It has been a long time, over three years, since my last post.

In fact, I am sad to report, that on the 23rd January 2012 it was also Paul's Last Post. He finally succumbed to the dreaded alcohol and his liver simply couldn't cope any more!

It started a couple of weeks earlier at the weekend when I was with him. He had a fall whilst attempting to go to the bathroom, and unfortunately, I couldn't help him to get up so had to send for an ambulance. When they arrived the paramedics checked him over and advised him to go to hospital because his blood pressure was very low. He refused...as was his right.

They helped me to get him into bed and went on their way. A few hours later, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom again, and had another fall. Again, I couldn't get him up off the floor and this time he refused to let me call the ambulance, saying that if he went into hospital it would be for the last time...he didn't think he would be coming home again.

It was a harrowing situation. He was laid on the floor unable to do anything for himself. I cleaned him up as best I could, put a pillow under his head, and covered him with a duvet. He spent the next 12 hours there, unable to move and unwilling to let me call for assistance.

I told him that he needed help and chided him saying that he was being selfish, expecting me to sit and watch him suffer, lying on the floor like a dog, waiting for him to die, and he finally allowed me to phone his GP for advice at 3pm the following day. Her advice was to get him to hospital immediately because if he didn't go, he would almost certainly die on the floor, and very soon. He finally agreed to go and again the ambulance was called for.

As he left in the wheelchair he gave me a feeble smile, and something inside me knew that this time he might not make it through. I followed him to the hospital a short time later and by the time I arrived he was already admitted and wired up with numerous drips attached, and he had slipped into a coma.

I was invited into a consulting room by one of the medics and asked if I was aware of how seriously ill he was. That hit home and it was at that point that I asked if I should be saying "goodbye" to him. The answer was affirmative. We also discussed Paul's last request which had been to not attempt to recuscitate him and the doctor agreed to put a DNR notice on his medical notes.

This was something that Paul and I had discussed at length in the time we had together. The first time he had been "brought back" was such a traumatic experience for him, and knowing that his condition, without the self-help that he was not prepared to give himself, was terminal, he had told me that he had lived a good life, and was prepared to die. In fact, he WANTED to die, feeling that his life was worth nothing and that he had, at 53, already done more in his life than most people did in their WHOLE lives. He also said that when his time came, he would die in a place and at a time of his own choosing, thus, his DNR request was, in some small way, putting him back in control of his own destiny.

He was in coma for approximately three days, and I spent a lot of time with him, just talking to him, playing his favourite music, telling him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him, and begging him to wake up so I could hear his voice one more time.....and on day four...a miracle happened!

He woke up! My parents had got to the hospital shortly before I did, and he was actually awake and asking for fish and chips because he was hungry! I was elated, thinking that just maybe, he had cheated
Death one more time. He was groggy and disorientated, and slurring his words, but he was still ALIVE!

He was moved from a side ward into one of the main wards and appeared to be continuing to improve for the next few days. Then I noticed that his catheter bag was blood red and alarm bells sounded in my head. A sure sign that all was not well, his kidneys were putting out blood and very little else. Also, when the nurses came to turn him in his bed, I was appalled to see that he had a massive bruise on his lower back. Another sure sign that his organs were starting to fail.

I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to worry but I knew deep down that this was not good. My heart broke in two knowing that this really was the beginning of the end. He asked me if I loved him and if I would be willing to move back in with him when he got out of hospital. (We had been living apart for six months. My decision, because I couldn't cope with seeing him destroy himself, but I still loved him and was with him every day and most nights).  I told him "yes" to the first part of his question, and to the second part, knowing full well that he wouldn't be coming home, I said, "It's early days Paul, we'll have to see how you get on, but I WILL come home to you, I promise".

I think he was satisfied with that answer. I hope it gave him comfort....and it was true. I would have gone back to live with him because I loved him but also because he would have needed me to look after him.

I left him with his headphones on listening to his bedside television. He was too weak to keep his eyes open to watch TV but I thought listening to it might help to keep his mind occupied.

The following morning at 10.30am I received a telephone call from the hospital asking me to attend urgently because Paul had stopped responding to his treatment. I wasn't sure, but had a good idea that he was dying. I arrived at 11.00am and he was laid in his bed, a half drunk cup of tea on his side cabinet, looking for all the world like he was asleep. I touched his chest and it felt like he was breathing. He looked so peaceful, so not wanting to disturb him I just stood at at the side of his bed holding his hand, which was warm. I stayed like that for about ten minutes.

Then a nurse came in and I asked if he was asleep. Only then did I find out that he was actually dead.
My grief was enormous, but hopefully dignified. I cried buckets of tears, not just for me and my own sorrow but for Paul who had put up such a valiant fight for so much time and finally it was over. Far too soon.

Paul had passed away just minutes before I arrived at his bedside, fulfilling his promise to me that I would not have to watch him die, and also keeping true to his own value of dying at a place and time of his own choosing with no attempt by any medics to keep him alive. He had died quite suddenly, but peacefully and mercifully not in the way he had dreaded. There was no visible sign of him having bled to death as was one of his greatest fears.

And so my story ends. Is there anything to be learned from my experience? I'll let you be the judge of that but let me finish by saying that if you care for and love someone, never stop telling them because you never know when they might not be around to say it to. Don't leave it until it's too late.

And now, I think I can answer the question, "Is there Life After Alcoholism?".

Yes, there is....for those of us who are left behind will carry on..somehow we will get through. For those of us who cannot give up alcohol even when we know it will eventually kill us, then the prognosis is not good, and I only hope and pray that in reading our story, maybe some of you will take strength from it and heed the warning. Please get the help you need and with a lot of assistance and hard work on your part, you might not suffer the way he did, and those you love will not lose you way too soon.

Thank you for reading my blog, and I hope to continue my writing so do pop by sometime in the future!

Good luck, whatever choices you make!

        
Chrissie