The Story of Charles' Death: PART 1

Please be aware that this post may not be appropriate for children… 

On April 1st, 2014, I had an appointment at the hospital. I woke-up that morning with just a few butterflies in my stomach, in anticipation of baby Henry's hospital visit for his kidneys. I was prepared to take him for his renal ultrasound, to determine what should be done with his 4 kidneys. I was very interested to find out the plan for Henry. It was not going to be a pleasant experience for him (or me) at the hospital, but I had been mustering my courage for the screaming and crying he would surely, and justifiably, display. I was ready to go through the motions with him. I was bracing myself, and putting-up my "strong-mommy" defenses. Those defenses are required when you see your baby in pain.

It was not going to be a "normal" day, with Henry's hospital appointment -- but just like any other day, I woke-up early, made a quick breakfast (a smoothie), and I took Sammi to junior high. When I left for the morning trip with Sammi, Charles and the rest of the boys were still sleeping in bed.

Upon my arrival home, there was the normal flurry of morning activity, with everyone getting ready for school. However, when I got home, Charles was still in bed, sitting up, and I could see he had drunk the smoothie I had made -- the cup was on the nightstand. I recall that he mentioned he felt really tired, and he was having a hard time getting out of bed that morning -- he said he did not feel well. He had been saying that many mornings, for a long time… 

I have to backtrack a little bit, to help understand the full story. Charles had been having difficulty breathing for many months. He had struggled with his breathing and his lungs. There were many nights where he would lay in bed, just trying to catch his breath -- while taking deep, heaving, seemingly over-exagerated breaths. He would lay down, and I would watch as his chest would rise and fall, and he would blow in-and-out with his mouth. Sometimes I thought he was being overly dramatic about how hard it was to breathe -- I was wrong. His breathing troubles tormented him persistently in the months previous to April 1st. Only looking back now do I realize how much, and for how long, he had been suffering. (My poor Charles.) And, yes, he went to the doctor… but that is another story, not one I will be telling here.

Notice the date in his journal…

Two weeks prior to April 1st, Charles had found a lump on his upper leg. He showed it to me, and told me how badly it burned. I knew what it was when I saw it -- it was a blood clot. It was a large lump, located on a vein, and the lump was bluish in color. He explained the pain that he had from the lump/clot, and I knew exactly what it was. I knew what it was because I had one myself -- and was properly treated for it -- when I was pregnant with Henry. I knew the burning he spoke of, and the pain. He went to the doctor for the lump, but that is all I will say about that.

Here are some texts from Charles a few weeks prior to April 1st:
I am the green message, he is the white…

These texts make me sad. My poor baby. 

We found the blood clot right before we went on a trip to Utah to visit family. He was in pain, but after he visited the doctor for it, he determined it was OK to go. We visited with my brother's family, and my Nan. While we were there, Charles was icing his thigh area because of the pain. (Again, I know that burning pain, and it HURTS!) Though in pain, he got a little ambitious, and he tried jumping on the trampoline with the kids. When he came in, he was hunched over on the kitchen counter, heaving like an old man with Asthma -- very, very, unlike Charles. After returning from our Utah trip he was tired, and worn-out, and just trudging through the days, fighting the pain.

So, back to the morning of April 1st…

Charles got out of bed, and started getting ready for work. I decided I would do TaeBo that morning, before heading off to Henry's appointment -- I knew I would need all the energy and strength I could get, to endure Henry's medical procedure. Henry was in his crib, and the other two boys were getting ready for school, and almost out the door, as I started my workout. The boys left for school. It was just me, Charles, and Henry, at home.

I was in the living room, doing my best to keep up with the intense workout, and I could see Charles' reflection, as he was getting ready in the bathroom mirror. I remember thinking how handsome he was with his beard. While in the middle of some painful squats, I remember crying out to Charles that I was tired of being so chubby, and that is when he said, "Mari, you are beautiful, and I am so proud of you." 

Those were the last non-frantic words he spoke to me. (They are my favorite words in all the world.) 

Charles continued getting ready, and I continued my workout. There was not a lot of chit-chat, since I was just trying to keep breathing and doing my routine, while he was hustling about the house, putting on his white shirt and tie, gathering his keys, checking his phone, and getting ready to go to work for the day.

And then he went out to start the car.

And then he came back in and sat on the couch.

While in the middle of doing some squats and side-kicks, I just happened to turn my head, and look at him. He was bracing the couch with both of his hands in a firm grip, as if to stabilize himself. His eyes were twitching back-and-forth, in an unearthly like manner. At first I giggled at him, and said, "Charles, what are you doing?" The way he was positioned on the couch looked like he was trying to be funny. He said nothing. He continued his strange motions, and I could quickly tell there was nothing funny about what was going on. His eyes continued twitching, and I went over to him and waved my hand in front of his face saying, "Charles?! Charles??!!" But he did not respond. He did not move from his firmly gripped, eye-twitching position.

And then, as I kept waving my hand in his face, and saying, "Charles! Charles!" he snapped out of the twitching with a loud grunt. He made a noise that sounded like, "Huh?" He then briefly looked at me with his normal eyes, and he fell to the floor on his hands and knees. While hurled over in the fetal position, he began deep-heaving -- with his chest and back lifting and falling, rapidly.

At this point, I switched into high-alert. He had had these breathing episodes before -- but this one was different. He was not mentally present, he was not alert, his motions were intense, he was… dying. 

He began sweating profusely, like nothing I had ever seen. Water poured from his face like someone had dumped a bucket on his head. His face turned completely white, and his features were all facing downward in despair and agony.

These images still, and always will, haunt me.

The world seemed to be spinning out of control, and everything happened so quickly.

As he was struggling to breathe, I frantically asked, "Should I call 911? Is it that bad?" I knew it was that bad, but because the breathing episodes had happened before, I was not sure if he was working through it, or not -- I had to ask before making the call.

He was hunched over the ottoman, ripping off his shirt and tie in agony, and he deep-breathed, and gasped a sluggish, "YES!!!!" 

I grabbed my phone, and called 911. I spoke as calmly as I could, giving directions, and following instructions. They then told me to be waiting outside for them. I obeyed, leaving Charles heaving on the floor in the living room, alone. I do wish I would not have been outside waiting for them, I wish I would have been with Charles… but I did not know those were my last moments with him, alive.

It was only moments, and I could hear the sirens screaming towards our house. There was a firetruck, and then an ambulance showed-up. The men quickly scurried into our house, finding Charles writhing in pain on the floor. They took his vitals, put an oxygen mask on him, and I could hear them saying things about his blood pressure dropping rapidly, while I was talking to another fireman, giving him information. The medics were very calm, and collect, while Charles was frantically trying to breathe. This all happened in mere minutes. Charles looked, and sounded awful. I was terrified for him (and me), but I thought he would be OK. My heart was pounding out of my chest, but my adrenaline was keeping me functioning, and sane. I thought that he just needed some medical attention. I thought that his lung issues had come to a climax, and we would finally figure out what was wrong, and the people at the hospital would fix him. I was sure he would be alright, I even recall asking him where his phone was, so I could call the courthouse and tell them he would not be at court that day. In the chaos he managed to gasp-out to me, "In my coat pocket." 

And then as Charles pulled himself onto the gurney, white as a ghost, covered in sweat, struggling for his life, he yelled...

"I CAN'T BREATHE!" 

And as the medics wheeled his thrashing body out the front door, my heart sank in desperate fear, and I whispered through my tears...

"I love you."  

That was the last time I saw him with a heartbeat.