Nearly Dying Taught Me to Become Replaceable

Why and how I stopped being a martyr

I sent this picture to my kids with the text, “Just getting some quick fluids, be home soon!” but didn’t come home for almost a week.

I went to the ER on Valentine's Day a year ago. I’d been fighting a nasty case of COVID and couldn’t keep anything down, so I became severely dehydrated. I thought I’d get some fluids and be on my way. Two hours after triage, I was in the ICU with septic shock. My blood pressure was 70/45. My heart rate was nearly 200 bpm. My fever was over 103 and would not come down. I ended up having a blood transfusion.

Spoiler alert: I lived.

I know ER interactions can be rough (Jo Piazza’s recent experience reminded me of a few terrible ones of my own), but thankfully, this time, the system worked, and it worked well.

But I have not been the same since.

I don’t mean that in the sense that I haven’t recovered because I am pretty sure I have. Other than some weight, hair, and muscle loss (and let’s be honest, at almost 46, the muscles and hair may never come back), I don’t seem to have any residual effects. I’m healthy. I’m fortunate.

And I’m not the same.

It’s not that I haven’t had brushes with death or health scares. I was a feral teen in the 90s who did every risky thing you can imagine. I’ve been in a few pretty serious car accidents. I had cancer not once, not twice, but three times. I’ve had a dozen surgeries and a failed suicide attempt. I’m no stranger to illness, pain, or tragedy.

What terrified me wasn’t nearly dying. It was coming home and realizing how much the family had fallen apart in my absence. The wheels on the collective family unit screeched to a halt.

Buddy said, “Never leave me alone with these people again, mom!”

Please know this isn’t a diss on my husband or my kids because these things don’t happen in a vacuum. My kids are 12 and over and pretty independent and self-sufficient. My husband, while helpful, has always been the breadwinner and sometimes travels a week or more, so our lives have to work without him and often do. But me? I was irreplaceable as the primary caregiver. That’s not a flex. It’s scary as hell. Nobody wants the secrets they take to the grave to be passwords, medication doses, and carpool email logistics. What a shitty legacy.

I can’t say I was utterly naive to being in a prison of my own making. Anytime I went out of town, I had to make a detailed checklist. I thought I was helpful, but I enabled everyone to expect me to run the show even when I was gone. But what if I’m not around to make the list? And honestly? I shouldn’t have to do this. I no longer wanted to, so I decided I wouldn’t.

So, I decided to make myself as replaceable as possible. Don’t get me wrong—I don’t want to disappear, but I also don’t want everyone I love to be incapable of surviving without me.

For starters, my husband and I shared information. I know this sounds stupid and simple, but we controlled many accounts the other didn’t know about. It wasn’t nefarious; when I opened the account with the electricity company and connected our payment info, I never logged in again! We found this to be true with dozens of accounts. So we used LastPass to share passwords for everything: banking, pharmacy, Mychart accounts, health platforms, school payment portals, utilities, hotel and airline points, internet providers, mortgage accounts, etc. Anything that had anything to do with our family, we put it in there.

We also created a shared doc called “If One Of Us Dies” because we have wildly fucked up senses of humor. We listed every account name, where to find it, and every doctor and medication with frequency. When something changes, we update it in real-time.

We made each other legacy contacts through our email, phones, and social media accounts (we also added our eldest son and daughter because they are adults), and all of our kids know where our living will is.

In doing all this, we realized there were some things that we hadn’t authorized each other for: his name wasn’t on one of the car titles, mine wasn’t on another, and one of our retirement accounts didn’t have me listed as a beneficiary. There were a few other seemingly minor things that would have been a royal pain in the ass in the instance that anything happened to one of us. And we wouldn’t have known any of this if we hadn’t taken the time to check them.

Make no mistake: This was time-consuming, but not THAT time-consuming. Now, it’s easy to update, and it’s done. Hopefully, we never need to rely on it, but we have it just in case.

Maybe this seems like a dramatic reaction to a hospital stay. But last year reminded me how so much can change instantly and that nothing is permanent. I plan on staying alive, but accidents and disease happen! I also plan on staying married, but who plans for divorce? I don’t see it as reactive but proactive.

Also, when things are fucked, action helps. What if the president takes away women’s rights to have a bank account or vote? This made me feel a little more control over the general sense of **waves around** the dumpster fire we are in.

Have any other tips for making yourself replaceable? I’d love to hear them.

xo Emily