Dead Men Don't Need to Pee

This morning when we woke up, the pixies that have been leaving little presents for the 12 days of Christmas left us one final gift. It was something they drummed up because they were inspired by the 12 drummers. I don't know who has been doing the sweet act of service, it is probably someone from church who knows a little bit about what has gone on here the last few weeks, and are probably aware that Jeff passed away. What they could not have known is the significance of this day in the Dietzel family. Today we would have celebrated Jeff's 50th birthday. But honestly, it did not even occur to me to put baking a cake on my virtual to do list. However, when I opened the door and saw a german chocolate cake sitting there as another reminder that we are loved. David Bednar calls these types of personal, comforting messages "tender mercies". The miracle of tender mercies is not just that they are personal, it is in the timing that helps us to feel loved. Any other day, a cake on my doorstep would have just been a nice gesture, but today, having Jeff's favorite cake show up unexpectadly was a "tender mercy" that extended beyond love felt on this early sphere.

It brought up some tears and some sweet memories. In celebration of Jeff’s birthday, I wanted to share some things that happened a couple of months ago that kind of epitomizes the kind of relationship we had. The 2 ½ weeks Jeff spent in the rehab hospital were very intense for us both. I would stay with him at night until he fell into a deep sleep, usually around midnight. Then I would drive home, try to get some sleep myself, and be back in the morning when he woke up so that I could take care of his needs and help him get ready for his day. Usually he was in pretty good spirits and quickly became a favorite patient because he was always friendly and full of gratitude.

In order for the insurance to be able to justify this kind of in house care, Jeff had to have at least 3 hours of therapy every day, and it had to be working. Jeff was the kind of guy that did his best no matter what circumstance he was in. He was also determined to do everything in his power to get well, so he tried hard to do whatever his therapists requested of him, but it was very discouraging when he would be able to do something one day, but the next day, his body refused to cooperate.

We all began to get concerned about his emotional state, because the harder he tried, the less he could do and it made him angry. He could tell he was losing his eyesight as well as the use of other parts of his body and it was very frightening to him. My heart just ached for him. On the good days, I would be with him as he did his therapy. On the other days, I would lay in his bed with him and we would discuss good memories and dreams of the future. Sometimes I just held him as he cried and I cried with him. When he would begin to feel anxiety, I would tap on him and he would soon be fine. We had councilors and social workers who would check in with us to see how we were doing. Everyone was totally impressed with the teamwork and solidarity we showed.

No one at St Lukes had ever had a patient with this disease so it was a good learning experience for everyone. But it was also very discouraging for the therapists who wanted so desperately to help this kind man who never forgot to thank them for trying to help him, even when the efforts seemed totally fruitless. I could tell Jeff was getting more and more discouraged and asked for guidance to know how to best help him. The answer actually came from Jeff himself one day as I was helping him go to the bathroom. As he sat on the toilet, he informed me that he had decided to write a book after he was well again. This surprised me a bit because although Jeff was very intelligent, he usually preferred that I do the writing. When I asked him to tell me more, he got that quirky little grin of his that I cherished so much and said he already had a title…”Dead Men Don’t Need to Pee”, then he just laughed and laughed. I loved it and realized that the antidote Jeff needed for his depression was some good old fashioned laughter which was exactly what he wanted his book to be about. It was to be a survival guide to your hospital stay inspired by the entertainment thrust upon us by Jeff’s several different roommates who all had required various methods of taking care of private needs, none of which were pleasant.
That day, Jeff told everyone he met about his book and began interviewing them and asking for antidotal experiences to add to the manuscript. His mood shifted dramatically and so we decided that night to make it a date night. After dinner, I wheeled him into one of the gyms and helped him do some tai chi. Then I put on some music and we began to dance. But this type of dance was very different from anything we had ever done before. Jeff sat in his wheelchair and I sat on a little stool with wheels. He took my hand in his left hand, and led me. We danced in circles, he swung me around his back and twirled me under his arm. Then he let go of me and sent me spinning out of control. We laughed and giggled, totally lost in the beauty of the present moment instead of worrying about what may or may not come. Our peals of laughter brought more than one staff member to the door to see what was going on. We told them we were on a date, so they left us alone. When we were done dancing, I sat on his lap and held his face cupped in my hands and told him thank you for letting me still be his dancing queen.

Then we went into the foyer of the hospital where there was an organ. When Jeff was a teenager, his parents bought an organ for him. He never got very proficient at it, but I remember sitting with him and enjoying the look on his face as he made music. So as we sat together, I guided the fingers on his left hand to know when and where to play the “magic chords” and I played the top hand and sang the words to “Let Me Call You Sweetheart”. I am quite sure the sounds they heard down the halls were not all that pleasing, but to my ears, and my heart, it was the most beautiful music we had ever made together.

The next day, the news of our date had kind of spread throughout the staff and many were very touched by the obvious love we had for each other. One of the physical therapists told Jeff that when he was better we should teach marriage seminars because what we had was so special. I told her that was one of our intentions. Jeff set some new intentions for himself that day. He decided that he wanted to be able to see by his birthday and that by December, he wanted to be able to walk into the PASG meeting again. This is the addiction recovery group that Jeff and I were missionaries over. I thought those were very good intentions. I did not know then how they would be manifest.

Today we celebrated Jeff’s birthday. He can see clearly. I had 2 different people report to me that the day after he died, his presence was totally felt at the ARP meeting. He was there in December, just as he had promised himself he would be. One of the women said she had to chuckle because she felt his presence in the women’s portion of the meeting after they divided and thought to herself, “Jeff just wanted to see what the girls really discussed.”

The day Jeff told me about his desire to write a book, I wrote in my gratitude journal that I was grateful my husband was continent. Later on, I wrote that I was grateful I had the strength to take care of my husband’s needs. I was also grateful that he seemed to be a bit oblivious to the fact that the thing he had been the most worried about was now a reality. Now we can both be grateful that those concerns are no longer a part of our existence because dead men really don’t need to pee. It still brings a smile to my face which seems to me to be a good way to celebrate his birthday.

Maybe someday I will get around to publishing a survival guide to staying at the hospital. But for now, sharing this little part on a blog seems totally sufficient.

Chris