This is a space for me to share my journey. I don’t want to, because I wish it never happened.

Ninety days ago, my life changed forever. Even as I type these words it still seems unreal; I still struggle to accept that Mark is forever gone.

September 9, 2024

Monday was such a good day. John was over and we harvested the last of the hops we grow for the brewery. Mark was on his tractor cleaning the barn paddocks and then replacing hose bibs for me. After the long hell we went through with his operation to remove cancer he was finally independent. Able to get around with no assistance even though the surgeons had said he’d always need a cane. But that is a whole other story.

The weekend had been wonderful, filled with grandkids swimming, watching the Seahawks on the patio TV and just hanging out.

After everyone was gone Monday Mark suggested we get Chinese take out since we both had worked so hard that day. While we waited for the food to arrive, he made us a drink and we sat outside looking over the beautiful trees on the farm. We did this often in the summer, one of our favorite rituals. We’d talk about the day, about life and often about how lucky we were.

I can hardly stand writing about this now. Knowing what is coming is so painful. I want to stop time right here.

About 45 minutes after we went to bed Mark said my heart is beating fast again. I put my head on his chest to listen. He had developed arrhythmia after the cancer operation, it was annoying but not something to be too concerned about. I went through the steps the nurses had showed us to reset the rhythm but it didn’t work. I realized he was sweating profusely. A few minutes later he said he had really severe pain in his lower back. I told him I was going to call an ambulance. He said absolutely not, I will be angry with you if you do. It was then that I realized his voice was weak and raspy. He insisted he would be ok in a few minutes, so I agreed to give him ten minutes. I started gathering things knowing I was calling an ambulance no matter what. He tried to stand up but could not for very long. I called 911.

I was worried, but it was the kind of worry that maybe he needs a pacemaker or some other minor operation. The ambulance arrived and they hooked him up to the heart monitors. He was in significant pain. I was talking with one of the guys giving him a list of medications and medical history. Within a few minutes they said we are taking him to the hospital, lights and sirens.

The hospital whisked him right into a room, took some history, and then sent him off for scans and an echocardiogram.

The ER doctor came back and said he has an aortic dissection. We had never heard of it, had no idea what it was. By now they had given Mark pain medication. Even though it was the middle of the night the staff called in a cardiothoracic surgeon. He took his own medical history and then conferred with the Er doctor and the head ICU doctor. There was some disagreement as to how to proceed. The surgeon wanted to hold off on surgery. He was very concerned about the fact that Mark was on blood thinner medication. The other two doctors wanted to operate right away. Blood thinners would take three days to move out of his system. The compromise was to take him to surgery, put a camera down his esophagus to get a better view. If they saw something that was really bad, they would do surgery right then while he was under anesthesia. If not, they would hold off for three days and do surgery Friday. A vascular surgeon was called in as well. Mark’s lower left leg was cold and the pulse in it was faint. At the time I did not know what that meant. I would find out and it would be horrible.

By now Mark is really feeling upset. He said why is this happening to me again after all that I’ve already been through. It broke my heart for him. He’d had four surgeries in three months with the cancer and it had been incredibly hard to get through. Facing another surgery seemed so unfair to him. I sat by him, washing the sweat off his face, rubbing his arm, kissing his forehead and trying to reassure him. I told him we’ve been down this road before. I said we will get through this too. I will be with you every step of the way; I will take care of you night and day while you recover. I said we know this playbook, you and me, we will survive this too. It seemed to calm him, which made me happy, I didn’t want him to be afraid.

Time is a blur; all sense of it is lost in the ER. By now I think it was around 4 or 5 in the morning. They said we are going to take him to surgery shortly. I had tried calling all four of our children, but no one picked up because of course they had their phones off for the night. I thought that was ok, I could fill them in in the morning. I spent the next few minutes telling him how much I loved him, that everything would be ok, that I would see him soon.

They took him off to the operating room. It was the last time I would talk to him. They would keep him sedated for the rest of the time he was alive. I did not know that.

But it would not have mattered to me at that time because you see, the thing is, it never occurred to me that he might die.