The Hug

by Thomas Martin

It wasn’t actually a hug. 

My grandfather’s strong, sinewy arms supported his sister Marie by her upper arms as they stood gazing into each other’s eyes. Marie was slightly older than my eighty-year-old grandfather. She stood there looking so frail, so vulnerable. Even from the next room I could see the sorrow in her eyes. Aunt Marie came from the old school where a woman wore her hair long throughout her life. She normally kept it neatly in a bun, but right now, her gray hair hung loosely down her back. She traveled from Wisconsin to see my grandfather one last time. My grandfather was dying of cancer, treatable cancer had he brought it to his doctor’s attention in time. Instead, he waited and the wait would prove to be fatal. When I looked at him that day I felt he must be alright. His hair was still pitch black, he was strong and trim and a man of few words – this couldn’t be a man who was close to death. I watched my grandfather and Aunt Marie almost as though I should turn away, as if I was watching something too personal, a moment which only the two of them should share. As a mere child, I was not able to fully understand the significance of this hug yet I knew I was witnessing something important, something which would play out in my own life

My time came when I turned 50.

I too was dying, my heart having failed me. I was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy dilated idiopathic. It is the medical term for a heart that for no known reason is slowly giving up the fight. It was more than a shock as I had been healthy all my life. No chronic diseases, no hospitalizations, nothing. I was tall and trim and had no reason to believe the rest of my life would not be the same as before. I had been somewhat short of breath lately, nothing serious, but this diagnosis changed my otherwise positive outlook of my future. I tried medicines, holistic doctors, leave from work, but my heart was not responding. It seemed focused on giving up. How could a part of me be so intent on dying when I so desperately wanted to live? Just like my grandfather, it appeared I had ignored signs of the problem and had waited too long to seek medical help.

My life became one of time spent in the hospital with periodic visits to my home. I first swelled up with fluid, feeling as if I was drowning. Three liters of fluid were extracted from my body on my first hospital visit. After several days in the hospital, I went home only to return ten days later. This time was far more serious. I had horribly painful and potentially fatal blood clots in my lungs. The doctors went in through a vein in my leg, ran a line to my lungs and dissolved them. After another several days in the hospital I was again sent home with a blood thinning drug. The problem was is that it did not work on me. Within days my arms filled with clots and swelled up like Popeye the Sailor Man. Upon my next re-admission to the hospital, doctors no longer were willing to let me go home and live alone.

It was a cousin who offered to let me live with her and her family. After a life of a single man, I was now the “fifth child” at the table, albeit a very sick child. They stayed by me through trials I no longer care to remember. In spite of my resolve and my family’s love, I kept getting sicker, weaker and less responsive to treatment.

It was my doctor who finally gave me the bad news. He told me he wanted to put me on the heart transplant list. In the meantime, he told me, a heart assist device would be implanted to ensure I lived until a heart became available. This was news far more than simply devastating. I grieved as one grieves the loss of a child or a parent. My life would never be the same.

I continued my struggle, I would not give up and I would not give in to surgery. Certainly someone, somewhere had the solution to my problem. But after those multiple stays in the hospital, I realized my options were limited. It was on the last visit to my local emergency room that my doctor told me my problem needed to be addressed immediately. He was ordering an ambulance to take me to a hospital in San Diego known for transplants and this specific type of heart assist device called an LVAD.

The ambulance ride to San Diego would likely be the longest of my life, even though it was less than ninety minutes. I knew what lay ahead for me and I was afraid. I finally asked the nurse in the back of the ambulance to prop up my head so I could see him more clearly. I’m sorry, I said, but you have to talk to me, you have to divert my attention from what awaits me at the hospital. Tell me about yourself, tell me about your likes and dislikes. Tell me about your family and your goals. He happily obliged and I discovered much about my nurse, Joe and the time passed quickly. I am grateful to him for his willingness to open up to me. But the hospital still lay ahead and the surgery which I so feared

My world seemed to come crashing inward but my family and my closest friends would not abandon me. They came to me, called me and more than one family member and friend offered their homes to me after surgery. I was overwhelmed. I knew I loved and cared about them, but somehow never thought I was worthy enough to be loved in turn. It was an epiphany which I still can barely believe. But here they were, there for me in my time of need.

But it was once again a hug which made me recall my grandfather and my Aunt Marie. It was from one of my dearest cousins, one who in her own life had endured tragedy beyond what any loving person should have to experience. This cousin is just six months younger than me and has always been a part of my life. We experienced high school and college together. I celebrated her graduation from college and later her marriage to a wonderful man. Years later, her life changed forever when her husband was killed in a tragic accident leaving behind my cousin and their four young daughters. These are examples of the joys and the tribulations we share, the same type which I knew my grandfather saw in his sister’s eyes. My Aunt Marie saw her brother whom she had spent a lifetime loving, slowly slipping away and knowing she would never again see him alive.

A child cannot understand a lifetime of joy and despair which two adults share, at least I could not. During the hug with my cousin, I looked deeply into her eyes. Like my grandfather, I had nothing to say yet tears began rolling down my cheeks. I saw to her soul and saw the tragedies she had endured and now I was asking her to endure mine. I don’t know what she saw except a loved one whose time was limited without a life-altering procedure.

The decision was made and the implant surgery went forward. It was by far the most frightening and upsetting thing I had every endured. I cried often. Actually, I became quite brilliant at crying, as it took little to set me to weeping. My family and friends were with me though, with me through the ordeal. They stayed by my side as I laid anesthetized in my bed with tubes running out of my body. They came to see me as I healed in the hospital. Their love got me through every single day.

I am home now, feeling stronger and better than I realize I had felt in over a year. But I think back to those hugs, both my grandfather’s and my own. They were both times when words were useless, when love spanning decades was communicated in a single moment.

No, I guess it wasn’t actually a hug for me either. It was a bond that went beyond blood, went beyond friendship. It was seeing our lives both separate and together and wanting to live just a little while longer to enjoy the time we might still have.

Unlike my grandfather, it appears I have many years ahead of me. I pray I choose wisely how I live them.

 Copyright © 2020, Thomas Martin, All Rights Reserved