Widowish: A Memoir(7)
We were ready to go home.
THREE
Uncertainty
Two months after we got back from Cabo, I took my husband to the emergency room. For two days Joel had a high fever, most of which he slept through, but he suffered from chills and disorientation when awake. He was lucid when we made the decision together to take him to the hospital. He walked in himself. He didn’t need a wheelchair or my assistance. Neither of us was versed in hospital etiquette, but I thought we would admit him and that he’d be home a few days later.
Even though the MS had been hitting him hard, fever and chills didn’t seem like MS. We didn’t understand what was happening to make Joel so sick. They took blood and urine samples, but the test results were all negative or inconclusive. With Joel clearly not well, hours later he was moved out of the ER and into a hospital room.
The new medication Joel had started months earlier still didn’t seem to be helping. He was so tired of being sick. He had been in constant communication with his doctors from the minute we got back from Mexico. The day we arrived home, he sent this email. In part it reads:
Dr. K, I’ve been going downhill rapidly since the beginning of the year . . . I’m getting worse daily. It’s very difficult for me to walk, standing still is also a challenge. I’m afraid that by the time the new meds kick in, I may lose my ability to walk.
Around the time of this email, his doctors ordered another MRI. They discovered one particularly bad lesion on his brain that they were convinced was the reason for the yearlong flare-up. If that lesion could start to heal, they believed Joel would start feeling more like himself again. They prescribed steroids.
Steroid treatment was used as a protocol to provide an energy boost and to help prevent the symptoms of the flare-up from getting worse. A nurse came to the house every morning for five days to administer the steroids through an IV. Because steroids lower the immune system, it’s advised to stay indoors with little to no outside contact to avoid catching random germs and/or infections. The only people Joel saw that week were Sophie, the nurse, and me. We washed our hands constantly, and I got in the routine of using antibacterial wipes on every surface any of us came into contact with.
Joel had taken oral steroids before and they were quite effective, but this round of steroids, which were exponentially stronger, didn’t seem to help. The doctors thought another round of steroids, to be administered in the coming months, might do the trick. But Joel was frustrated. It had been a very difficult year with new symptoms appearing constantly. Medications meant to alleviate his discomfort did little to help. All of this was affecting his job. He would oftentimes work from home, which helped, but he was feeling desperate for relief of any kind. He changed up his already healthy diet and started acupuncture, but neither option offered any consolation.
His doctors were kind and compassionate, but because Joel was easygoing and otherwise healthy, I encouraged him to be the squeaky wheel so they could understand just how much he was truly suffering. Two weeks after Joel sent his first email, he sent another:
Good morning, Dr. K. I know you’re busy but as a patient going through a very rough time, I need some attention. This has been a horrible year for me and I’m trying to get as many answers as possible for my own peace of mind. I’ve started an acupuncture and anti-inflammatory diet regime. The IV infusion really didn’t have any effect on me. I’d like to wait until mid-October before revisiting the next round.
But by October, Joel would be in the hospital. We would have no idea why.
“What’s happening with you and Ellie?” Joel asked me one night as I washed my face.
He sat on the edge of the tub, his matchstick legs awkwardly lying straight out in front of him. He could no longer bend them comfortably.
“We’re trying to figure it out,” I said.
Ellie and I had become friends through our kids’ elementary school. Her company had relocated, forcing an end to her career in TV news. The Writers Guild was going on strike. This meant my long-standing career as a TV writer was in flux. Both Ellie and I were looking to make a change. We decided to start a high-end concierge service for expecting parents, but we ended up becoming a go-to source for media in the Hollywood maternity space. This meant that when Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had a baby, Ellie and I would talk to the morning shows about how they might fill their nursery. This attention resulted in not just one but two different reality shows being developed around our company. We both saw ourselves as behind-the-scenes TV people. We weren’t necessarily meant to be on-camera talent, but that’s how things evolved.
It had recently become clear, though, that the reality shows weren’t going to happen. We had no clients. We had to face the fact that as successful as we were from a publicity and public relations standpoint, our company bank account was empty. We were influencers at a time when that term didn’t exist. We didn’t know how to monetize what we did. Ellie and I were starting to accept that it was time to close up shop.
“What about your movie?” Joel asked.
A year prior, when our first reality show didn’t get a green light, I had tiptoed back to the world of TV and sold a movie idea to Disney Channel. I had written the script and gone back and forth with the network on notes and rewrites. It was now in the hands of new writers with the hopes it would get a production order. If it did, I would get a financial bonus, residuals down the road, and most importantly, our health insurance would be extended by at least another year or two. If it didn’t get a green light (it didn’t), I had already made my money.