anniversary. I figured they could have some time together without me hanging around. I went later in the afternoon and arrived slightly before R.J. who rode the bus there after work. When I got there, I stopped at the nurses' station first, as usual. I asked how Barb's day had been. They said she was doing well, but then asked if I knew where Les was. He hadn't been up there all day, and Barb was asking about him. That was VERY unusual, so when R.J. arrived, we tried to call and got no answer. I can't really say exactly how the next bit played out. I think we talked with Barb briefly. I think we went out to the nurses' station again. I think that's when my cell phone rang, and a frantic Aunt Norma (Les' sister) asked to talk to R.J. I know he came back from that phone call, stricken, and told us his dad had killed himself. I know I held on to the counter at the nurses' station to keep myself upright and I know I heard Barb yelling, “Where's my husband? He should be here. It's my anniversary.” I know those amazing nurses went into caretaker mode and would have moved heaven and earth for us. I know that we told Barb that Les was dead, but not how he died. I remember that the nurses assured us that one of them would be with Barb at all times as we went home to gather our thoughts and to let some people know what had happened.

We had to tell our kids. I didn't want to, but that didn't make any difference. After that, R.J. headed over to Austin to deal with things over there. He didn't want to, but that didn't make any difference. I stayed back and called his brother Brian to tell him so he could tell other family members. I didn't want to, but that didn't make any difference. Then I headed back to the hospital to sit with Barb. It was the absolute last thing I wanted to do, but that didn't make any difference. I knew I had to do it, in spite of the fact that every fiber of my being was sure she was going to ask HOW Les died. I wasn't prepared to answer that question. We wanted to spare her that part of the pain for a day, so she didn't have to bear it all on her anniversary.

Our latest sermon series at church is on defining moments. Looking back, I can say that my father-in-law's suicide was a defining moment for me. There were so many awful things that R.J. and I didn't want to do but we had to do during the days and weeks after Les' death. It was a season of nauseating grief, while at the same time being a season of new responsibilities and personal growth as we took over care for Barb. 

Many times I have thought that I would do anything to go back to July 7, 2014. My heart races and my feelings overwhelm me: I should have seen Les' suicide coming, and maybe I could have done something to prevent it. The fact is, I had no control over Les or his decision to kill himself. July 8, 2014 was his day, but the days after that were mine. R.J. and I slogged through a lot of crap. Most of the early days were painful drudgery, exhausting and confusing. We made one decision at a time, took one day at a time. Barb's care was complicated, and she was rocked by Les' suicide. We made mistakes. We were incredibly grateful for (and blown away by) the love and care that was lavished upon us by friends and family.

Out of necessity, my relationship with Barb grew exponentially over the next two and a half years (until her death in December of 2016). We spent so much time together. We had fun. Some of her quirks made me shake my head, but we did some BIG things together. I learned about her medical conditions and became her expert and her advocate. And R.J. and I grew together, too, as we processed the decision Les made. We lived our lives differently. We learned to accept help from others. We learned to examine mental health issues with care and to ask hard questions of others. While I would never choose to go through anything like this again, I can honestly say that I cherish the memory of the intimacy with God that we experienced during that impossibly difficult time. We never needed God more than we did then. At first, it seemed as if the weight of the world was on our shoulders, but over time we realized that God would never let that be the case. He would always be there to carry that weight for us. During those awful, awful days, He refined us and made us more wholly His. He grew our compassion and made us more able to help others who go through difficult times. He made us better people through our brokenness. I think that what a defining moment is all about.