My Good Guy Wears a White Hat

When I was growing up, John Wayne was my hero. He always played the man who saved the townsfolk from evil land-grabbers and outlaws. It took him one to two hours to win and save the young lovely (petticoated woman) from disaster.

About four years ago when my kidneys failed and when I was admitted into the ICU, John Wayne was not there to save me. And, it sure didn't look good as I rested on a hospital. No, John Wayne wasn't there, but it was my husband there to hold my hand. It was my husband who braced himself for my death. It was my husband who became silent.

I was in the midst of my own battle. I was wired and re-wired to tubes and machines that beeped and chortled. The hospital room was so noisy that I was not sure if I was living or dying. I did not notice my husband's silence.

Not until I was able to get on a plane to the U.S, not until then, did he know that I was going to live. Then, he was euphoric.

What he did not know was that I was just beginning the fight for my survival.

I have talked to other Wegener's Granulomatosis patients, who mention that when they returned home from their crises that their children wanted to sleep in their room to reassure themselves that the sick parent was still alive. That even now, when the Wegener's patient was well enough to walk and live normally with limitations that the children still planned their lives around life without the sick parent. Children are adaptable.

It is much harder for adults.

I remembered lying in bed on my side as my husband would rub my back near my kidneys. The kidneys felt pinched and sore. I would fall asleep under his gentle hands.

When I sat on the living room couch with no thoughts in my head, he would ask if I had taken my medications or drank enough water. He would make sure that I went to the bathroom.

For months, I was like a vegetable. As my rheumatologist weaned me down from the prednisone, I began to think and act human. Sort of.

Did I mention that I tried to leap out of the car because I thought that the world was "out to get me?"

We were driving back from an ER visit. The Las Vegas lights glowed under a desert night sky. My husband had one hand around my wrist and the other on the steering wheel. He held me tight and did not let go even though I struggled hard and had the door open. He knew that my mental problems were not in my head as the ER doctor suggested, but that they were caused by the medication I was taking - prednisone and cytoxan.

He did not give up on me.

As I think of those bad days, I am grateful for this man. He is my hero with the white hat. He hung on to me. He kept me. Because of him, I am walking and talking today.

I thank you - all caretakers who have watched your loved ones in pain, in mental anguish. I thank you. Your unselfish acts of care go beyond courage. I say this with true sincerity-without you, we could not survive.