After weeks of hounding the Orange County Medical Examiner's office, I finally got the autopsy report.
I wanted it for curiosity's sake (some sick need to torture myself with more final information) and I later learned I needed it for insurance purposes.
I got the big fat envelope in today's mail.
Then I started thinking, "Do I want to open it first or do I want to sort through the other mail first?"
Junk mail first.
Then the autopsy.
I read it while standing up the first time.
There it is. All in black and white.
Most of the information was not new.
I had a physician friend translate it for me into more plain English.
Lots of brain damage. Lots of bleeding, lots of swelling, and lots of brain bruises.
Even his basic functioning was gone based on a lot of damange.
Pretty much all the damage they were seeing on the CT scan and predicting was there and it was there.
Roger would not have recovered.
Roger would have been in the exact state he was in on morning of his death for the rest of his life. At least mentally.
He would have lived in a nursing home, hooked up to a ventilator, having a feeding tube delivering his food, never awakening, never walking, never talking, and never seeing his world.
There is a sweet relief to having this information.
I did make the right decision.
I did what he would have wanted.
I did not choose to kill my viable husband.
He was not there.
There is also a lot of pain associated with it.
He is gone.
The permanency is even more real.
This is not a dream.
This is not going to change.
He is not here.
I also did not expect to be included.
But there I am, "his wife" the identifier.
There are both our names in black and white.
Our relationship clearly defined.
I was his wife.
I was put in the horrid position of identifying my 34 year old husband of six months.
It was nice to read that he was "well-developed" and "well-nourished".
He had nice teeth.
He had no deformities.
He had no cancer.
He had no congenital defects.
He had no drugs in his system.
He was perfect.
There are also some strange things that bother me.
Like the fact he wasn't dressed.
I sort of expected him to be in a hospital gown for some strange reason.
I was also bothered by reading all the medical intervention "evidence."
I was warned about this section but its still hard to read.
To read about all the catheters, bandages, and staples.
Maybe I'm sadistic or a masocist.
Maybe I'm too curious.
But at least he was well-nourished and well-developed.
He was perfect.