I have loads of blurry memories from the two days after Lou’s first trip to the ER.
I spent a lot of time in the bathroom with Lou, cleaning up blood clots, and draining that ankle bag. I only forgot to re-clip the drainage spout once — and thankfully, we were sitting outside on the porch when I noticed. (Whew.) But the good news is, Lou and I quickly fell into a rhythm, and sometimes, we even found a way to laugh about the ridiculousness of our current situation.
But I also remember that Lou was in terrible pain.
The blood clots were massive, and an occasional clot would end up clogging the catheter. So I had to flush the tubing several times a day — which was tricky and involved the use of sterile water and lots and lots of towels to sop things up. But the fact that most of the blood clots were coming out around the catheter tubing made this situation excruciatingly painful for Lou. He’s always had a very high tolerance for physical pain, but good grief! This was unimaginably awful, and hearing him groan when a clot would pass made me cringe with pain, too.
Lou was exhausted, scared, and growing irritable — and who could blame him? There were times when he’d snap at me, but I could instantly recognize how the pain was overwhelming Lou’s natural patience and easy going ways. And, I know I annoyed Lou with my cleaning obsession. Even on the best of days, I can be unbearable because of my need to clean things. But these were the first days in my mind where immeasurable grace grew between my husband and me.
We were both the worst versions of ourselves, yet concessions and forgiveness for an insensitive tone or a snarky comment were immediately issued and accepted.
Despite everything he was going through, Lou continued to be a trooper about keeping our wrinkle cream business going. He met with a few of Dave and Judy’s local prospects, and he still took phone calls from people in our downline. Lou was always open and transparent about what was happening to him, but he never let it keep him from helping people work the business. I have to say, looking back, I’m still in awe of the kind of person Lou is. He is a hard worker, and even then, he never stopped trying to make things work for us.
For me, I almost didn’t care about the business anymore. I only had one focus, and that was Lou. I was exhausted and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but as long as Lou was clean, clear, and peaceful, I was more-or-less OK. I did manage to snag a catnap or two during those first two days out of the hospital, but I could never fully slip into a deep sleep because Lou might need my help.
I had started to get a sense of how long it would take for the catheter bag to fill up, but sometimes, Lou would have an unexpected event that required my assistance — especially in the middle of the night. So I never got too comfortable, and I was always on high alert. There was a total codependency forming between us that gave me a bit of comfort. I knew I had no control over anything in my life, but at least I could always be there for Lou.
But that was an incredibly deceptive form of comfort — like a ticking clock on a still night that turns out to be a time bomb.
If there was one consistent theme about my early life on The Imposition Tour, it was that I was never meant to feel comfortable for long. As soon as I’d start to find a way to cope and feel like I was going to be OK, another reality would blindside me, and suddenly…
