Say You’re Sorry

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Daily writing prompt
Write about a time when you didn’t take action but wish you had. What would you do differently?
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When my husband was at the end of his life, and his treatment options had dried up and the clinical trial that he might have participated in found him ineligible, the way his doctors treated him really bothered me. I couldn’t say anything to my husband because he was the one in this terrible situation, not me. But his doctors said things like, “well, you have had five years since your diagnosis,” and “you can continue to have blood transfusions, but eventually they won’t work anymore,” and “do you see how all the fat is gone from your temples and your face? This is a sign that is not good.” My husband listened to these comments and decided that was his doctors’ way of saying he was at the very end of this journey. He actually thanked the one doctor that bothered me the most. My husband said, “I appreciate the gracious way you are telling me this very hard news.” I wanted to fume and say, “Gracious?! What he has said is anything but gracious.” I didn’t say a word, probably because I was crying too hard. And I didn’t matter – what I thought didn’t matter because all that mattered was that my husband – his happiness, his comfort, his time, his love, his life.

But when it came to those comments, I had to bite my tongue not to say, “Five years?! You think that’s a lot of time? Do you remember how many months of those years he was in the hospital or fighting for his life?” As for blood transfusions, as long as we wanted to make the drive and as long as he wanted the blood, we were going to keep trying to keep him alive. And what did how much fat he had on his face have to do with anything? I wish I had yelled at at least one of them. I wish I had said, “Just tell him that you’ve given up on him. Because you have. You have given up, and you haven’t even said you’re sorry. Say you’re SORRY!” My husband was grateful for all the doctors did, and I was, too, but I wanted more. More life, a miracle. Do I wish I had said something? Yes, sometimes I do. Other times I think I would do everything just the same. We did the best we could.

I miss my husband. Sometimes it is like someone twisted my soul until it tore, it hurts so bad.

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Published by lisaapaul

I’m a paralegal, a widow, mother and grandmother.

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26 thoughts on “Say You’re Sorry”

  4. Oh, dear Lisa, my heart was in my throat reading your comments. Some doctors put up walls as a method of self-preservation while others become inured. Their plain speaking is difficult to take. I give you credit for not losing your cool; there’s something to be said for primal screaming. Take heart, my friend. ❤️

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  5. Painful to go through, and the callousness of doctors, well, by now it’s proverbial, but how it makes everything so much worse! Your husband had such a gentle, generous spirit, Lisa. He sounds really special. You’ll never stop missing him, but I pray that your heart will heal especially of the bitter wounds from callous words. ♥️

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  8. My journey was much the same. The combination of health issues lasted about five years before Paul went to heaven. Your husband must’ve been a very gracious man himself to realize how difficult it is for doctors to deliver difficult information. Some of them appear cold and even heartless but I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. I often got upset because of the number of specialists he was referred to during that time. I once asked a urologist wha would he do if his spouse or parent was going through these unanswered questions. Eventually, Paul decided that even though he was living on borrowed time, he would forego anymore treatment and rely on God’s plan for his life. I miss him too. At first I was grateful for his promised life after death. It’s been a year and a half. Tears seem to be falling more frequently. I look forward to our reunion in heaven. He was the love of my life. In other words I know how you feel. God bless your memories.

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    1. Thank you. You do understand. I wonder if we are in shock and self preservation mode the first year so that the pain is even sharper in the second year, when we really just miss their presence. Sending love to you.

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  9. I miss my wife, too. We only had 5 months. And, yes, doctors’ bedside manner seems to be a lost art. But you were there for your husband and did what you could even though you felt helpless at the time. Should you have spoken up? We’ll never know. Doctors come and go. But sitting there, silently holding your husband’s hand, that was priceless to him. That was his last memory. That’s the last, and greatest gift you gave him.

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