“When one light goes out in this world, another more brilliant and pure light turns on in heaven, which is the person watching over you, guiding you from the heavens above.”
–A quote by Deborah A. Bowman
I wrote this line to a friend a number of years ago and have used it in all sincerity and truth more times than I would have liked to, to comfort grieving friends. Now it is my turn to read and listen to the full meaning of these words and hope they can bring me a few moments of comfort and peace.
On Monday, 4/9/2018, my husband, Sidney Sclar, was taken from this world and my life in the timespan of less than a single heartbeat. He died very unexpectedly from a massive coronary. There had been no warning signs whatsoever.
We had been lying beside each other in bed during the early afternoon, holding hands. I must have a low-dose chemo injection every Monday, which I now give myself, for I will be taking it for the rest of my life. Sidney was recovering from a stomach flu and hadn’t eaten much for a couple of days. He was tired and just wanted to be near me, even though I’m a little grumpy after the shot from nausea.
He had just told me that he needed to rest so he could feel a little better to take me somewhere special for my 65th birthday, which was the next day, April 10, 2018.
He rose to go to the bathroom to take a shower. I heard a loud thump and received no answer when I called his name. I hurried as fast as I could, which is not a “run” by any means, but it was only a few steps. I suspected that he must have fallen.
I have been in a wheelchair for many months from a severe SLE and Rheumatoid Arthritis attack, combined with a new drug interaction, that occurred in late August 2017. I had just graduated to two very old-style crutches that clipped on my forearms, which I have kept for over 25 years, when I had my first knee replacement. They are like old friends to me, and I do not like a walker because it destroys my lower back when I have to bend forward to hold onto it. Besides, the crutches allow me to retain a little bit of that perfect posture that I was so known for many years ago.
He was sprawled across the bathtub with his face lying in a pool of blood, which was already dripping down the inside of the tub. He was trying to breathe, but only harsh gurgling sounds were erupting. I screamed his name and then told him I was going to call 9-1-1, but he was unresponsive. I don’t think he ever heard my voice.
On the 9-1-1 call the medical advisor told me I needed to start CPR immediately. I know how to do CPR, but he was face down with one arm draped across the tub and the other flung behind his head. My husband is a tall and big man; also, the bathroom is very narrow. Trying as hard as I could, there was no way I could get him flat on his back to do CPR. The advisor asked if there was anyone I could call or get assistance from because it had to be started immediately.
I ran as fast as I could with my crutches to my neighbor’s house and a lady visiting my neighbor from our block, who I don’t know very well, said her husband did CPR and she flew out of the house to get him. Their names are Posey and Mark.
As my next door neighbors Elaine and Mike, a couple in their mid-70s, were helping me to get back to Sidney in our home, we heard the sirens of the ambulance coming. It had been less than three minutes.
The EMT immediately went to assist him, all of us believing at first it was a head injury. Very soon, they realized that was not the case. They worked on him for 48 minutes in our bathroom. I found five large IV syringes which were left on the floor, trying to administer enough medicinal adrenaline to create a heartbeat so they could use a defibrillator. I learned these specific steps at a later time during the day.
They incubated him with a tube and were able to get him breathing through artificial means. With stern, worried faces, they told me they were taking him to the Washington Adventist Hospital, which was only 4-5 minutes away, probably even faster by ambulance.
As I had been lying in bed, I was not dressed in anything but a long kimono-like gown. My neighbor, Elaine, had wrapped me in a small blanket that lies across the back of my chair in the living room. It was very chilly on Monday. She talked to me about everything under the sun during those 48 minutes to distract me from the procedures being performed in the bathroom, which I could not see from where I sat.
I was told to get dressed, bring his medications with me, and they took his Driver’s license as ID. The time was 2:48 p.m.
I arrived at the hospital at a few minutes before 3:00 p.m., having trouble finding a parking place. I gave my name and Sidney’s name at reception and at first was told he had not come into the ER. I told the guy behind the glass window that he must be there because the ambulance that brought him was already gone when I arrived. He called back to the ER and said my husband’s name, which is a little tricky to pronounce “Sclar” with a hard “c” like “SKLAR”, rhymes with “car”. He said into the phone, “Oh, that man … in room 18. Yes, I understand.”
He told me to take a seat and that someone would come to get me in a few minutes to go back and be with my husband. I found that hopeful because if I could sit with him while they waited for … test results, x-rays, whatever? … there was some hope.
About 30 seconds later, a young nurse came out dressed in scrubs and asked me who I was there to see. I again told her my husband’s name, and she looked at the floor. I held out the bag of medicines that was in my hand. She asked me what it was. I told her I had brought my husband’s medications, as instructed. When she didn’t reach to take them, I said, “Don’t you need these?” She answered, “Yes, I’ll take them,” which she did. Then she told me that she was going to take me to a private room where the doctor would come talk to me.
I knew; I knew, but I still hoped beyond hope. I prayed and whispered his name. It was a tiny room with a small settee, a chair, and a table upon which there was a box of tissues. Yes, I knew, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it even to myself. I had known since the moment I had seen him lying on the floor at 2:00 p.m.
The doctor, a young woman–I don’t even remember her name–and the same nurse stepped into the room and the doctor sat down beside me on the settee. She said, “I have some very bad news for you.” That was when I started to cry.
She told me that he had had a massive coronary and that he was actually dead before he ever hit the floor. She described it as his heart bursting inside his chest. She said there was nothing anyone could have done, even if it had happened at the hospital. She said he would not have been in any pain and had died instantly. There was no pulse when he arrived at the hospital. I would later find out there had been no pulse for the full 48 minutes when they worked on him at our home. They tried so hard to save him, and for that I am grateful.
She asked me if I wanted to see him and I told her, “Yes,” through my sobs. She said he was still incubated; did I want her to remove the tube, and I told her to please do so. She said the chaplain would be down to sit with me in just a couple of minutes. She sincerely expressed her deep sorrow for my loss.
Again, I don’t even remember the kind gentleman’s name. He was short, dignified, and Asian. He talked to me about my faith and religion. I told him I was Christian and my husband was born into the Jewish faith, even though he now believed in Jesus as our savior. I told him I had never made arrangements for anything like this before, and I didn’t know what to do. He excused himself and went and got me a pamphlet with names of different funeral homes of different faiths and some assistance phone numbers. He patiently explained to me what it was that I had to do.
He then escorted me back to see my husband. The chaplain allowed me all the time I wanted to be alone with Sidney.
Sid looked so peaceful. His hand was slightly cool, but his face felt as warm as if he was alive. I expected him to open his eyes and speak to me. I held his hand, ran my hands over the thick gray curls at the back of his head, and kissed him on the cheek, on his lips, and on the large gash that was all the way down the right side of his head. I talked to him for 20 minutes, telling him how much I loved him and that I knew that he loved me too. I said many things, but I really don’t know exactly what they were.
Another gentleman came in and kneeled down to talk to me since I was sitting in the bedside chair. He handed me some assistance phone numbers and was very gracious, but I was told that Sidney had to be removed from the hospital within 72 hours. I believe this to be standard operating procedure for all hospitals. They needed the bed, Room 18.
The young man asked if there was anyone he could call for me and if Sid and I lived alone to which I nodded assent. He noticed my crutches and said if there was any problem at all to call them and they would help me or extend the time limit, if necessary.
The chaplain returned and with a final kiss and a squeeze of Sidney’s hand, along with some choking sobs, the nice Asian gentleman walked me to my car. I told him he didn’t need to do that because I hadn’t been able to find a close handicapped parking space so it was a little bit of a walk, but he insisted. He was very sweet as he hugged me and together we said a prayer for Sidney, who was going home to God. Sidney A. Sclar had just turned 64 years old in February.
In August of 2006, Sidney had suffered a massive heart attack and had to be resuscitated. He had quintuple-bypass surgery. God was generous and loving enough to give Sidney and I twelve additional years of love and happiness.
On Thursday, 4/12/18, Sidney was buried at The Olde Adas Israel Cemetery near both of his parents’ graves at a beautiful and respectful Jewish graveside service. He was in a richly grained, unfinished pine wooden box, with a lovely carved, wood Star of David in the center of the top. I did not have to bring any clothes for him because he was wrapped in a white shroud, but the casket was closed and I did not wish to see him like that anyway. I had already said my goodbyes.
I had put the sad news of his unexpected passing on his facebook accounts on Tuesday, the 10th. The arrangements weren’t finalized until Wednesday afternoon because there had not been any plots available in this “Old” cemetery for many years. Yet, the Synagogue was somehow able to create a plot just slightly up a small knoll from his parents’ gravestones. I put the information about the service on facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, etc., on Wednesday evening.
Sid was known as the Master Networker. There is a blog using that name, sidthemasternetworker.com, which I set up for him not too long ago. I was surprised that over 45 people showed up in the middle of the afternoon with only half a day’s notice. I have received hundreds of messages, comments, “likes” but many more hearts of love, and long, shocked, grieving emails as well as condolences and offers of support and help for myself, even from people whom I don’t know. In my devastation and grief, I am still so proud of the man I love.
I wish that I could now tell anyone who has read this blog all the way to the end that this is a dramatic, fictional short story, but unfortunately, that is not the case. I believe this is more of a catharsis for me than anything else, and I don’t expect people to read it until the end. But it is the story of a great man’s life that everyone loved and admired. My niece says, “That if you need anything, Uncle Sidney knows a guy, and if he doesn’t he knows a guy who knows a guy, etc.”
Below in bold are the words that I wrote which I had someone else at the service read because I could not say them:
“Sid was the love of my life as I know he felt the same for me. We were together for 17 years. We saw each other through many trials and illnesses, but we weathered every storm with love, respect, and kindness. His last words to me expressed his love and devotion for me and our life together, even though he did not know that death was hovering right outside our bedroom door; nor did I. I have lost my dearest friend, but I know he is at peace in heaven with his loving parents, looking down upon us with his ready smile and charming wit.
“I am a woman of very strong faith as was Sidney. Nothing made us happier than when we were working as a team to bring joy, peace, and good will to others–easing their pain with a loving, enthusiastic smile or embrace; giving them hope when life dealt them what they perceived as an insurmountable obstacle, and sharing our belief that miracles are not only possible, but abundant. This is how Sidney and I lived our life together.”
We would have been celebrating our 5th wedding anniversary on May 24th, 2018.
I HAVE A NEW WEBSITE, A SECOND WEBSITE; I HOPE EVERYONE WILL GO TAKE A LOOK AND, HOPEFULLY, FOLLOW THE PROGRESS OF MY JOURNEY. DON’T WORRY, BOWMANAUTHOR ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE. I’M JUST ADDING A NEW DIMENSION OF MYSELF AND WHAT HAS HELPED ME:
I am a ghostwriter, as well as an author and editor, and many of my followers know I write memoirs, but I have never written my own. I hid behind my words and songs and art until one day when I couldn’t hide anymore. It was an accident, a drug interaction, a misdiagnosis by the doctors that refused to acknowledge it. At the time, I didn’t know or want to know that I died that day in the emergency room … for mere seconds? I’m not sure. Only my husband knows the full truth. I have been blessed because of my experience. I came back with a mission!
For the past 7 months, I’ve been researching, studying, training, updating certifications. I’ve turned to holistic healers and healthy snacks and shakes. I’ve lost some weight, not enough, but it’s made me feel a lot better. I’ve cut out over half of my prescription drugs with the horrible side effects.
I had already met many people through my blog with immune-deficiency diseases because it’s in my Bio that I was diagnosed 28 years ago. I met even more on Facebook and Twitter, even LinkedIn, at the doctor’s office, at a restaurant we go to; even when I was a patient in the hospital, I was teaching a RN about SLE Lupus because her BFF had just been diagnosed, and she was going to the beach to sunbathe … in Miami! Yikes! Neither one of them knew that sunshine makes SLE worse, life-threatening. It turns it on!
I’ve met many, many more people these past 7 months, some in my own family, with SLE Lupus, Discoid Lupus, Juvenile Lupus, Geriatric Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, Osteoarthritis, MS, Depression, Autism, Encephalitis, Ischemic Stroke, Parkinson’s, ALS, Alzheimer’s, Dementia, on and on and on. But what was I supposed to do? I guess I’m the type that has to be hit in the head with a brick to see what’s right in front of my eyes. People need help, and our world is getting more toxic everyday.
THE REST OF THE STORY: I prayed the night before on August 27, 2017, as I have before. I asked God to take me, to bring me home. I know now it was the prescription drugs talking and not my intention. I hurt; I was depressed; I was scared … but I ended my prayer as I always have for many, many years. No, not often, just a few desperate times when the pain was just too much to bear. “Please, bring me home, dear Lord. I’m ready …” Then I would take a deep breath and whisper, “But if you need me, God; if anyone needs me, I am Your vessel. Tell me where to go, when to go, who to see. I know when I get there, the words will be there because you always send them to me. So, even though, I’m ready… if you need me, I’m here, as always. Amen.”
I’m still here and stronger than ever because of the things I’ve learned and the research I’ve done. My body, mind, and spirit are working together for a change, even though I hit the big “65” in about a month.
The new website is not replacing bowmanauthor, and I’m still writing, editing, advising people on publishing. I’ll never stop that! I love it!
www.betteryourwellness.com is a place to go if you need some advice, suggestions, or want to hear about some of the things I’ve tried that have actually worked, actually helped me … a lot. There’s a link on the site to the company I’ve found to be the best for me.
It’s my personal story and educational journey, the one I never thought I’d write.
It begins with these words and a picture of me, and not my pen-name, my real name: Deborah A. Stevens, as a 28-year SLE Lupus, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and 6X-Cancer Survivor, inflammation was killing me. I turned to Holistic, Nutritional Alternatives when Western Medicine let me down. I was losing the battle, but not the mindset and will to live. My quest is to help others. It is not hopeless!