God has a plan?

I lost my husband of 15 years in February 2011. Was it expected? Yes and no.

Yes, in far as he himself predicted he would die in his 50s. I would do the typical "Pshaw, honey, look at your mother - she's still going strong and entering her 80s!" but he pointed out about his father passing away years back from heart problems.

Yes, in far as Frank's health took a bad turn, with the Type II Diabetes, when he was in his late 40s. And I mean a bad turn. However, in my mind, that didn't mean he would die young ... just not as long as I hoped.

That's the thing. That last thought turned out being truer than I anticipated. When I thought the "Not as long as I hoped" thing, I was thinking maybe he would be with me in his 70s and perhaps early 80s. Definitely thought he would be with me during his 60s.

Then he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Says online most folks live around 2 years and upwards to 5-10 years after receiving that diagnosis. But Frank was only around for 8 more months and passed away at the age of 55.

"God had a plan..." Screw that; I didn't like the plan. I didn't like that the last 4 more months I had with my husband was spent with us separated - him in a hospital then a nursing home, me at our home with our son or going to work ... trying to pretend 'life is normal' as as much as possible.

Screw that last thought too ... I spent that time watching Frank slip deeper and deeper into a depression that the medical staff at the hospital, long term care center, or nursing home didn't seem to give a rat's ass about thinking longer than 10 seconds about. Out of all the staff he encountered, only 1 male nurse - when he transported to a hospital ICU unit on New Year's Eve thinking he was having a heart attack - mentioned to me, "Do you think your husband is depressed?" To which I replied, "Why yes - yes I do, and I imagine he is depressed because he's been shuttled around hospitals for the past 2-1/2 months to the point no one remembered that they had put a catheter in, so they didn't take it out and now it has been too long so he is permanently on it ... or that the nursing staff find it easier, to store their stethoscope and blood pressure items on his nightstand - so shove the phone into the corner where he can't reach it thinking "he isn't that bored he may want to call his family or receive phone calls from them ..." to the point I had to call the nurse's station on his floor to let them know I would be calling him so they could push his phone over to where it was in reach ... or how one 'counselor' didn't understand how a staph infection would inhibit him from attending physical therapy .... or that one could hear him retching/gagging clear down the hall to the nurse's station and no one checked on him until I went down and said "You hear that noise? Good, I'm glad you do ... 'cause that's my husband and he's been doing that for a while now and no one has gone in to see if he is all right." No... have no idea why he would be depressed! Kind of sad we had him taken to a long term care facility to get intensive medical supervision and checking in on and I am talking to him on the phone and hearing him sound funny, so I call the long term care facility to share my concerns about him sounding like he doesn't know where he is ... and they go in to check on him then send him to a hospital thinking he is having a heart attack ..."

Then they go in and give him the cheery news of we get to pick out a nursing home for him ... and all our choices refuse him, stating his condition is too fragile. So I got to send him to one that housed 3 to 4 people per room ... and not roomy rooms either as they liked to take advantage of Frank being 90% bedridden to use around his bed as storage for items of his room mates. He got a bed - that was 5 inches too short for him to stretch out comfortably in - a dresser with 3 drawers, and a vinyl covered chair that I swear was from the late 60s. Activities? They would wheel him down to the 'community room' to watch Lawrence Welk on PBS until he told them not to.

Took me three bitch sessions with the main staff before they finally arranged a trip out (Olive Gardens). They later told me his face was all lit up and he was laughing a few times even as the group dined. Well, hell yeah - it was the first time he had been out - and not in the transport of an ambulance - in 4 friggin' months. If curious, I was not allowed to take him out on little trips or anything. The only good thing is that a week before he passed my bitching out the nursing home staff for their lack of activities resulted in him - and some other folks - getting to go out the nursing home environment for a couple of hours at least.

Did I tell folks at the hospital, long term care, and the nursing home about his depression deepening. Yes, I did. Did anyone attempt to talk to him about it? One woman supposedly spent 15 minutes talking to him and just commented, "You have an interesting outlook on things." Did anyone prescribe him anti-depressants? Not once.

So when he died and some people told me "God had a plan..." or something equally lame, I would just look at them and shake my head sadly at them even trying to think saying something that ridiculous would somehow have me go, "Oh, okie dokie!" If they want to believe in this kind loving guy they call God - then what kind loving guy would want to send someone's loved one into the deepest of deep depressions and that loved one being surrounded by people, with friggin' college degrees mind you, to notice these things and/or take 'good care' of him ... yet basically shove him into a corner and forget about him? No - I'm serious, what kind and loving person would do that to someone?

"God only hands out what HE thinks you can handle..." Then God needs better sense of judgment on what one can handle if He couldn't notice, along with the medical folks, that Frank was not handling it well at all but sinking deeper into that dark cloud of depression and, eventually, even stating he didn't want to live any longer.

The only good thing that came out of Frank's death is that he no longer has to deal with the medical profession. A lawyer told me I had no case for malpractice as he seriously doubt that that the medical staff would've written down that they forgot about leaving in the catheter too long (they told Frank that, but then it becomes hearsay) or that they ignored his depression. So far no comment on why one of the doctor's prescribed sodium tablets the week before the shit hit the fan for a patient with congestive heart failure that was supposed to cut sodium out of his diet ...

Seriously, people, before you get all corny and say to someone, "God has a plan ..." or "God only dishes out what He thinks you can handle ..." THINK of something else to say instead (like a simple, "I'm sorry.") or ... if not able to, then do the best thing: don't say anything at all and just give that a person a hug instead.