I had become quite familiar with Mrs. M since her husband was placed on the liver transplant list at Rush. He had been in and out of the hospital multiple times for the many complications of liver disease we commonly see. He suffered all of them: life-threatening bleeding from the upper GI tract, ascites, muscle wasting, kidney failure and chronic encephalopathy, or state of delirium caused by the liver’s inability to clear toxins.
Not knowing his age (early 60s), I would have guessed he was 75 or 80. The few conversations he could have made little sense. Some were humorous, even to Mrs. M, who couldn’t help but smirk when he asked the nurse if his dialysis catheter was really a tracking device to prevent him from escaping.
She knew this was not her husband. She probably hadn’t seen the man she knew, the man she married, for six months or so, since before the cirrhosis took over. Yet she spent every day at his bedside. Even when he was well enough to leave the hospital (or more appropriately, not sick enough to stay), a nursing home was not acceptable. She was his 24-hour caregiver. His life outside of the hospital depended on her. It was the least she could do while she waited and prayed for that one phone call. Continue reading