Where my WidowRoad began

Nicholas died of a glioblastoma, one week after it was diagnosed. He started getting really bad headaches in early July 2004; his doctor thought they might be related to the new asthma/allergy drugs he was taking. "Stop taking them and call me in a month." (He was dead in a month, you glassbowl!)

He started having dizzy spells, and the headaches got worse and worse. When he blacked out on Sunday, August 1, I took him straight to the ER. I knew it was not good. The ER doctor said, "Your husband has a brain tumor. I don't know what kind it is, but it's big and it's right in the middle of his brain. I'm sorry."

They did a biopsy on August 4, to confirm their suspicions of a glioblastoma. Nick started having seizures on the way to the recovery room and he never regained consciousness. On Sunday, August 8, just one week after they found the monster, I had to tell the doctors to take away the things that were keeping him alive. Nobody should ever have to do that for someone they love! He just slipped away so peacefully... "Time of death, 9:12 p.m." -- a phrase that haunts my waking nightmares.

I later learned that the glioblastoma multiform is the worst of all the brain tumors, that Nick never had any chance of survival. For him, it was the best thing -- he didn't have to endure the pointless chemo and radiation, he didn't have to know that he was losing his beautiful mind, he didn't have to watch us watch him be devoured by the monster in his brain.

For me, it was unbearable. We purposely didn't talk about "it" before the biopsy -- no use getting worked up about something until we know exactly what we're dealing with. So we never said our goodbyes; we never said all the things you would say to your dearest love if you knew...