The last ten days have been horrible. The following text was written by me early on Tuesday September 18th during a particularly awful part of the crisis:

I feel like I'm living in a horrible nightmare, and I can't wake up to end it because it's real. For many who read this, it may be difficult. That's okay. It's difficult for me to write it, but I have to. If I don't I think I will fall apart.

Gene has had a heart attack and now my heart is breaking. I feel crushed under the weight of the unknown - of fear, guilt, hope, and despair.  I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm terrified I'm going to lose him. For certain, my life - our lives, will never be the same. Right now it's 2:30 am on Tuesday - the second night in the hospital and it's been a rough one so far. Gene's been in the hospital for 36 hours. Right now as I listen to the wheezing mechanics of the respirator breathing for him, I feel like it's been 36 days already.

The nightmare started on Sunday morning. Gene woke up at 5:30am with a pain on the side of his chest. He told me he stayed in bed for a while but he was unable to go back to sleep so he soon got up and let the dogs out. I woke up about 90 minutes later. He told me about the chest pain. I told him to take some aspirin. He wasn't sweating. I asked him to take a reading of his blood pressure and his pulse. He did and he told me they were in the normal range. After about another hour, I asked  how he was feeling and he said, "I admit, I'm feeling better."

Work has been tough on Gene lately. Sundays are tough too because he starts thinking about going back to the office on Monday and his anxiety rises. I thought it was likely that he was depressed and anxious, and perhaps he had slept in an awkward position, causing some pain. We also considered the last time he reported chest pain, about 2 years ago, we went to the emergency room at Swedish Hospital and they concluded his heart was fine. So, last Sunday when it seemed like history was repeating itself, Gene said "I don't want to go to the hospital for a day of waiting in the emergency room just because I'm stressed from work." I suggested we go out, perhaps see the Museum of Flight for an hour or two. He agreed and off we went.

First we toured the Concorde and and the old Kennedy/Johnson Air Force 1. Gene wasn't short of breath or sweating. He seemed better. Then we checked out the new space exploration exhibit. I was half way through when Gene, in his usual museum race mode checked in with me and said he was going to go watch the movie about the history of Boeing in the little theatre fashioned from an old 737 body. 15 - 20 minutes later I finished in the space exhibit and exited the exhibit near one of the museum's emergency exit doors.

The door was open and I could see a red Medic One van parked outside with its lights on. There was a fire truck too. I distinctly remember saying to myself, "Oh my God." I knew immediately they were there for Gene. It was at that moment that time slowed down. I walked toward the 737 theatre and I could hear the static of radio chatter and urgent voices. Slowly the body of a man lying on the floor came into view. He was surrounded by emergency personnel. My heart rate accelerated and I could feel my body start to shake as adrenaline flooded my bloodstream. "That's my partner," I said. But it seemed like nobody heard me. I knelt down and grabbed his hand. Gene was flat on his back with both arms spread out as though he was about to be crucified. His hand was cool and his color ashen. His shirt was off and his chest covered with electrodes. "I'm here Gene," I croaked. I started to cry. I pulled back because I didn't want to get in the way. As I watched, I immediately felt guilty. I should have taken him to the hospital. My god, I should have been with him when he collapsed. Unfortunately I wasn't.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably only 30 seconds later that a firefighter stepped up to me and touched my arm. He asked for my name and relationship. He told me the first person to assist Gene was a nurse. She called for help and an employee brought a public defibrillator. The nurse started CPR while the museum employee hooked up the electrodes to monitor his heart. The machine actually set the rhythm and told the nurse when to compress his chest and give breaths. Soon it had analyzed his condition and it recommended a shock. As soon as they cleared the shock was given and his heartbeat restarted immediately, though weakly. At the same time, 911 had been called. The paramedics arrived within just a few minutes and took over. They ventilated him and administered drugs to firm up his heart rhythm. It was at about that time that I came on the scene.

I tried to hold myself together, but it was so hard. I was shaking and trying not to cry. They told me Gene had a myocardial infarction - in layman's terms a real heart attack when beating stops and the heart just vibrates, unable to move blood. 

As they loaded Gene onto a gurney, nearby I found the museum employee who had helped. He told me a few more details than the firefighter. I told him, "I don't know what to say except thank you very very much." And then I hurried outside. A Medic said they were transporting Gene to Highline Medical Center on South 160th in Burien. He asked me if I knew where it was. I said yes because I knew the general location, and I knew I had a map in the car if I got lost. I just figured I would follow the aid car.

I stumbled to our car, opened the door and literally collapsed sobbing in the seat. But I knew I didn't have the luxury of spending several minutes crying. I forced myself to stop and pulled the car toward the parking lot exit. The aid car wasn't moving. I stopped and got out. Another medic confirmed where they were going and asked if I was okay to drive. I lied.

Getting back in the car again I found Gene's cell phone and called Mom and Dad at home, leaving a message that Gene had had a heart attack and we were on the way to the hospital. I followed the air car for a while. The lights were flashing but they didn't use a siren. In my daze I lost track of the medics and I took a wrong turn, but I soon corrected the mistake and arrived at the hospital emergency room.

Within an hour, I had checked Gene in and the social worker had checked in with me and brought Dr. Hansen the cardiologist out to the waiting room to meet with me. Gene was being treated in the catheter lab. They injected dye, found the blockage near the bottom tip of his heart and inserted a stint to keep the vessel open. They also inserted a breathing tube and connected him to a respirator and they started to ice his body in order to cool his core temperature, a technique that has been successful in limiting brain damage.

Monday went fairly well for Gene. Sunday night they brought his temp down to 91 but they had to keep him paralyzed so his wouldn't shiver. By late Monday morning they were bringing his temp back up and they finished the process in the mid afternoon. I felt comfortable with the nursing staff. The doctor was professional and willing to answer questions, but more balanced in his assessment than I would have preferred. I know that sounds strange, but for every positive possibility he gave me, he always offered a negative counterpoint. I know that's his job, but it's really hard to listen to. The nursing staff has been wonderful helping me maintain some hope.

Then, on Monday night a new nurse came on duty. Right away I felt uncomfortable with her. It was a gut reaction on my part. She seemed scattered and overwhelmed while everyone before had been self-assured and focused. By 10:30 I was exhausted so I laid down on my cot to nap with the lights dimmed. At midnight I woke up to bright lights and many voices. I had taken one Tylenol PM, so I was a little groggy. I laid there and listened to the voices as though they were far away. I figured out they were taking Gene's temperature. I heard them say 102.8 and I was awake instantly again. The adrenaline surged once more.

It seemed the new nurse didn't know what to do. She was mumbling. Then Gene started shaking as though he was having either a seizure or muscle spasms. It wasn't like some of the shivering I had seen earlier when they were restoring his body temperature. Again, the nurse was slow to react. She kept pushing buttons on the machines that regulate the medicine, and she kept making mistakes. Clearly Gene was in crisis. I wanted to scream, Do something! One of the nurses from Sunday night stepped in. I stepped into the hall but I overheard her say with frustration that the current nurse wasn't following a crisis protocol. The doctor was called. But before he even arrived I knew what I had to do. I went to the In-Charge nurse and insisted the new nurse be taken off Gene's case and replaced by the one from the previous night. It was done immediately.

So now Gene is stable again, but his fever is still above 100 - dropping as of now. He's on broad spectrum anti-biotic  while blood and urine cultures are processed. They suspect pneumonia or worse - a brain injury so deep and severe his body is having trouble regulating itself. But, for now he's doing most of his own breathing with the assistance of a ventilator.

Just writing this has helped. The stress of the night is getting to me. I have lost the color in my face on more than on occasion. I've felt like I wanted to vomit. The pain Gene goes through every time the drugs start to wear off is wrenching. They say he won't remember the seizures, but every awful second is being etched in my memory. On the positive side he should be able to wake up soon, and that's good. It will probably take a full 24 hours for that to happen. He's no longer paralyzed by drugs. And, his heart is steady and strong.

I'm trying only to think positive thoughts. I'm trying to ignore words like neurological damage and brain injury. If I must, I'll deal with those in the coming days. Right now, all I want to do is think about seeing Gene walking and talking again, and giving me a hug and holding my hand. That's what I want to think about. I don't want to think about the nightmare.

--------------------------------------

As of today, September 25th, we know the worst case scenario was to be Gene's fate, despite my praying for a miracle. His brain was seriously damaged. I, my parents, and our extended family here in Seattle all met with the cardiologist and neurologist in the ensuing days. We sought a second opinion too. All the doctors agreed. Tests confirmed that Gene had suffered massive brain injury. I guess receiving CPR and electroshock from the museum's defibrillator were not enough.

I stopped spending the night at the hospital after the trauma of early Tuesday morning. I wasn't getting enough sleep and my body was close to collapse. The doctor told me Gene was in a coma and his condition was very grave. He had less than a 5% chance of awakening, and even if he did he would be totally dependent on other to care for him - probably unable to talk and with no mobility. With each passing day the chance of his awakening was dropping rapidly. The hospital chaplain called a Roman Catholic Priest. He performed the last rites for Gene on Thursday the 20th. The Episcopal priest from my parish came later and led a simple ceremony commending Gene's fate into God's hands. All our extended family in Seattle had a chance to say good bye.

In keeping with Gene's written wishes, on Saturday September 22nd, I returned to the hospital early in the morning. Eric, the nurse who had been caring for Gene almost every day was there. Then I did the most difficult thing I have every done in my 42 years of life. I told Gene I was going to let him go and follow his instructions because I loved him enough to say goodbye. The ventilator was removed as well as the food tube and intravenous medicine. Only hydration and pain medication that would assure his comfort were allowed. It was at that time that the damage to Gene's body also became evident. Though he was breathing on his own without the ventilator, he was only taking in about 40% of the normal lung volume. Over the next 3.5 hours we remained by his side as his respiration slowed and his blood oxygen levels dropped. At exactly 12 noon his heart stopped beating. Gene died. I immediately said the Our Father and Hail Mary prayers aloud.

My beautiful partner is gone. I loved him very deeply, but despite his loss I know I was blessed to have him in my life for more than 14 years. I will always love him. Now it's time to grieve for my tears have returned while writing this - and I know they will visit again and again for some time to come.

I love you Gene.