6/14/12 - My beautiful Husband Ron Weiler
5/23/53-6/14/12 Taken far too soon after a massive heart attack. My heart is
broken today and our family has a huge hole that can never be filled in the way
he did. We are devastated beyond belief. Thank you to everyone who has reached
out, stopped by and shared in our grief. I apologize if I do not get back to
each of you individually, but know your messages are being received. His
children and I welcome your visits, but please give a quick call first to make
sure we are not taking a quiet moment together.
That was my first post on Facebook announcing so impersonally that my love, my best friend, my husband had died the night before. It was one of many posts allowing me to express my pain, overwhelming grief, broken heart and sadness. Facebook became my venue to connect to a world that I felt completely isolated from, even though I was interacting with people on a regular basis. I would be awake at night, insomnia wrecking havoc on my brittle emotions and I just wanted someone to know, someone to HEAR me.
I am writing the story of that day because it was such an epic upheaval on mine and my family's lives that without the details, you couldn't possibly understand how much it has impacted on our family and so many of our friends. If you do not want to know, please stop reading now. I warn you, this is as real as it gets. This is not ER, Greys Anatomy or some other TV medical show, this is my life, and the end of Ron's as it happened that day, June 14, 2012.
That day was so much like every day in our busy lives. Up early, take our daughter to school, home to work on household chores and handle business affairs. We had become accustomed to sharing a cup of coffee leisurely together before we had to get serious about our "to-do" list. Sitting at our kitchen table, I took for granted those last moments we would spend together in normalcy. How could I have known it was our last morning cup of coffee? It's amazing how that simple act of sipping coffee and talking about nothing in particular was our life. We had moved past the giddiness of our newlywed days, dealing with endless teenage angst of our children from previous marriage, then the sleepless nights with a newborn to a place of comfortable mornings together, with our coffee. Our middle aged-ness felt good, like a well worn sweater. We had routine, and could count on each day starting pretty much the same.
We were such a team. Whenever one was too tired, too busy or just overwhelmed - the other would take over. That afternoon, it was time to pick up our 6 yr old daughter from school, only a quick 5 minute drive, but I was exhausted and wanted just a few minutes to lay my head down before the evening festivities began. It was my twin's 22nd birthday and we were going out to dinner with our brood to celebrate. Ron asked me if I wanted him to pick Alexandra up and while I was concerned about him driving her due to his recent increased fatigue and other medical issues, I gratefully said yes. I no sooner put my head on the pillow of the couch when my phone rang. It was Ron - he said to me "get her dance stuff together and just meet me here, they are having a big Father's Day event and she wants me to stay". I laughed "OK, I'll rest a bit then be there in time to get her to dance dress rehearsal.". I arrived at the school 45 minutes later to see my husband looking a bit distressed and very tired. "We played soccer" he said. "WHAT? you played soccer?" I was a bit shocked to hear this as he had been complaining of being worn out and tired for a few weeks. "By playing soccer, I mean I stood there and kicked a ball if it came near me". OK, that made sense. That little bit of exertion really wore him out, I could see it on his face, but he still halfway offered to take our daughter to her dress rehearsal. Oh how grateful I am that I turned him down even though I don't think he would have actually followed through. He was spent and needed a nap before we went to dinner. Ron was dealing with a change in his health and had been treated for severely high blood pressure and other heart related issues. He had a history of a heart attack in 2006 and other heart blockages and surgery in 2008 and 2009. He wasn't a healthy man, but he also wasn't just sitting around. I was always amazed at how much he was able to do on so little reserves.
While at my daughter's dance dress rehearsal, about 5 pm, I received a text from my son Chris. "BBQ 7 pm Your House". I started laughing. I called him immediately "I can't pull together a BBQ in 2 hours! I won't even be home until then! He volunteered to buy the steaks if I bought the side dishes. Still a problem - no time to go to store. Next call was to Ron. "Hi honey, kids don't want to go out to dinner, they want to BBQ instead... yea, our house." He immediately responded with "what do you need me to do?" That was my Ron. He always had my back, was always ready to lend a helping hand to make my life smoother. He ran out to the store bought everything and came home and start putting things together. I left our daughter's dance dress rehearsal at around 6:15, called him at about 6:25. We were laughing and talking about the kids and how nice it was that they felt a sense of home still after they moved out. How wonderful it was that we were such a team and how much I appreciated him "having my back" when I had my hands full. "It's what we do" he said to me. It's what WE do. WE. I long for that word to be my reality again. We carried on with our usual car-ride chat talking about our 6 yr old daughter and how adorable she was and how much we loved her, how much we were looking forward to her weekend of dance performances. Her gift to him for Father's Day she would say. "I just love that little Punkydoodle" he said to me... then he gasped "AUGH!.... SHIT!!!" and the phone dropped. I heard a rhythmic, gurgling, raspy sound but convinced myself it was the electrical result of the phone dropping and being broken - not his last breaths, death rattles they call it. It came and went a few times, then it stopped. I called out his name RON! RON! RON! Answer me! Are you ok? Honey ARE YOU OK??? What happened? HELLO???? HELLO??????? HELLO??????????? Nothing. I toyed with hanging up and trying his cell phone, but hesitated. Do I call 911? Activate my On Star? Call the boys and have them come over? All these thoughts ran through my head in an instant. If I call the paramedics and they arrive while he is picking up pieces of the phone, he will be SO PISSED at me. He hates it that I hover over him with his health issues... maybe I should try the cell. Ok, hang up call his cell. Dialing.... DAMN! Voice mail.. Call again..... Dialing.... AUGH Voicemail! Call the house again... he's trying to call me back, that's it... Dialing... busy... yes, that's it, he's calling me... Ok, dial again.... Busy! What? What is going on? Cell phone - to voice mail again. SHIT! Ok, call the boys. "Jon! I was on the phone with Ron and he made a weird sound and dropped the phone... I'm on my way home, on the freeway at Canoga....can you go over to the house????" I hear Jon call to his brother "TIM! Somethings wrong with Ron - Let's Go!" and he hangs up. I am on the freeway driving, trying not to panic. My daughter is in the back seat and she says to me "Maybe he had a heart attack?". How can she be so calm? She is very sure of herself -"Yes, I think he had a heart attack". I try not to scream out and instead, I say in my calmest voice "Honey, let's hope not, that would be a very bad thing for Dada...he could die if he has a heart attack". She doesn't say much more, just tries to talk in a rational way about how she thinks he had a heart attack, unlike a 6 yr old child. But that is her - she is unlike most 6 yr olds...
I am exiting the freeway at a speed reserved for such occasions. As I travel closer to my home, I feel in my bones that my life is going to change today. I'm still hopeful that this is all a misunderstanding, a simple trip over the dog and the phone went flying, but he would have called me by now. It's been about 8 minutes since he gasped and dropped the phone. As I approach the intersection for my neighborhood, I just know if there was a problem, I would hear sirens. I would hear the fire trucks, paramedics, ambulance... certainly the boys would have called 911 by now if there was a problem. I open my window to listen, nothing. No sounds, sirens or red trucks in view. "Whew!" I think... it's a false alarm. I relax a little and try dialing Jon again... he doesn't answer. My heart quickens yet again... he would certainly answer if all was good. I pull onto the block - still no firetrucks. Good. Into the driveway... and then I see Jon running out the front door with his hands in the air, palms forward as if he was pushing something out of his way. He was screaming to me "DON'T BRING ALEXANDRA IN HERE!!!!! SHE DOESN'T NEED TO SEE THIS!!!!! TIM IS DOING CPR - WE CALLED 911!!!!!!!" Oh shit oh shit oh shit! FUCK FUCK FUCK! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I put the car in park, grab my keys and yell to Jon "Watch your sister!!!!!" I run through the house "Where are you??" I see the back door open and Chris, my other son screaming and crying. Tim is hovered over my husband's body frantically pushing on his chest... counting out loud... He looks up at me and yells "Mouth to mouth... do the breaths!" he is sweating and I can see he is crying. I can't breathe for myself, how the hell am I going to breathe for Ron? I lean down and start mouth to mouth. All the years of being a nurse, all of the CPR classes I have taken and I can hardly remember how to breathe. I lean down, put my mouth to his and blow twice...the air doesn't go in... I tilt his head back a little more and breathe again. It goes in, but just escapes back through his mouth causing him to gurgle. I am horrified. Tim yells to me - "I'm getting tired.. get ready to switch. 28 - 29 - 30 SWITCH!" I move over to the place above Ron's chest. I place my hands above his sternum and begin to push... counting "1, 2, 3, 4......" "WHERE ARE THE FUCKING PARAMEDICS?? DID YOU CALL THEM? CALL THEM AGAIN!!!" "STAY WITH ME RON, MY LOVE! MY LOVE!!! Don't do this to me!!!!! Don't leave me! Don't you dare die on me!!! 28, 29 30 BREATHE!" I am screaming and doing chest compressions one set after another. Still no sounds of sirens. OMG, is this really happening? Finally, in the distance, I hear sirens. We have traded off a couple times and are all just exhausted from crying, screaming and doing CPR. I see Ron's face and it is cold, pale and blue. I know in my heart this is not good. His eyes are slightly open staring off into space - but not seeing. They are dark, without his usual spark. I know he is gone - I just know.
The paramedics come into the backyard and take over the CPR. They attach the AED to Ron's chest and to everyone's surprise, he is in V-Fib. He has a shockable heart rhythm. They shock him once, twice... nothing... CPR resumes. Different paramedics and firemen ask me questions about his medical history, medications - I can't remember anything. I know he is taking Plavix and some other blood pressure medicine, but nothing registers. I look over and see them trying to start an IV and put a tube down his throat. After several attempts, they seem to have the ET tube properly placed and they use the ambu bag to ventilate him. I watch as Ron's face starts to turn a bit pink. OH MY GOD NO.... It's been too long, he's been down too long. He's going to be a vegetable, a gork, drooling out of the side of his mouth. He is going to be so pissed. I quickly realize where my thoughts have gone and internally beat myself up for going down that path. How could I not want him to live? I do, I do want him to live, but as HIM, not a gorked out cucumber. We agreed a long time ago about this. Tim says to me - "There, he's looking better, there's hope, he's going to pull through this." I look at Tim, my son who recently became an EMT and think "poor kid, he has no clue". I say to him, it's not good Tim, it's not good at all. "It's not over til it's over Mom!!". Hope, that's what we have right now, just hope. I watch as they lift Ron's body onto the stretcher still doing chest compressions and breathing for him through the tube. I somehow gather the where-withal to fill my water bottle, grab my ID badge for the hospital and lock up the house as we all get into our cars to drive to the hospital. I get my 6 yr old daughter, explain quickly to her what is going on and off we go. I drive the 3.2 miles from my house to the hospital where I work and pull into the ER parking lot. I walk into the lobby of the ER and flash my badge. I go straight to the room where he is. Everything is in a crystal haze like fog. I watch my ER colleagues work in a choreographed display of knowledge, skills and grit as they inject this, shock that, chest compress and rattle off vital data to each other. The ER doctor is calm, giving orders for epinephrine, lidocaine, amioderone...."Hold compressions" I suck in my breath. Does this mean we are done? Is he dead? Are they giving up? Everyone's eyes are glued to the monitor, waiting for a blip, a sign that he is coming back, that his heart is working again. Flat, silent and unchanging. "Resume compressions!". I realize I have been holding my breath for what seems an eternity. I ask the DR - "What's happening? What do you see??" He looks at me and says we are doing all we can... his heart has stopped working, we are doing CPR which keeps his blood flowing.." I hold up my hand to stop him "I work here, I'm a nurse on 3rd floor". His eyes barely register an acknowledgement, but he does shift and becomes much more detailed in his explanations. "We have done several rounds of Epi and Lidocaine, we have shocked him a couple times, he is not responding. What do you want us to do? How long do you want us to continue?" I explained to the Dr. that my husband does NOT want to be kept alive if there is no chance for a complete return to normal. No extraordinary means, no tubes, no vents. We agreed. I promised him - no heroics unless there is certain recovery. "I know what I see Dr. I know how long he has been down, it's been an hour. I see his O2 sats, his blood pressure, his color. I am realistic, I am a nurse. I know it doesn't look good." The doctor tells me that they are going to do another round of meds then if it doesn't work, I need to decide if I want them to stop. I tell him "You follow your protocol, you do this all the time. You need to know you did everything by the book." He turns to the team "Another round of Epi!" He calmly tells the ER nurse to continue compressions. I walk out to the lobby to speak to my kids. Ron's younger son is there and I explain to him that things do not look good, they are doing everything they can, but he is not responding, they are going to have to stop at some point. It is what his dad wanted. We talked about this and he didn't want to have unnecessary interventions. "Are you OK with me telling them to stop CPR?". Steven nods his head silently. His eyes are brimming with tears and red from the effort to hold them back. He looks scared. My nurse mode is in full gear. I am so clinical right now, talking to the kids, speaking with the ER team, cold and clinical. I have somehow pulled myself away from this being my family, my love, my husband so I can say the words out loud. I walk back into the room with my husband laying on the table, a tube is sticking out of his mouth, tongue swollen, belly bloated from air that has lodged in his gut, one arm dangles over the edge. A sheet covers his naked body since they had cut off his clothes. I look at him, walk over and take his hand in mine, hoping for a sign, a squeeze something to say he was still there, in the room, in his body. Nothing. Just his cold hand in mine. I speak to him, tell him I love him and tell him I promise to take good care of our daughter. "I will give her the love, time and attention we both want for her. I will be there for your boys, our family. I love you so much and I am going to miss you!" I am crying now, no more clinical nurse, just me- raw, open and devastated. My kids walk into the room and I look at them, shaking my head. I look up at the ER Dr and say "STOP. Stop CPR, Stop everything. Just Stop." He signals to the crew and they all step back. I am outside of my body, looking down on this made for TV scene. The monitor starts to hum this steady whine. The room is silent, but for the electric noise of the machines . "TURN OFF THE MONITORS!" I plead, choking through my tears. They quickly turn off the monitors and I hear someone, somewhere close, but oh so distant. "Time of death 1942" I am instantaneously brought back to earth and I start to collapse. "I don't know what to do! What do I do? What do I do? I don't know what to do! Oh my God, Oh My God, he's gone! What do I do?" I realize I had been saying these words out loud, not just in my head. I look around hoping someone will offer the answers. The ER team is looking at the ground, they won't make eye contact with me. Quietly, most of them start to leave the room. My kids help me to a chair and I just sob, held together by their arms, we all cry together. Our worst nightmare is happening. Ron is dead, he died today, I lost my soulmate, my love, my best friend. I am a widow with 7 kids at 46 yrs old.
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