12:55 AM
Lots to update tonight, so get your beverage of choice and settle in.
I was just talking to Missy and Olivia, when I realized that it's Monday. It's been a week since I last slept with Doug's arms wrapped around me. It's been a week since I last kissed him. It's been a week since we last said "I love you" to each other, which we said A LOT. I think we said it so much, and more importantly, SHOWED our love to each other so much, because we both knew what an incredible gift we'd found in each other, and we didn't want to take it for granted for a single second. And somehow, that week feels like it's been only a moment, AND it feels like it's been an eternity.
I told Missy and Olivia that, oddly, this entire experience is too horrible for words, and yet it's incredibly beautiful as well. These amazing people, who became my family not even five months ago... we've become a team, working together to honor Doug. I always thought the world of them, from our first meeting. But I couldn't love them more if I'd known them forever.
I also had a lovely conversation with Doug's niece, Katie. I met Katie only once, a few years ago, when Doug and I were in Knoxville to see a UT game. I liked her a lot then, and I've quickly grown to love her too.
Dr Kim, who performed Doug's surgery, called me today. He was out of town on Thursday, as he was participating in a trial in Phoenix (he HAD to be there).
He offered the typical condolences, and then told me that he'd spent much of yesterday afternoon and this morning reviewing what happened, hoping to figure out what went wrong.
Possibilities, as he sees them:
1: Did some of the internal sutures come loose, causing internal bleeding? They ruled that out pretty much immediately; blood loss would have presented differently, and would not have responded to the vasopressors at all.
2: While he was removing the adhesions from Doug's bowel, did he nick the bowel? He said he truly didn't think so, as he inspected the bowel four times before closing. Moreover, sepsis doesn't happen that quickly, and there were no signs of infection.
3, and probably the culprit: liver shock, also known as ischemic hepatitis. It can occur after surgery when there an extended period of hypotension (low blood pressure). It's essentially caused by poor perfusion (blood flow) to the liver.
Now, I DID ask: those 3.5 hours or so on Tuesday,, when Joe was pushing med after med to keep Doug alive long enough to be dialyzed... Was THAT what started the chain reaction that led to Doug's death? Dr Kim said that it was possible, but there's no way to know for certain. Also, please understand: vasopressors also inhibit perfusion, and Doug was on four of them, ALL at maximum dosage, for several days.
Not gonna lie: my heart is SCREAMING, "those motherfuckers killed my husband!" Those motherfuckers being whoever delayed that machine, NOT ANYONE who was directly caring for Doug. I want to be perfectly clear on this: EVERY doctor, nurse, and technician who took care of Doug was SPECTACULAR, and I won't entertain anyone suggesting otherwise. Those people are heroes, full stop, and I am in AWE of them.
But the bottom line is this: even IF it's true that the delay on starting dialysis is what killed Doug, and even if I could prove that negligence killed my husband, so what? Get a lawyer and spend the next five years RELIVING this fucking nightmare in attorney's offices and courtrooms? For what? Even if I received all the money in the WORLD as compensation, my husband will still be dead.
I was floored by Dr Kim's kindness. That couldn't have been an easy call to make: he had no way of knowing what he was gonna get at the other end of that phone. Moreover, while admittedly my experience with surgeons is damn near nonexistent, I cannot imagine that many surgeons would EVER be willing to entertain the possibility that he or she might have made an error that led to a patient's death - at least, not to the patient's next of kin. And yet he did just that. He is a remarkable man, and I truly hope he can attend on Saturday so that I can hug him, and so I can tell everyone assembled how grateful I am to him and to the whole team that took care of Doug.
I went up to Music Valley Event Center tonight to meet with Asa and Freddie and make arrangements for what we'll need for Saturday. These two men were so kind, and so gracious, and are being so unbelievably helpful. It's heartwarming.
Talking to my son after I got home, and telling him about the events of the day, he said, "Kinda restores your faith in humanity, doesn't it?" And it does. it really does. As Andrew put it, "We may be eating a shit sandwich, but the bread is damn good."
Indeed it is, son. ❤️
8:50 AM
Goddamn it.
I keep revising Doug's eulogy; I keep thinking of just one more thing I have to tell everyone about him. It's already obscenely long, but at the rate I'm doing revisions, I'm gonna end up taking up the whole damn two hours on Saturday (yes, that MAY be a smidge hyperbolic).
This roller coaster ride is pure hell. Last night, I finally crashed at 2:30, feeling... not GOOD, but at least proud that our family is pulling together to comfort each other. Woke up just before 7:00. I don't know if or when I'm going to start sleeping enough to actually stay healthy, because I'm so exhausted, but sleep is simply not cooperating.
And the exhaustion is SO profound. Trying to do ANYTHING requires at least three times longer than I expect; it's as though I'm moving through quicksand.
On another note, I think it's time for me to stop driving - other than very short trips here in Lebanon - until the sleep situation improves. I made it home safely from MVEC last night, but I could tell I have no business on the interstate, and probably not even on the main secondaries. Be prepared for me to start asking for folks to shuttle me around for errands that I still have to do. I HATE that, because I HATE to ask for help, but it's time to suck it up.
I'm having a really hard time this morning, again. Every time I look over at Doug's spot on the sofa, I want to tell myself that he'll be sitting there again soon, but I know that's not true. And then I start crying all over again.
I've made one significant decision, which has the blessing of our family: after days without anyone bringing it up, all of a sudden, at least five people asked whether we want flowers, or a donation to a charity in Doug's name.
Honestly, I hadn't thought about that for even a second, but the answer came to me immediately: we want to establish the Douglas Cunningham Allen Scholarship at UT Knoxville, for theatre majors.
I don't know the logistics of doing this, but rudimentary research tells me we'd need at least $25,000 to endow a scholarship of $1000 per year (anyone who's knowledgeable about that sort of thing, please pipe up).
We'll have a box at Doug's Final Curtain Call on Saturday for checks, and we're going to open an account just for those funds. If we're unable to collect enough to endow a scholarship, whatever we DO collect will be distributed to local Nashville 501(c)3 theatre companies. Under NO circumstances will any money we collect be used for personal purposes. If you choose to donate, please make the check out to me (Mary Kathleen Allen).
Our family thinks that this is the best way to honor his memory; Doug LOVED UT, and he LOVED theatre, and he LOVED helping people. And, selfishly, a scholarship would allow him to live on long after ALL of us who loved him are gone.
2:13 PM
My days are now arranged into a series of tasks that must be done: Wake up. Make coffee. Feed the cats. Cry. Try to drink coffee. Scoop the litter boxes. Look at my lists to see what I need to do next. Cry. Try to force myself to eat. Look at Doug's eulogy to see if I need to add or edit or remove anything. Cry. Wipe down the counters. Take a shower. Write a post to share what's in my heart, even though I'm terrified that I'm soon going to wear on everyone's patience. Cry.
Empty time is the enemy, because that's when I feel closest to Doug, but that's an illusion, because Doug isn't here, and he never will be. Yes, I know: "He's with you in spirit." I'm sorry, but that's not enough. I need to see his handsome face, with those adorable dimples when he smiles. I need to hear his voice telling me how much he loves me. I need to feel his warmth; I need to feel his arms around me as I drift off to sleep, breathing in the smell of the soap he used. I need to feel his lips on mine. I NEED. But those needs will go unfulfilled. I don't know how to reconcile that.
Last night, I finally got around to running the dishwasher for the first time since Doug's surgery. The last coffee cup he'll ever use is now clean and sparkling. And that made me cry all over again.
I've lost people I loved before. I've felt lost, and hopeless, and lonely, many times in my life. But this... this is both a dull ache and a searing shock of agony. Sometimes, if I'm really busy, I can forget it's there, but that never lasts long.
I said earlier that I feel as though I'm walking through quicksand, but that's not quite it. It's more that I have to move through space slowly and gingerly: I feel like I'm made of plate glass with millions of tiny, spiderlike cracks; any sudden movement is likely to shatter me into so many pieces that I'll never be able to be put back together.
I'm comforted by the many people who have reached out to offer their love and support. I'm grateful for friends who manage to wrestle a laugh out of me. But I am so, so very broken.
9:10 PM
Today has been hard; maybe the hardest day yet. The idea of setting up a scholarship in Doug's name, and setting up a GoFundMe for it, got my creative juices flowing. Sadly, it's not getting the kind of traction I'd hoped - plenty of folks are sharing it, but the donations have been scarce. I guess dead newlywed husbands aren't sexy enough to go viral.
And I know I shouldn't take that personally, but I do: this is the last gift I can give to my husband, and I personally don't have the means to make it happen. I will feel like an absolute failure if I can't do this for him. My mission in life right now - my ONLY goal - is to do this for Doug. But, just like the events of last week, I'm powerless to make it happen. How did I go from being such a strong, powerful woman, known for her ability to get things done, to this weak shell of a person, desperately relying on other people to do what she can't?
I finally started looking at posts that friends have been putting on Doug's timeline. So many memories, from people who knew Doug for far longer than I have. And I'm envious: why do THEY get to have a decade or more worth of memories, when I, who loved him most, only get four measly years?
My son took me to the UPS store so I could pick up the copies of Doug's obituary and program for Saturday. Writing his obituary was difficult enough; seeing it, in print, was far worse.
I did see some of the news this morning, and people posting their concerns about COVID-19. You know what MY first thought was? Hey, maybe I can get that, so I can die and be with Doug.
I remember, from rudimentary psychology classes back in high school, that the will to live is damn near impossible to destroy. Clearly, the science did NOT account for this situation.
I talked to my sister this evening, and I told her that I'm DREADING Sunday. After all the rush of activity and Doug's final curtain call are done... What then? I can't go back to work; not yet. Hell, maybe not ever. How am I supposed to be remotely functional when I can't sleep, and when I have to force myself to choke down TWO FUCKING OUNCES of yogurt, only to spend the next three hours WILLING myself not to vomit it back up? How am I supposed to sit in meetings and facilitate data quality discussions when I'm DYING inside?
So if I can't go back to work, what do I do to fill all that TIME? I've tried watching television, but that's ineffective, because I can't follow even the simplest of plots. Reading is impossible.
Yes, I know: I'm blessed with many true friends who want to help. But they have lives of their own. They have jobs, partners, children to take care of... But I don't have a life of my own anymore. Hell, I don't have a LIFE anymore.
Doug was my foundation. He was the rock upon which I've built my hopes and plans for the future. But I no longer HAVE a future. Not without him. My longing to touch him is a physical ache.
I don't know where I'm going with this. My mind goes in circles, constantly. I want my husband. I NEED my husband. I can't have my husband.
"Widow" is such an ugly word. You know, during the Middle Ages, that's who they went after as witches first, right? And in India, there was a time when suttee was practiced - widows would throw themselves (or be forcibly thrown) on their dead husband's funeral pyre. And honestly, other than not wanting to die by fire, I kinda get it.
Thing One and I were big fans of Married With Children, and one of our favorite scenes is one in which Al comes home and says, "I'm dead; why don't I fall down?" That used to be hilarious to me; now, it's my reality.
I've been offered booze, Xanax, weed, and even LSD. I'm expecting, any moment, for someone to suggest antidepressants. But I'm not depressed, at least not clinically so. I'm DESTROYED, because my reason for living, my person, my best friend and lover and confidant, is gone.
What happens if *I* get ill? Who's going to be that one person who will stay with me, stroking my hand and telling me over and over how much they love me while they watch doctors and nurses break my sternum trying to get my heart beating again? Who's going to have the strength to watch that brutality but refuse to leave, just because they HAVE to be with me until the end? Who's going to be at the hospital nearly every minute, asking questions, trying to help find a solution - ANY solution - to keep me alive, because the thought of losing me is too much to bear?
I know the answer: no one. Because that would've been Doug's job.
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