Darryl, weeks before his death...
Husband, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, writer, editor, kind and generous humanitarian, Darryl Gossett served as a medical editor for over a decade at the Emory University School of Medicine. He won awards for articles he wrote on Alzheimer's and other medical advances. He also served as a medical editor at WebMD. He was the president of the Atlanta Chapter of the American Medical Writers Association. He also taught Creative Writing at Emory, and published a music review in one of Atlanta's journals. Darryl was a man of great creative ideas and an astonishing empathy and sensitivity.
Darryl spent the last 35 years of his life with his husband and life-long friend Jack Miller, and with the many friends and relatives they both loved.
Darryl's death was not expected. A month before his admission to Emory Hospital, Darryl was fine, in good health. Yes, he did have Diabetes. His doctor recommended and prescribed Ozempic for the Diabetes, the high blood sugar Darryl had, and his being overweight. Gradually, Darryl ate less and less, even had nausea and vomiting when he drank water or anything else. Gradually he grew weaker and I encouraged him to see the doctor, and then to go to the hospital. Neither he nor I saw his condition as life-threatening.
On the Monday when he finally agreed to the hospital, we called 911 and medics carried him to an ambulance. Emory Emergency admitted him weak and seriously dehydrated. The next 14 days, first in the ICU, then in a regular hospital room, and finally in hospice were as traumatic and grueling as any either of us ever experienced. The Liver specialists and the Kidney specialist at first gave us hope he would recover. Yet, after dialysis, protein nourishment, and of course, water and hydration, Darryl did not recover. He suffered kidney and liver failure, though the Liver specialists told me he would have recovered if they could restore his kidneys.
Darryl was 64 years old, soon to be on Medicare. He came in and out of consciousness. Most of the time he was convinced he would die, though I told him he would recover throughout the first week. That is what I believed and hoped. But he did not. The doctors told me he would not recover full consciousness or strength. On one evening, Darryl told me he was afraid, but only that one time.
To watch him continue to weaken was heart rending. Even on his death bed, Darryl was beautiful, kind, without pain, and smiling. We bonded those 14 days on a deep level I am unable to convey. His changing face and his comments, his expressed feelings for me and our love for each other, all will accompany me into old age and my own death. Contrary to popular belief, life really doesn't go on. It transforms into a zombie-like state for the lovers who remain a while longer in this world. We do not lose our humor or our sense of beauty. Yet, our world, which itself is under human control, is failing.
Darryl in Hospice.
