What happened when my wife died
I don&#x27;t know how this is relevant to HN but it feels well timed, for me.<p>My wife is alive. She doesn&#x27;t a terminal diagnosis. But for the last five years, she&#x27;s had no diagnosis. Visually, she&#x27;s stunning and fit. According to every test they run on her, there appears to be nothing wrong. There&#x27;s no explanation for the temporary blindness, the rapid onset arthritis, the partial spinal fusion, the diverticulitis, the random bleeding, the persistent fluid buildup and inflammation or the new magical DVT they found when looking for something else. It could be autoimmune, it could not be, I could be anything at this point.  And there&#x27;s no one who either wants to or is qualified to look.<p>I lost it after the title and lost it more through the first section. I couldn&#x27;t even tell my wife what I was reading, when she came into the room. This story is the tale of all my fears. But where&#x27;s he&#x27;s poor, I&#x27;m not and where he has community, however temporary and dwindling, I don&#x27;t.<p>I cannot imagine having to explain to our daughter that mommy is gone but I&#x27;m constantly thinking about the possibility of it. I&#x27;ve been worrying about this eventually for a couple years now and I don&#x27;t know where people find the strength but somehow they do.<p>I feel for the author. I dread his reality every day.