I listened to my husband’s sudden death on the phone as I lay in hospital after he saved my life

PATRICIA Bartlett’s husband saved her life after a tummy ache turned out to be a life-threatening condition.

But as she recovered in hospital, neither of them could have imagined the heartbreak that was waiting around the corner when she received a chilling phone call.

Here, Patricia, 44, shares how in a few short years she went from planning her wedding to the “love of her life”, Stuart, to organising his funeral…

I GAZED into a twinkling pair of hazel eyes, and as the man sitting opposite me gave a hearty laugh and reached out to touch my hand, I felt
a fizz of attraction.

“You’re so funny,” he said. And my heart swelled.

I was on a date with Stuart after meeting through mutual friends.

It had started hours earlier at a cocktail bar on the seafront. By now, we were at a nightclub in the early hours of the morning, and I still didn’t want to leave.

Weeks earlier, I’d moved from Swadlincote in Derbyshire to Lanzarote , Spain , with my grown-up kids and starting a relationship was the last thing on my mind.

But Stuart was kind, funny and handsome.

The only problem was that he lived in the UK and was due to fly home in a few days.

One evening, as we sat on the beach with a bottle of bubbly, I said: “I don’t want you to go.” “I won’t then,” he replied.

He pulled out his phone and rescheduled his flight there and then.

In the weeks that followed, we grew closer, and Stuart moved his flight on two more occasions.

When he eventually returned to Britain, he came back to visit every
few months.

Soon, I fell deeply in love , and Stuart felt the same way.

One day, as we walked through town at sunset, he pulled me into his arms.

“I love you, Patricia,” he said. “I want to spend my life with you.”

“I love you too,” I said, with tears in my eyes.

Wedding joy

When my birthday rolled around, Stuart arranged a romantic weekend away.

That morning, I was sitting in bed with a coffee when he appeared down on one knee. 

Holding out a sparkling ring, he asked me to marry him and I squealed “yes” giddily in response.

Months later, I walked down the aisle to wed the love of my life, both of us weeping

Patricia Bartlett

But it was bittersweet as just a few weeks later, Stuart packed his suitcases into the car to fly home.

After driving him to the airport, he kissed me goodbye and told me he’d be back in no time.

Tears rolled down my face as I drove home alone. Then, Stuart phoned.

“Do I really need to go home?” he said. “I can sort my business from here. Come back and get me.”

I spun around, and at the airport, I flung my arms around him.

Stuart moved in with me, and we started planning our wedding for exactly two years from our first date.

We also set up a business together, delivering products to bars in the area.

But when Covid hit, our wedding dreams were put on hold.

That was until we moved to a new house, which had a church on its grounds. 

Every morning, we’d go for a walk before having breakfast together.
One day, Stuart stopped in front of the church and said: “Let’s get married right here.”

So that’s what we did – months later, I walked down the aisle to wed the love of my life.

Standing at the altar, Stuart held my hands and whispered “forever” as we waited to exchange our vows. I whispered it back, both of us weeping. 

In the years that followed, we settled into married life, and I opened a nail salon.

Saturday nights were spent sipping drinks at our favourite bar and watching Arsenal games.

Stuart bought chickens and made me eggs on toast every morning. We were blissfully happy.

But one day, I was working at the salon when I developed a tummy ache and nausea. The pain became so intense that I had to close early.

‘My husband saved my life’

Back home, Stuart took me to the local hospital, where a scan revealed my bowel was blocked.

I was sent home with medication to help flush out the blockage, but within an hour, I was vomiting. 

Stuart knew something wasn’t right, so he called an ambulance. But after a second visit to the hospital, I was again told to go home.

Over the next week, the pain left me bed-bound. I was unable to eat and also struggled to go to the toilet.

Desperate not to see his new wife suffer, Stuart took me to a private hospital, where doctors discovered I had a perforated bowel – a serious condition where a hole or tear develops in the lining of the intestines. 

It means digestive fluids and bacteria can leak into the abdominal cavity, potentially leading to a life-threatening infection called peritonitis . 

A doctor told Stuart: “If you hadn’t brought her in, I don’t think she would have made it through the next 
24 hours.”

My husband saved my life.

I needed an emergency operation . I was scared, but Stuart reassured me that he loved me and I was going to be OK before I was wheeled away.

When I came round, I discovered that I’d been fitted with a colostomy bag .

I felt the furthest thing from sexy and told Stuart to leave me, but with his hand in mine, he told me I was beautiful. 

After six days in intensive care, I was discharged and returned home – with my colostomy bag, which I named Sheila.

In the months that followed, my condition improved, and I was told I could have the bag removed.

It was a big decision, as the operation carried risks, but I wanted to live the rest of my life with just Stuart, not Sheila too.

I had to travel to a hospital in Gran Canaria for the five-hour operation, but Stuart was there by my side.

Because the procedure overran, he didn’t have long before he had to dash to the airport to fly home to run our businesses.

Before he left, he kissed me on the forehead. “Get some rest, Kinnins,” he said, using the nickname he’d given me.

I felt safe and happy. And the next day, I woke up to find he’d sent me a beautiful message.

It read: “You are brave and strong, and I’m proud of you.”

‘Gripped by panic’

I tried to call, but Stuart’s phone went to voicemail. I assumed he was busy, and tried again later, but still there was no answer. 

I left a message but something didn’t feel right.

Stuart should have finished work by this point, so there was no reason for him not to ring me back.

Then, a number I didn’t recognise flashed up on my screen; it was one of our customers.

“Patricia, I’m so sorry, but Stuart has collapsed,” he said. “Paramedics are working on him now.”

I was gripped by panic, but all I could do was stay on the phone and listen to the commotion in the background.

After 45 minutes, the paramedics had to stop. My husband was dead. 

I hung up in disbelief, struggling to catch my breath.

As panic coursed through me, a nurse slipped a pill under my tongue to calm
me down.

My daughter came to be by my side and supported me until I was well enough to be discharged from hospital.

Back home, we held Stuart’s funeral and the church was packed.

Delivering a eulogy, his friend said: “There were three things Stuart loved in life – his wife Patricia, Arsenal and his chickens.”

We held the wake at our favourite pub. His mates wore Arsenal shirts, and my daughter arranged a slideshow of photos of Stuart.

It has now been several months since his death on March 18, but the grief is still so raw.

I miss the sound of his laughter, and I feel so lonely when I sit with my morning coffee and he’s not by my side.

A postmortem revealed that Stuart suffered a cardiac arrest as a result of ischemic heart disease (a condition where the heart muscle doesn’t receive enough blood and oxygen) and cardiac hypertrophy (the thickening of the heart muscle walls). 

He collapsed while doing deliveries to our customers, and he might have survived had a defibrillator been available.

In his memory, I’ve set up Stuart’s Prevention Plan to raise money for defibrillators to be installed in the local area and to provide CPR training. 

I can’t bring Stuart back, but I can help others so they don’t have to suffer the pain and sadness I live with every day.