Lifesavers for Latasha

The following is my raw truth about my current struggle as a caregiver and my reflection on specific aspects of the transplant journey.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance are the classic signs of grief.

Tasha and I have been in a rough spot for several weeks. We have both been battling our own battles, sometimes against each other. I would say anger is the emotion of the day, and it has bred contempt for life and much more.

I have not been my best self and have struggled more than ever in life at anything. I have never felt so alone and far away from my best friend and wife.

Seeing her struggle slowly, fading away more and more each day, waiting for her stomach procedure has been challenging and painful. It has ripped my soul apart and seeded my spirit with too many emotions to track. It has manifested negatively at home, work, dreams, and physically.

I recently joined some support groups to overcome all of these feelings, particularly one for transplant caregivers, and I’ve had time to reflect on it all. I’ve concluded that we are both profoundly grieving the loss of our former lives. We were both comfortable and very happy with our former lives, especially Tasha’s being able to enjoy her favorite foods, restaurants, and drinks. That is all relative to now, but regardless, we were happy.

I can’t say that right now.

As Tasha’s husband and caregiver, I feel like a failure for not being strong enough to be what she needs. I’ve let my anger consume my inner thoughts, allowing me to lose myself and draw further inward out of shame for not being okay.

I sit here admitting my hypocrisy. That makes me so angry. I sit here, realizing my faith is weak. That makes me ashamed. I sit here understanding that I am hurting and grieving and don’t know how to cope. That makes me even angrier.

In talking with other spouses in my position, I now understand better that I am not unique or alone. I also appreciate how naive we were to think this would be easier. But I also don’t know why we can’t just catch a break for once. It is not easy being inside my head right now.

To my point, we have both circled the five stages of grief and are stuck in one more than some. For Tasha, depression, and me, anger. I never thought we’d be here dealing with this after such a miraculous event. But it makes sense when I analyze it and view it from above. Seeing the forest through the trees is hard when you’re lost.

Oddly enough, I didn’t realize I was lost, but I’ve lied to myself and those around me after being honest.

I am a strong, capable, unbeatable, and unbreakable man—or so I thought. I’ve denied reality, and right now, I feel destroyed. Tasha feels so much darkness and sadness beyond explanation, and that is hard to witness.

I’ve pleaded and bargained for Tasha’s joy to return, but after reading so many transplant stories, I now realize this journey is indeed just beginning. We have a long way to go before we are both healed and able to live our best second life truly.

I put this out here because too many people gave us false expectations going into this journey. Perhaps I didn’t look hard enough, but I believe our naivety prevented us from knowing what or who to ask—a flaw in the system, in my opinion.

Coming full circle, I’ve accepted that this journey will beat us both down and build us back up to face the next chapter together. If I’m honest, we will be better off and worse for it all. We will have new armor and life experiences to build on and pass on to someone in need.

In closing, I end this with my point that grieving is complicated, and there is power in admitting and knowing. So, to answer the question, we are grieving – whether we want to or not. That’s the irony of loss; you either deal with it, or that loss turns into more losses and spirals out of control until you are forced to deal with it.

I am choosing to win. We choose to live, regardless of how different that may look now.