Blog No. 230 - A Resurrection Story – Margaret Died the Hard Way, Part 1 - 21 April 2025

 

On Easter Sunday, Christians celebrate the resurrection of Christ from the dead on the first Easter Sunday nearly 2,000 years ago.  

Before he could rise from death and overcome it, Christ had to die and his death was gruesome and filled with pain.

I am not yet dead, but my wife Margaret is definitely dead.  I am still attempting my personal resurrection and new life after the agonising death of the one person whose life mattered more to me than anyone else in the Universe.

****

Margaret was in so much pain that she was afraid to come to bed.  I often found her slumped fast asleep with her head on the table – exhaustion overcoming her pain.  In those last dreadful weeks at home, her sleep only took place when the pain could no longer keep her awake.

The word exhaustion does not come close to describing the tiredness that saturated every cell of our beings.  I so much wanted to take her pain off her, but I was not allowed.

****

I made daily diary entries in the months leading up to Margaret’s death.

Before today, I have not had the courage to look at what I wrote in those terrible months leading up to her death.

As part of the Easter resurrection miracle, I have forced myself to look at what I wrote while Margaret was dying and I have decided to publish my diary entries as Blogs on the Hankin Redden website.

Here are some words of caution.

****

I totally loved my wife and the process leading up to her death was incredibly hard for both of us to endure.  My main issue was always that the wrong person was dying.  Why was Margaret dying when the Universe knew without a shadow of a doubt that I wanted to take her place?  I wanted to have Margaret’s suffering transferred to me so that she did not have to endure it any longer.  But this was the one thing the Universe would not let me have.

These diary entries are filled with the pain endured by Margaret and by me as I impossibly tried to minimise her pain.

If you cannot stomach descriptions of the pain felt by a truly wonderful woman while she died, you should not read these Blogs.

If you cannot stomach descriptions of the pain endured by me while I watched Margaret die, you should not read these Blogs.

If you cannot stomach my stories of the vile Cancer Ghosting that Margaret and I had to endure, in the period leading up to her death and after, you should not read these Blogs.

If you cannot endure my depiction of Margaret’s miracle cure from cancer being washed away before your very eyes – as I most definitely did – you should not read these Blogs.

****

My diary entries date back to long before late evening on Monday 3 July 2023, but that is where I will start these Blogs.

Margaret died at 3.16 am on Tuesday 22 August 2023.

I watched her die in the Intensive Care unit.

Margaret did not die as a direct result of her cancer - the cancer had vanished weeks before she died.

Margaret died from a urinary infection.

Dr Bhandari, the caring and competent doctor who looked after Margaret at Mary Potter Hospice, told me her death was a Sick Cosmic Joke.

I think Dr Bhandari was correct.

****

Monday 3 July 2023 I suggest going to bed at 9.50 pm but it is 11.00 before we get there. Tuesday 4 July 2023 The bedside clock says 1.57 am on Tuesday 4 July when I hear Margaret call my name from a far, far away place.  I struggle back into semi wakefulness.  Marg says she needs to go to the toilet, then she will have a cigarette in the sitting room and return to bed.  By 2.30 we are in the living room and she has finished her cigarette and announces that she is not returning to bed.  If she goes back to bed, she will have to wake me up again so she can return to the bathroom.  I protest that her body is beyond the point of exhaustion, it will not be safe for her to stay up and that if she stays up, I will have to stay up too.  She is adamant; she will not return to bed, but insists that I must return to bed.  I am equally adamant.  If she is up, I need to be up.  It is unsafe for her to be awake and alone.  I get an outburst about how I am trying to make decisions about her treatment on her behalf instead of letting her make her own decisions.  I should butt out of making decisions about her health and let her make her own decisions.  In my exhaustion and frustration, I say “I am going to bed; good luck.  Try not to have a fall”.  I lie in bed wondering what I have done but fall asleep before I can follow up the question in my mind. I wake up at 6.40 am as Margaret uses the bathroom.  The diarrhoea is still present, although Marg says the severity has reduced. The district nurse this morning is Barbara.  She says she remembers Margaret from when Margaret was a cancer nurse at Flinders Medical Centre.  The bandages on the legs are not saturated this morning and the legs look as if they are trying to heal.  Despite this, Margaret’s movements are slow and full of pain.  She cannot move without the walker and my offers of assistance are always accepted. When Barbara has gone, we talk about our argument.  Margaret says she gets upset when I answer questions on her behalf when they are asked by the district nurse or by a doctor.  I say my only wish is to give information that is as full and detailed as possible.  Margaret tends to understate the extent of her symptoms.  This worries me because I am afraid it will result in her receiving treatments and medications that are less extensive and effective than would happen if the full extent of her symptoms is made known.  I say I will continue to tell the complete truth if this is what I have to do to ensure she gets the best treatment available – even if this means I get a tongue lashing from Margaret. I tell Margaret that I am desperately concerned about the deterioration in her health.  I vastly prefer that I be woken up multiple times so long as this means she gets a little more sleep.  I say I am so very worried about more falls because they will do even more dreadful damage.  Please come back to bed and get as much sleep as possible.  I do not mind at all if this means I get woken up. We are both faced by an impossible situation and we both have to make impossible decisions.  There is no “correct” decision; we can only do the best we can in the circumstances.  My sole wish is to do what I can to ensure her welfare.  She says she sees the exhaustion in my face and wants to try and minimise it.  I say that her staying up instead of coming back to bed is definitely not the best answer to my exhaustion or hers.