Friday, June 10th 2022

I think that we all go into this thinking that we’re invincible. We think that even though we are told the repercussions, we deny them. We think that it doesn’t apply to us, and that we will somehow make through regardless of what they tell us to do to stay alive. We think, “this day doesn’t change all of the other days, I just messed up today and I give myself the allowance to have a day where I don’t care”. To you and me, that means nothing. To Cory, it meant quite a lot.
 
Cory takes six potassium pills every day. They’re about the size of a small Lego, and they cannot be crushed at all; they must be swallowed whole. I used to ask, “did you take all you potassiums?” and the answer was continually “yes” so I stopped asking. He knew he had to take them, so I stopped being obsessed with the pills.
 
I should have asked more.
 
In September, you all remember the ventricular tachycardia storm that took him into a scary place. His potassium was at 2 when he was admitted. He had all the signs, he was lethargic and nauseous, he was distant and irritated. This time I didn’t see any signs, he was working hard and doing fine. He even ran the brunch line in the morning after doing hotel breakfast. He got a little heat sick, but was fine. We got done with work, we went home. I was working on Girl Scout stuff (camp is next week) and he was inputting the order for work. We were just sitting on our couch, with the TV on the background while we got done what needed to be done. I went to let the big girls out (that’s how we refer to our dogs) and I came back in. He looked at me in a panic and said, “how long were you gone?!” It had been about a minute and a half.
 
Cory told me that he just had dozed off, the 7am start time is no fun for either of us. So I got back to work and so did he. But then it happened again.
 
Its like a seizure, his eyes rolled back in his head, he had a Gatorade in his hand that went flying, and he stopped in a panic a few seconds later saying he didn’t know what was going on. His defibrillator went off, that was the second time. It went off another fifteen times that night in the ER. It was another ventricular tachycardia storm. It was that thing that sends nightmares through my life and causes me to wake up constantly to make sure he’s still alive. That thing in September that scared me more than anything in my life was happening again. The images from September that scare me when I look at him were all coming back, but it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. It was really happening again.
 
I am grateful for the ER doctors and nurses and Mount Sinai, they not only remembered Cory and I, but they didn’t even send us to the waiting room. They also had new protocols in place because of what happened in September. So instead of feeling the like stupid kids that don’t know what they’re talking about, they had us set up in a room with doctors who knew his case almost immediately. And for the record, if you’re following the story, they have magnets stationed through out the ER for anyone that comes in with a defibrillation situation, and at the very least that’s progress.
 
They triaged him, they got him in, they called every shot in a really great way. I was still standing outside the room holding his things and crying, thinking this would really be the end again. Watching your person go through that much pain again and again with nothing they could do is about as hard as anything. Watching it happen again is just indescribable. His potassium was at 2.2, and he was crashing.
 
They put in a central line to his vena cava, they gave him direct drugs to his heart. They watching his heart get weird and knew it would go off again before it did. Cory, even did a classic Cory thing, and said “uh oh” right before it went off every time. It would have been cute if it wasn’t so heartbreaking.
 
Cory was transferred to St. Luke’s that night, where he is still currently recovering.
 
In the morning, I went there and he was okay, he was talking and joking and making fun of TV show with me. It was like most other hospital visits. I left after a few hours, I had girl scout prep stuff to do, and had our animals to be with.
 
I went in on Tuesday. He was really lethargic and on a few new drugs that were just knocking him out. He was basically asleep the whole day and his labs were fine, so I left early to work on more things at home.
 
I got a call at midnight. He was crashing. I was asked to come in right away just in case. I was there until around 3am. He was brachy cardic, his heart rate was at about 45 and his pacemaker wouldn’t kick in until he was at 40. They brought him back but it was a scary situation that they wanted me to be there for. I got home around 3am and was asleep until 3:45 when they called me again. He was crashing. They were performing CPR when they called. By the time I got there, he was intubated and sedated.
 
From the sounds of things, they were trying to up his potassium and it just wasn’t sticking with the addition of the diuretics, so they were giving him potassium nonstop. But his kidney’s weren’t filtering what they needed to and his potassium got to 6.8, which is incredibly dangerous. His defibrillator went off again, he was needing to be ventilated. He was not doing well at all.
 
I went home at around 5am and went back at 12ish/1ish. The heart failure doctor and the critical care doctor were ready to meet with me in minutes of my arrival.
 
I also think there are moments you have in your life that you will never forget, that you think aren’t real. You’re dreaming, this isn’t happening to you. Your whole life can’t possibly be everything you’ve feared just like that.
 
They told me that he most likely wasn’t going to make it out of the hospital, and that it was time to call anyone who would want to see him before it was too late. If anyone I knew wanted to say goodbye, it was time to make those calls. There was a chance, but it wasn’t a good one. Bring in the loved ones. I’m so sorry for the news. Make those calls.
 
I was in shock since then until and will probably stay in shock until sometime next year. I can’t wrap my brain around it. I was just about to lose my best friend, my person.  This was really happening.
 
I signed the papers to start dialysis, his kidneys were giving up. They gave me a bag that had his wedding ring in it, so it wouldn’t get lost. I went home and started making calls. I looked around at this home we built and thought about how I would ever be here without him. I think that Wednesday, June 8th will go down in history as the hardest day of my life so far. I was actually going to lose him. There is not a string of words in the world that can describe the pain of knowing you’ve lost everything you held close to your heart, and I wouldn’t’ wish that on anyone in the world.
 
My sisters went to visit, along with a couple other close relatives. It sounds like they said the same thing I did. “You’re too strong, don’t do this to any of us”. I believe one of my sisters even told him that he can’t do this to them or to me. I told him he was a stubborn asshole and he better keep it up and stay alive. I would have said anything to make him believe in what he could do.
 
I called them later that night, and through the deep sadness I heard the words, “the dialysis is working”.
 
His potassium was down to 4.4, by morning it was at 4. He was intubated, groggy, confused, and obviously upset. He was only awake every few minutes today.
 
At around 8pm on… Thursday? They extubated him. It was like a miracle. His labs were coming back great and the dialysis was working. I was so happy all day, he was making huge improvements. One of the doctors that told me he wouldn’t make it told him everything was looking really good.
 
I went in today, Friday, ready to just hang out and hopefully talk to him. But he had labored breathing and wasn’t really waking up. When he did, he was not making much sense and then just fell back asleep.
 
I felt like it would just be a recovery day until I met with palliative care and the critical care doctor. He can’t live like this, dialysis can’t keep him alive, we can’t get him off of the IV medications. He wasn’t really waking up. We talked about extreme measures and end of life care. Even though it felt like we were doing well, there was still so far to go. And he may not make it. 
 
They told me that this is a rollercoaster, and all I can do is take care of myself and go with it as it comes. We were in a good place, then a bad place, a good place again, and now we’re in a holding pattern.
 
I hate seeing him like this, but I know he’s a fighter. And I still have hope.
 
They intubated him again tonight, and he will be getting a feeding tube soon.
 
 If anyone would like to visit him, he is at St. Luke's Aurora, and you will just need to know that his name is Cory J. Wilson. They will direct you where to go. He can only have two people in the room at a time, but anyone can see him. The hours are from 10am-8pm. If you would like to know a good time to see him, you can text me at 262-510-3370. I am there usually from noon until who knows. I go home early some days and stay late on others. If there are a lot of people that want to see him at a certain time, there's a nice waiting room to chill in. 

There really is no way to know what will happen, so if you would like to see him, please do. 

Love you all, and again, hug your loved ones.

Sarah