I Was Right

I've been reading through the blog we kept when G was waiting for his transplant. It is surreal.

Sept. 30, 2010 I wrote all about his rapidly worsening heart failure - how the doctors couldn't get it under control, how it was causing atrial fibrillation, how they expected they would need to do a cardioversion, how it might not even work. Basically, he need a transplant. A new heart. They were running out of things that could keep him alive, keep his old heart working even moderately well. Other organs were at risk. His quality of life had deteriorated so much.

Sept. 28 2020 G lands in the ER because his heart rate is in the 180s. It's atrial fibrillation. They try everything except a cardioversion and truly by the hand of God alone his heart goes back to normal rhythm. For that day anyway. But over the next 2.5 months that G lived, it was a constant problem. Medication wasn't working. They couldn't keep it in check.

In November of 2020 I told his heart transplant coordinator that it felt like the year before his transplant. ER visits. Ablations. Medications that weren't working. His symptoms. She was vague though she admitted he was in advanced heart failure. But she didn't tell me more. She said maybe we needed to talk to the doctors in January about considering a second transplant.

Had I looked back at our blog, I would've known. Surely, she knew. He was so much closer to death than I realized. There was a reason why it felt familiar. We had been in this spot before. But the previous time, they had done everything they could to save him. This time, they booked an appointment that would come around 6 days after his body had been placed in the ground.

Why didn't they tell me? Why didn't they prepare me?

Surely they knew! They knew! They knew.

Did they know it was too late? Did they know there was no hope? Did they think he wouldn't survive it? Did they not want us to face the reality of his coming death? Were they surprised?

Could it have been different? Could anything have changed the outcome?

The Bible tells us that God has written every day of our life, before even one came to be. The mystery here is how does that interact with our choices? Is there any scenario in which he didn't die on Dec. 19? I think not, but then I see how obvious his symptoms were and I wonder what could have been?

And was this God's mercy on G to save him from more unhelpful procedures? To allow him to die at home and not alone in a hospital during COVID?

It is bitter sweet. But mostly bitter.

I feel a bit angry, a bit confused. Maybe a lot angry. I wish, I wish, oh I wish it had been different. It wasn't. And I still don't understand why.