It's been four months since I abandoned this blog. You have had a very successful summer and the fall looks to be even better for you. You have continued with your chemotherapy and I hear you are getting radiation as well. Someone said seeds, but I don't know. Long about the middle of July the judge granted me an extension of the restraining order. He saw an escalating pattern of erratic and unpredictable behavior. Being that you had chosen to throw this divorce into the domestic violence arena, it put us on a totally different track than your average divorce. When he set down his ruling, the judge said that it is really called the Domestic Violence Prevention Act, and an important part of what he does is look at patterns of behavior and then act to protect potential victims. For that reason he gave me a 5 year restraining order against you and your growing insanity.
It is tragic that in order to save your physical life, you lost your family. I would have chosen the same route with chemo but would have had my psychiatrist work with my oncologist to make sure my mood swings didn't get out of control. In the course of these past four months you have thrown away me and our daughter. And you forged ahead in an unrelentingly nasty manner. You didn't hesitate to verbally threaten and bully me via my lawyer and our daughter.
I have started paying you spousal support. It is making my life difficult and I imagine you sitting in a casino somewhere in the desert with a cigar in one hand and poker cards in another. You have no financial worries now unless you bring them on yourself, which you are sure to do. You have moved to the desert. You have lived in a clothing optional community, you've bought yourself a motorcycle, you've got a new laptop and God knows what else. You are beating cancer and living off of me. Life has a weird way of turning things around. In time you will have that very complicated 'Whipple Plus' surgery. They will reverse your intestinal bypass and reconstruct the blood supply to your intestinal tract.
I will try to move on.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Monday at Work
Crazy day! Monday, June 7. It was Syd's birthday and I had a retention conference with S's mom and the assistant principal right after school. About 20 minutes into the conference, you came into my room. You had shaved your head; we almost didn't recognize you. You put a letter on my desk and asked me to read it as soon as my conference ended.
When I read the letter, I didn't get it at first. It was written to the watch commander at our local police station. It started with my physical description. Then it went on to say you had changed the locks on the house. You alleged I had tried to kill you three times during our marriage and that you were afraid for your life. It also mentioned that you had handguns in the house. You gave the name and address of a friend of mine at whose home you thought I would be staying. Such fun news!!! I got to spend the next 7 hours on the phone with attorneys, doctors, friends, Carmi and Laura. Here's an interesting tidbit I learned. The P.A. at your oncologist's said, "Oh, yes, this chemo interferes with neurotransmitters and psych meds."
NO KIDDING!!! YA THINK???
I'd seen it coming. You were moving into full-blown mania. And you were going with gusto. You have your eye on the prize. Pay day is on the horizon. Cha - ching!! Cash in on the old Cash Cow.
This divorce is going downhill fast. You aren't getting your way for the first time in 22 years, and you are going to play dirty. I am not conceding to your schemes. You can't suck me back in because I am finished with you. Enough of the insanity, enough of the drama, enough of keeping your secrets and being ashamed of my life. It's over.
It took me two days and over $3000 in attorney's fees to get myself back in the house. And when the judge read my petition, he ordered you to move out and gave you two days to get rid of all of your firearms. My petition was the truth; yours was a pack of lies.
And now this blog will end. It is no longer about cancer and a difficult marriage. It's about divorce.
When I read the letter, I didn't get it at first. It was written to the watch commander at our local police station. It started with my physical description. Then it went on to say you had changed the locks on the house. You alleged I had tried to kill you three times during our marriage and that you were afraid for your life. It also mentioned that you had handguns in the house. You gave the name and address of a friend of mine at whose home you thought I would be staying. Such fun news!!! I got to spend the next 7 hours on the phone with attorneys, doctors, friends, Carmi and Laura. Here's an interesting tidbit I learned. The P.A. at your oncologist's said, "Oh, yes, this chemo interferes with neurotransmitters and psych meds."
NO KIDDING!!! YA THINK???
I'd seen it coming. You were moving into full-blown mania. And you were going with gusto. You have your eye on the prize. Pay day is on the horizon. Cha - ching!! Cash in on the old Cash Cow.
This divorce is going downhill fast. You aren't getting your way for the first time in 22 years, and you are going to play dirty. I am not conceding to your schemes. You can't suck me back in because I am finished with you. Enough of the insanity, enough of the drama, enough of keeping your secrets and being ashamed of my life. It's over.
It took me two days and over $3000 in attorney's fees to get myself back in the house. And when the judge read my petition, he ordered you to move out and gave you two days to get rid of all of your firearms. My petition was the truth; yours was a pack of lies.
And now this blog will end. It is no longer about cancer and a difficult marriage. It's about divorce.
Snoop
Thursday was revealing. Some day. Maybe it was Thursday. You said I had left my private email account logged in that evening. You had read my emails. Hmmmmmm....emails to my attorney, emails to my friends........you felt betrayed that I was being honest with people. You thought I was having an affair with my old boyfriend from high school. Being honest isn't the same as having an affair. I almost wish I were having an affair. It would make the vitriol that followed almost worth it.
You went to the desert for the weekend. We had talked about having a yard sale but you said you were coming down with a cold, so we called it off. I wanted to call it off, too. I had too much work to do at school. My progress reports were due the following Friday and they involved a ton of work. Ending the school year is brutal. That's why I had asked you to hold off on decisions and actions about the divorce until the 18th. But you hadn't backed off. Every time we 'agreed' to hold off for two weeks, within hours you were wanting me to 'sit down' with you to make a settlement. That wasn't respite. That wasn't taking two weeks off. That was you trying to circumvent the legal process-----about which I know next to nothing, and wouldn't be able to study until school was out. Oh, you are clever with your timing. How many times in this marriage have you pushed something on me when I was distracted by the demands of something else? It's a clever tactic and it's worked well for you over the years.
From the desert you started with the text messages again. You said you were writing a petition to a judge to have me and my dad removed from the house. You were going to let me read it before you submitted it. Another threat. See if I would buckle under allegations. I wouldn't answer many of your texts. You're manicky; it's not worth the time and effort. You said if I agreed to some things, then you wouldn't file it.
But in messing around on the computer I somehow came across a keystroke tracking program. We had bought it five years ago when we were having trouble with Laura. We had hid it from the desktop and it required a set of strokes to pop it up. I had asked you if we still had it a couple of years ago and you said you couldn't remember the sequence of strokes we needed to do to get it to come up. I had figured it was outdated anyway and didn't give it more thought. But there were all my keystrokes, all my passwords, all my messages, everything I had written over the past couple of weeks. You were spying on me. As soon as you decided you wanted a divorce, you started tracking everything I wrote. Then you took the credit cards out of my purse and photocopied them along with my checkbook. You had gone Spy vs. Spy on me.
I had always known that when you were manicky, or when you were after money, there was nothing you would let in your way. This was not going to be an 'amicable' divorce. You had set me up by trying to act like you wanted to work things out. You were trying to get me to call off my attorney for two weeks while you invaded my privacy. It 's time for this disaster of a marriage to be over and for me to get out from under your control!
I went into work and changed all the passwords to everything. Then I thought maybe you'd lock me out of the house, so when I went to work on Monday morning, I took the keys and the owner's manual to the front door keypad entry system with me. I left one key home for you. I couldn't find the owner's manual to the keypad lock for the backdoor. But I figured with the front door, I'd be able to get in if you were as feral as to change the passcode.
You went to the desert for the weekend. We had talked about having a yard sale but you said you were coming down with a cold, so we called it off. I wanted to call it off, too. I had too much work to do at school. My progress reports were due the following Friday and they involved a ton of work. Ending the school year is brutal. That's why I had asked you to hold off on decisions and actions about the divorce until the 18th. But you hadn't backed off. Every time we 'agreed' to hold off for two weeks, within hours you were wanting me to 'sit down' with you to make a settlement. That wasn't respite. That wasn't taking two weeks off. That was you trying to circumvent the legal process-----about which I know next to nothing, and wouldn't be able to study until school was out. Oh, you are clever with your timing. How many times in this marriage have you pushed something on me when I was distracted by the demands of something else? It's a clever tactic and it's worked well for you over the years.
From the desert you started with the text messages again. You said you were writing a petition to a judge to have me and my dad removed from the house. You were going to let me read it before you submitted it. Another threat. See if I would buckle under allegations. I wouldn't answer many of your texts. You're manicky; it's not worth the time and effort. You said if I agreed to some things, then you wouldn't file it.
But in messing around on the computer I somehow came across a keystroke tracking program. We had bought it five years ago when we were having trouble with Laura. We had hid it from the desktop and it required a set of strokes to pop it up. I had asked you if we still had it a couple of years ago and you said you couldn't remember the sequence of strokes we needed to do to get it to come up. I had figured it was outdated anyway and didn't give it more thought. But there were all my keystrokes, all my passwords, all my messages, everything I had written over the past couple of weeks. You were spying on me. As soon as you decided you wanted a divorce, you started tracking everything I wrote. Then you took the credit cards out of my purse and photocopied them along with my checkbook. You had gone Spy vs. Spy on me.
I had always known that when you were manicky, or when you were after money, there was nothing you would let in your way. This was not going to be an 'amicable' divorce. You had set me up by trying to act like you wanted to work things out. You were trying to get me to call off my attorney for two weeks while you invaded my privacy. It 's time for this disaster of a marriage to be over and for me to get out from under your control!
I went into work and changed all the passwords to everything. Then I thought maybe you'd lock me out of the house, so when I went to work on Monday morning, I took the keys and the owner's manual to the front door keypad entry system with me. I left one key home for you. I couldn't find the owner's manual to the keypad lock for the backdoor. But I figured with the front door, I'd be able to get in if you were as feral as to change the passcode.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Insults to Injury
Wednesday came and I knew you were coming back home so that you could make it to your cancer support group meeting. You bombarded me with text messages. Could I meet and talk with you for twenty minutes? Can we have a discussion? You had a proposition for me. But I had already heard the drumbeats. You had called my investment manager and asked him how much money I have in my tax shelter, left him a message that you and I had found a place we wanted to buy out in the desert. I told him not to tell you a thing unless he was served with a court order. The cascade of text messages continued. There's this great property out in the desert. It's a foreclosure, a fixer-upper but not as much work as the remodel we did on our house and right up your alley. We'd have to act fast. I said I didn't want to talk to you. And on top of it all, it was the music concert at school, then the cancer support group meeting. I literally didn't have a minute to talk until at least 9:30 at night. No, this would not be a good day to talk. What part about waiting until the 18th isn't making sense to you?
You also wanted to sit down and sketch out our finances together, see if we could make a little agreement about spousal support.
My therapist shared very critical pieces of information with me, observations she had made over the years. First, she said I have a way of deflecting your inappropriate and negative comments. I just let them bounce off my head. Second, you have a way of sucking me back in. Ok, she didn't use the term 'sucking me back in', that's mine, but what she said meant the same thing. You know every crack in my veneer, every chink in my armor. And third, she said one of my weaknesses with you is materialistic desires. I can get seduced by my desire to make money. You can entice me to engage in things with you.
The music concert came and went. I rushed over to my cancer caregivers' support group. I told them about your desire to buy a house in the desert. I spent a long time talking about what was going on with us. It occurred to me that my life wasn't about cancer anymore. My life was now about divorce and turmoil . I was feeling that I was not helping these beautiful people heal from their pain, or deal with their loved ones' cancer.
We didn't talk at home.
You also wanted to sit down and sketch out our finances together, see if we could make a little agreement about spousal support.
My therapist shared very critical pieces of information with me, observations she had made over the years. First, she said I have a way of deflecting your inappropriate and negative comments. I just let them bounce off my head. Second, you have a way of sucking me back in. Ok, she didn't use the term 'sucking me back in', that's mine, but what she said meant the same thing. You know every crack in my veneer, every chink in my armor. And third, she said one of my weaknesses with you is materialistic desires. I can get seduced by my desire to make money. You can entice me to engage in things with you.
The music concert came and went. I rushed over to my cancer caregivers' support group. I told them about your desire to buy a house in the desert. I spent a long time talking about what was going on with us. It occurred to me that my life wasn't about cancer anymore. My life was now about divorce and turmoil . I was feeling that I was not helping these beautiful people heal from their pain, or deal with their loved ones' cancer.
We didn't talk at home.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
The Kids
You said, "Let's figure out how we're going to tell people we're getting a divorce. We don't want to go into detail or soon we'd be saying things we'd regret. Let's say we both have decided to end the marriage and we both have our own reasons."
Sure. Why not. There's no elephant in this living room. I'll stick with this party line, and no one will be the wiser. Let's just let people think I'm divorcing a man with pancreatic cancer, like that makes any sense. NOT! "And what about Laura? She won't buy that."
"Yes, she will."
"No, she won't. She already knows there is a problem with you gambling again. She knows too much to believe such a generality."
"Yes she will."
So here's where you and I both know you are dead wrong. This kid is perceptive. She's going to hone in on this in a hot second. And she did.
Why do you want to tell people this bs line about us each having our own reasons? I think it's because you don't want people to know you're gambling. You are an addict. You want me to cover for you again. Hide your dirty little secret. I have had the courage to tell you several times lately that you are an addict. The things that come out of your mouth are pure unadulterated addictspeak. Who do you think you're kidding?
On Sunday afternoon Laura and Kyle arrived. I was mowing the lawn. She went to look for something. What was she doing with the papers on my desk in my bedroom? I never snooped through my mom's stuff when I was her age. She read your bogus spreadsheet and a letter I had just faxed to my attorney. When I came into the bedroom, she was there and started off by apologizing to me for reading my stuff. Whoa! I was a little stunned. But she is angry with you. I haven't seen that look of contained rage on her face in a long time. She was appalled that you would ask for money from me after all you've taken. She was offended by the tone of your letter. She doesn't like the way you've treated me. She said to me, "Mom, you must promise me that whoever you have a relationship with after this must treat you well. You must proooommmiiiiise me. You are a good person, and I love Dad, but Dad isn't a good person, and he hasn't been good to you. You tell whoever you have a relationship with in the future, that if he isn't good to you, your daughter and her boyfriend are coming after him."
I said, "You have to be good to your father. You're all he has left now. He has no family. He has only one friend, and he has just discarded me. He will need you and Kyle to help him. I didn't want it to turn out this way but Daddy made a choice. I won't be in his life anymore and the burden of meeting his needs will fall on you. I'm sorry. "
"So when he spends all the money he gets from you, he'll come and live with me???"
"Maybe. Probably. You'll be all he has."
Kyle said he likes you, just not the way you conduct your business. He said he thinks the only one who could ever get through to you would be Laura. I told him I thought he was right but I would not encourage Laura to confront you and I don't think Kyle would either.
The kids were very helpful. Kyle finished mowing the back lawn and the two of them dug a rosebed for me in front of the house. Laura went to the condo with me and helped me clean it. The carpets look great; Melanie's son has a commercial shampooer and he got all of the horrible spots out of it that the last tenants managed to put in in only three months.
I had to go to work on Tuesday and the kids tried to wait for me but I had a training that lasted until after 7 p.m. They left ten minutes before I got home, which made me sad. But then they came back because the freeway was really jammed up. You stayed out at their house until Wednesday morning. Being here without you was a real relief.
Sure. Why not. There's no elephant in this living room. I'll stick with this party line, and no one will be the wiser. Let's just let people think I'm divorcing a man with pancreatic cancer, like that makes any sense. NOT! "And what about Laura? She won't buy that."
"Yes, she will."
"No, she won't. She already knows there is a problem with you gambling again. She knows too much to believe such a generality."
"Yes she will."
So here's where you and I both know you are dead wrong. This kid is perceptive. She's going to hone in on this in a hot second. And she did.
Why do you want to tell people this bs line about us each having our own reasons? I think it's because you don't want people to know you're gambling. You are an addict. You want me to cover for you again. Hide your dirty little secret. I have had the courage to tell you several times lately that you are an addict. The things that come out of your mouth are pure unadulterated addictspeak. Who do you think you're kidding?
On Sunday afternoon Laura and Kyle arrived. I was mowing the lawn. She went to look for something. What was she doing with the papers on my desk in my bedroom? I never snooped through my mom's stuff when I was her age. She read your bogus spreadsheet and a letter I had just faxed to my attorney. When I came into the bedroom, she was there and started off by apologizing to me for reading my stuff. Whoa! I was a little stunned. But she is angry with you. I haven't seen that look of contained rage on her face in a long time. She was appalled that you would ask for money from me after all you've taken. She was offended by the tone of your letter. She doesn't like the way you've treated me. She said to me, "Mom, you must promise me that whoever you have a relationship with after this must treat you well. You must proooommmiiiiise me. You are a good person, and I love Dad, but Dad isn't a good person, and he hasn't been good to you. You tell whoever you have a relationship with in the future, that if he isn't good to you, your daughter and her boyfriend are coming after him."
I said, "You have to be good to your father. You're all he has left now. He has no family. He has only one friend, and he has just discarded me. He will need you and Kyle to help him. I didn't want it to turn out this way but Daddy made a choice. I won't be in his life anymore and the burden of meeting his needs will fall on you. I'm sorry. "
"So when he spends all the money he gets from you, he'll come and live with me???"
"Maybe. Probably. You'll be all he has."
Kyle said he likes you, just not the way you conduct your business. He said he thinks the only one who could ever get through to you would be Laura. I told him I thought he was right but I would not encourage Laura to confront you and I don't think Kyle would either.
The kids were very helpful. Kyle finished mowing the back lawn and the two of them dug a rosebed for me in front of the house. Laura went to the condo with me and helped me clean it. The carpets look great; Melanie's son has a commercial shampooer and he got all of the horrible spots out of it that the last tenants managed to put in in only three months.
I had to go to work on Tuesday and the kids tried to wait for me but I had a training that lasted until after 7 p.m. They left ten minutes before I got home, which made me sad. But then they came back because the freeway was really jammed up. You stayed out at their house until Wednesday morning. Being here without you was a real relief.
Push Me, Pull Me
As if I had had a veil over my eyes, it is now lifted. I get it. I will admit I can be slow on the uptake but I have outdone myself this time. Maybe I didn't want to get to this point because I sensed I would get the message I just got. I measured your love for me by my love for you. I measured your goodwill for me with the same yardstick as I measured my goodwill for you. I defined love by the way I love. That was naive. People love differently. People show their love in different ways. And humans don't love unconditionally. God does. Humans don't. Humans have limits to their love. I have discovered ours.
It is now clear that you loved me as long as: you didn't have to work at an outside job, you didn't have to make a financial contribution to our home, and you didn't have to choose between gambling and being married. This past week I learned the limits of this love. I get it now. I may have been the perfect woman on Mother's Day. I may have walked on water in your eyes. But that was before I asked for something from you that you are unwilling to give. The boundaries are clear now. This marriage works for you as long as I pay all the bills, and you get to live the Life of Riley.
On Saturday you asked me if I would take a two-week break from legal advancement. You asked me to take a 'respite' from these divorce proceedings. You said you realized that I have been under a lot of stress. I told you I wanted a three-week respite, I want to hold off until school is over on June 18. I think you had been bluffing me as if we had been playing Texas Hold'Em. We had been holding our two cards for a while. Then came the flop and I thought I had a winning hand. I went all in. And even if I didn't have the winning hand, I was tired of sitting around this same old poker table, going nowhere. I needed to go all in and get out of the game. Then came the turn; your hand was looking pretty good. Now we've got the river card and you're not too sure you have such a good hand. But I'm all in and I'm playing out the hand. I might lose this pot but, when this hand is over, I'm getting up and walking away from the table, big pot, little pot, no pot. I'm finished gambling with you. I'll walk out of this casino called marriage, out into the sunlight, into a new world, and I'll keep going. You're hedging your bets? No, it was just a ploy. By Monday evening you were texting me that by today you needed spousal support in the sum of $2500 a month, a reasonable amount in your mind, something any judge would order, we can work out the details as we progress with this divorce. No dice. (Ooops! There goes another gambling metaphor.) I told you to stop bullying me, and if you're going to act like that, you can work exclusively through my lawyer. You backed down, said you were upset because I hadn't answered any of your texts during the day. Called your bluff!
It is now clear that you loved me as long as: you didn't have to work at an outside job, you didn't have to make a financial contribution to our home, and you didn't have to choose between gambling and being married. This past week I learned the limits of this love. I get it now. I may have been the perfect woman on Mother's Day. I may have walked on water in your eyes. But that was before I asked for something from you that you are unwilling to give. The boundaries are clear now. This marriage works for you as long as I pay all the bills, and you get to live the Life of Riley.
On Saturday you asked me if I would take a two-week break from legal advancement. You asked me to take a 'respite' from these divorce proceedings. You said you realized that I have been under a lot of stress. I told you I wanted a three-week respite, I want to hold off until school is over on June 18. I think you had been bluffing me as if we had been playing Texas Hold'Em. We had been holding our two cards for a while. Then came the flop and I thought I had a winning hand. I went all in. And even if I didn't have the winning hand, I was tired of sitting around this same old poker table, going nowhere. I needed to go all in and get out of the game. Then came the turn; your hand was looking pretty good. Now we've got the river card and you're not too sure you have such a good hand. But I'm all in and I'm playing out the hand. I might lose this pot but, when this hand is over, I'm getting up and walking away from the table, big pot, little pot, no pot. I'm finished gambling with you. I'll walk out of this casino called marriage, out into the sunlight, into a new world, and I'll keep going. You're hedging your bets? No, it was just a ploy. By Monday evening you were texting me that by today you needed spousal support in the sum of $2500 a month, a reasonable amount in your mind, something any judge would order, we can work out the details as we progress with this divorce. No dice. (Ooops! There goes another gambling metaphor.) I told you to stop bullying me, and if you're going to act like that, you can work exclusively through my lawyer. You backed down, said you were upset because I hadn't answered any of your texts during the day. Called your bluff!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Drive Over It with Your Car
Thursday evening you say you have come to a decision. We are getting a divorce and you are filing papers on Monday. You will be moving to the desert. You say you've always wanted to live in the desert. (Wait a minute! Aren't you the guy who breaks into a lather when the temperature hits 80?) You say you don't like the way I treat you???? I don't appreciate ALL you have done for me? I can't forgive you for ????? For what, the gambling? Not contributing to our family when you got your inheritance? Taking tens of thousands of dollars from our investment account behind my back? Losing over $200K on poker? And on that count, you're right. You have continued to engage in behaviors I cannot forgive. Try as I might, I can't. And I've tried. I thought the triple bypass and my help in nurturing you back to health had caused you to have an epiphany. I was wrong; it was only temporary. Leopards don't change their spots.
On Friday morning I called an attorney I had interviewed right before your triple bypass. I signed the papers and put his retainer on a credit card. Cut my losses. Cancer, triple bypasses, diabetes, bipolar disorder. Those alone are more than enough. I'm not signing on for gambling again. The fax machine at work wouldn't put the papers through. I didn't want anyone in the office to find out what I was faxing. What kind of woman divorces a man with pancreatic cancer? I missed the deadline for filing on Friday. Over the weekend I got our home fax to put the sheets through. Papers were filed on Monday. You ask me if I would accept service of divorce papers. I tell you not to worry; I'd already filed. Would you accept service? You thank me for saving you $350.
Tuesday morning you create some bogus spreadsheet of our assets and how much you would get in monthly spousal support. You come up with a total of $7333 a month. You must be out of your mind. You have me on the sheet as making both retirement and a salary at the same time. That's quite a trick! Did anyone ever tell you that you don't get retirement from a job before you quit working it? How can you get more money a month than I bring home? You lead a rich fantasy life. You want a spousal support agreement by June 1. Hold on there! June 1 is Tuesday. That won't be happening. And I am sooooo glad I have hired an attorney.
My life has become dark. I live under a big, thick, heavy, gray cloud. It weighs down on me, exhausting me. My eyes feel heavy. I want to go to sleep. Everything is such an effort. I go to work but the joy is gone. And I have the tantrumers. Only one is there but the homeless child sees the gap and wants to step in. Now he is acting up, being difficult, trying to capture my attention. I get it little guy. Your mom abandoned the family. Your dad is taking care of you and your two younger brothers. You were living in a van and now you live in a shelter. You hate women but you love them. You don't want to work but you want my attention. I have a husband like that. I know your story. But please give me a break. My life just crumbled. Please don't ask me to be the paragon of patience I have been. I don't want to be, but I will if you insist.
On Friday morning I called an attorney I had interviewed right before your triple bypass. I signed the papers and put his retainer on a credit card. Cut my losses. Cancer, triple bypasses, diabetes, bipolar disorder. Those alone are more than enough. I'm not signing on for gambling again. The fax machine at work wouldn't put the papers through. I didn't want anyone in the office to find out what I was faxing. What kind of woman divorces a man with pancreatic cancer? I missed the deadline for filing on Friday. Over the weekend I got our home fax to put the sheets through. Papers were filed on Monday. You ask me if I would accept service of divorce papers. I tell you not to worry; I'd already filed. Would you accept service? You thank me for saving you $350.
Tuesday morning you create some bogus spreadsheet of our assets and how much you would get in monthly spousal support. You come up with a total of $7333 a month. You must be out of your mind. You have me on the sheet as making both retirement and a salary at the same time. That's quite a trick! Did anyone ever tell you that you don't get retirement from a job before you quit working it? How can you get more money a month than I bring home? You lead a rich fantasy life. You want a spousal support agreement by June 1. Hold on there! June 1 is Tuesday. That won't be happening. And I am sooooo glad I have hired an attorney.
My life has become dark. I live under a big, thick, heavy, gray cloud. It weighs down on me, exhausting me. My eyes feel heavy. I want to go to sleep. Everything is such an effort. I go to work but the joy is gone. And I have the tantrumers. Only one is there but the homeless child sees the gap and wants to step in. Now he is acting up, being difficult, trying to capture my attention. I get it little guy. Your mom abandoned the family. Your dad is taking care of you and your two younger brothers. You were living in a van and now you live in a shelter. You hate women but you love them. You don't want to work but you want my attention. I have a husband like that. I know your story. But please give me a break. My life just crumbled. Please don't ask me to be the paragon of patience I have been. I don't want to be, but I will if you insist.
Rip it out of my chest and throw it in the street
After two days of no communication, you tell me you won't gamble until we've had a conversation about your gambling. I hope you are thinking, thinking about how you are finally going to protect me and provide something for me. Throw me a bone, will ya?
Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped at a big casino where she loses big money on a regular basis. We had made plans to go there for Mother's Day weekend (while you are still thinking about how you can protect me). You ask me if I will go. I say let's take a pass on it; casinos put bile in my mouth. You promise that if I go, you won't gamble. Despite your impeccable history as an inveterate liar, I somehow sense that this time you are telling the truth. I was right, you were. We went, we stayed, you didn't gamble. The room was beautiful. Laura did my hair: highlights, lowlights and a cut. We dined. We swam. I played slots and you catered to my every whim. You, Laura and Kyle treated my like a queen. It was truly a weekend centered on me. I had a terrific time. And you even paid for everything.
Ah, but we didn't have the 'conversation' yet. Who is supposed to initiate this type of conversation? You? Me? I ask you what you have come up with as a plan to protect me. You say the only thing you can think of is that we get a divorce, split everything down the middle, and then keep living together. I say 'no can do'.
Finally, after almost three weeks, I suggest you and I get a divorce, you sign over all the assets to me, and we continue living together as husband and wife, through thick and thin, I will be there for you till the very end. You say that won't do. After all, there are so many things you aren't happy with.......
Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped at a big casino where she loses big money on a regular basis. We had made plans to go there for Mother's Day weekend (while you are still thinking about how you can protect me). You ask me if I will go. I say let's take a pass on it; casinos put bile in my mouth. You promise that if I go, you won't gamble. Despite your impeccable history as an inveterate liar, I somehow sense that this time you are telling the truth. I was right, you were. We went, we stayed, you didn't gamble. The room was beautiful. Laura did my hair: highlights, lowlights and a cut. We dined. We swam. I played slots and you catered to my every whim. You, Laura and Kyle treated my like a queen. It was truly a weekend centered on me. I had a terrific time. And you even paid for everything.
Ah, but we didn't have the 'conversation' yet. Who is supposed to initiate this type of conversation? You? Me? I ask you what you have come up with as a plan to protect me. You say the only thing you can think of is that we get a divorce, split everything down the middle, and then keep living together. I say 'no can do'.
Finally, after almost three weeks, I suggest you and I get a divorce, you sign over all the assets to me, and we continue living together as husband and wife, through thick and thin, I will be there for you till the very end. You say that won't do. After all, there are so many things you aren't happy with.......
Break My Heart
How strange life can be. Some people say, "You plan. God laughs." And that certainly would be the case here. I didn't even plan; I guessed at what would happen. You got diagnosed with cancer, and I thought there would be a descent into cancer hell. The only variable, I thought, would be the rate at which we took the dive. I wondered what it would be like, how long it would last, what medical elements would come into play, how you would handle it, and what my life would look like as well. Really, God, I wasn't making plans; I was planning to cope. Maybe that in itself was a 'plan'.
But then at a point in our journey, cancer took a back seat. On April 28, two days before our 22nd wedding anniversary, you called me at work. You didn't want to lie anymore. You didn't want to put Laura in the middle. You wanted to come clean. Knowing that I would be seeing my therapist in 45 minutes, you wanted to let me know that you were playing poker again. In fact, you always had been playing poker, you always would, and 'that is just the way it is'. Nuclear bomb falls on kindergarten teacher in Southern California. All is destroyed, devastated. Building demolished, vegetation obliterated. Will there be any survivors? The mushroom cloud rises up into the atmosphere tall dark and ominous. Can't you see it? The fallout flattens everything in its path. All is dark, gray, ruined, there is no going back. Life as we have known it will never be the same again. You hand me a broom. Go clean it up. Deal with it.
I tell you that I am stunned, crushed, hurt. I see I have enabled you to gamble. I pay the bills. I go to work. You gamble. I scrounge for summer funds. I take extra jobs. You gamble. I tell you that from now on you will pay your medical coverage and there will be big changes around here. After all, we've just suffered a nuclear holocaust. I ask you to be thinking of how you are going to protect me from any damages that might arise from your gambling. What if you are thinking, "What the heck, I'm going to die, one last hurrah, I'm going to play in this high-stakes game"? Or, you just decide that throwing money on a table is the way you want to spend your final days? You would need to think of a way to protect me and provide for me. There's no life insurance. There's no retirement plan with my name on it for widow's benefits. For once, protect me and provide something for me.
I let our anniversary slip by unnoticed. I have no desire to celebrate.
I tell you that I am stunned, crushed, hurt. I see I have enabled you to gamble. I pay the bills. I go to work. You gamble. I scrounge for summer funds. I take extra jobs. You gamble. I tell you that from now on you will pay your medical coverage and there will be big changes around here. After all, we've just suffered a nuclear holocaust. I ask you to be thinking of how you are going to protect me from any damages that might arise from your gambling. What if you are thinking, "What the heck, I'm going to die, one last hurrah, I'm going to play in this high-stakes game"? Or, you just decide that throwing money on a table is the way you want to spend your final days? You would need to think of a way to protect me and provide for me. There's no life insurance. There's no retirement plan with my name on it for widow's benefits. For once, protect me and provide something for me.
I let our anniversary slip by unnoticed. I have no desire to celebrate.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Well, THAT'S Good News
Mother's Day weekend was like a beautiful dream for me. You took me to Agua Caliente out in Palm Desert where Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped every month. Ours was luxurious with one of the few balconies in the hotel. We were on the seventh floor overlooking the swimming pool. When the sun rose in the morning (on the other side of the hotel, thankfully), we had a breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains to the west. I tried to take photos of them but they looked hazy. You explained that even though the mountains looked clear and majestic to us, the wind was kicking up a lot of sand and debris in the distance which caused our photos to look fuzzy. You, Kyle and Laura catered to my every whim. It was so unusual that there were times when I felt indecisive. (You're asking me what I want to do? I get to decide?) I truly enjoyed myself. You even humored me while I played nickel slots.
School on the other hand has been a living nightmare. Were it not for seasoned, competent and resourceful administrators, I don't know what I would have done. What I do know is that I wouldn't have been able to survive these past few weeks if my former administrator had been in charge (God rest her soul, no disrespect intended, but I went through it with her once four years ago and she didn't help me at all yet continued to pat herself on the back every time I met with her, telling me how much support she had given me...) This year I have two students who returned from Spring Break having had some sort of trauma. We know the source of one child's trauma, but I think the other child's mother is holding out on telling us the whole story about her son, lying by omission. They are both tantruming and learning from one another. Now they are both throwing furniture and books and destroying property as well as running from the classroom. On Wednesday, B ran out the back gates of the school, down through the neighborhood streets while being chased by five adults. At one point he stopped in a yard and started pulling out the plants, the rain gutters from the house, and the pickets from the fence. The adults wouldn't touch him, the homeowner called the police, the office manager finally picked B up and removed him. The police arrived at school and called the PET. B hasn't been back since then. His mom has summoned her mother from Arizona to come and shadow him for the remainder of the school year. Neither one of these boys wants to be at school. They both want to be at home with their mothers. Neither mother can have that. It's sad. I am sad for them. I set up a behavior system with K but he still has trouble with anger. He brings me an orange domino when he needs to 'cool down' and a red domino when the work I have given him is too hard. We set up a 'cooldown corner' for him in the classroom. When he brings me the orange domino, he is to go to the 'cooldown corner'; when he brings me a red domino, I will go to where he is working and modify the assignment for him. I hope the system works. On Friday I think he unplugged all the computers in the school computer lab. The tech guy came in my room afterward, and the look on his face was heartbreaking; I didn't know what to say or do. I thought my aide and I were watching the kids. Could K have slipped away under the table for a second to unplug everything? I met with the second grade teacher whose class has lab after mine. She helped me think of a way to find out. I will try it tomorrow. We have study team meetings on both these boys next week. I think B needs a special school. I don't know what the PET recommended but I do know that once the police call in PET, it's out of our hands. Flying furniture, ripped-down bulletin boards, angry children, they make me sad. I know it's not about me; they want their mothers, I can never replace their mothers. But I am still sad, and I am frustrated I am not able to help them stop.
On the health front, things are happening. You had a CT scan on Monday. On Wednesday your oncologist told you the tumor is shrinking. The chemo is working. Well THAT's good news! In time you will be able to have the SMA bypass operation to help circulate blood to your intestinal tract. But Saturday you told me the doctor also found a goiter and lesions on your lungs. He said he wasn't worried about either. This doctor doesn't fib. So I guess we should believe him.
School on the other hand has been a living nightmare. Were it not for seasoned, competent and resourceful administrators, I don't know what I would have done. What I do know is that I wouldn't have been able to survive these past few weeks if my former administrator had been in charge (God rest her soul, no disrespect intended, but I went through it with her once four years ago and she didn't help me at all yet continued to pat herself on the back every time I met with her, telling me how much support she had given me...) This year I have two students who returned from Spring Break having had some sort of trauma. We know the source of one child's trauma, but I think the other child's mother is holding out on telling us the whole story about her son, lying by omission. They are both tantruming and learning from one another. Now they are both throwing furniture and books and destroying property as well as running from the classroom. On Wednesday, B ran out the back gates of the school, down through the neighborhood streets while being chased by five adults. At one point he stopped in a yard and started pulling out the plants, the rain gutters from the house, and the pickets from the fence. The adults wouldn't touch him, the homeowner called the police, the office manager finally picked B up and removed him. The police arrived at school and called the PET. B hasn't been back since then. His mom has summoned her mother from Arizona to come and shadow him for the remainder of the school year. Neither one of these boys wants to be at school. They both want to be at home with their mothers. Neither mother can have that. It's sad. I am sad for them. I set up a behavior system with K but he still has trouble with anger. He brings me an orange domino when he needs to 'cool down' and a red domino when the work I have given him is too hard. We set up a 'cooldown corner' for him in the classroom. When he brings me the orange domino, he is to go to the 'cooldown corner'; when he brings me a red domino, I will go to where he is working and modify the assignment for him. I hope the system works. On Friday I think he unplugged all the computers in the school computer lab. The tech guy came in my room afterward, and the look on his face was heartbreaking; I didn't know what to say or do. I thought my aide and I were watching the kids. Could K have slipped away under the table for a second to unplug everything? I met with the second grade teacher whose class has lab after mine. She helped me think of a way to find out. I will try it tomorrow. We have study team meetings on both these boys next week. I think B needs a special school. I don't know what the PET recommended but I do know that once the police call in PET, it's out of our hands. Flying furniture, ripped-down bulletin boards, angry children, they make me sad. I know it's not about me; they want their mothers, I can never replace their mothers. But I am still sad, and I am frustrated I am not able to help them stop.
On the health front, things are happening. You had a CT scan on Monday. On Wednesday your oncologist told you the tumor is shrinking. The chemo is working. Well THAT's good news! In time you will be able to have the SMA bypass operation to help circulate blood to your intestinal tract. But Saturday you told me the doctor also found a goiter and lesions on your lungs. He said he wasn't worried about either. This doctor doesn't fib. So I guess we should believe him.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A Collection of Days
Last night I dreamed we were in a large apartment complex in the desert. It reminded me of the place where we took our last hike when we were out there in February. Between the buildings in the complex, between a back building and a front one, there was a large unlandscaped area. We were on our way to pick up Laura. As I headed out between the two buildings there was a big black puma coming through a small wash. It was large, it's coat was glossy, and it was walking toward me. I got in the car and told you. You said, "There's a puma? Where?" But then I woke up.
So much has happened these last couple of weeks. Dad has been in the convalescent facility until this afternoon. I have gone there almost every day over these two months. Carmi and Nonong have been there twelve hours a day but during the nights they are gone, and Dad gets up and falls. He forgets he's gone to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He forgets what time of day it is. He'll fall asleep at 7 pm, wake at 9, and wonder where his breakfast is. He's had two falls, neither of which were documented by the staff in incident reports until we pushed it. Carmi and Nonong will be doing 24-hour shifts for at least the next couple of weeks. If Dad settles down and gets off the Vampire Schedule, we'll be able to go back to 12-hour shifts.
Quincy has been in the house for much of the last two months. He has a growth on his paw and we're hoping it will heal over and get a hard paw-like skin on it. That seems to be taking too much time. We put all kinds of bandages on it and make booties out of my collection of unmatched socks but after each time we think he's healed, it opens up and starts to bleed again. It seems to be getting larger, and our neighbor, the vet tech, says it will need to be removed. Oh, boy! More vet bills. We need a vet in the family.
Kyle was able to wrangle a new phone for you from Sprint. It arrived today and you spent several hours figuring out how to use every little function it has. You should be sitting pretty; it's the latest and the greatest.
You have reached the point where you are starting to dread your chemo days. You look forward to every other Tuesday with trepidation. You are starting to get neuropathy in your hands and feet. You reached into the freezer at the grocery store to get some ice cream and were greeted by shooting needle-like pain in your fingers. It has been getting better within a few days after your chemo treatments but lingers a bit longer each time. You are more sensitive to both heat and cold now. The doctor says that sometimes people get neuropathy permanently after chemo.
Tomorrow at work two things will happen: 1)the K teachers will meet with the district literacy coach who will euphemistically ask us why our kids are so low and 2) we will finally find out who our new principal will be. It's crazy hair day at school. But every day is crazy kid day.
So much has happened these last couple of weeks. Dad has been in the convalescent facility until this afternoon. I have gone there almost every day over these two months. Carmi and Nonong have been there twelve hours a day but during the nights they are gone, and Dad gets up and falls. He forgets he's gone to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He forgets what time of day it is. He'll fall asleep at 7 pm, wake at 9, and wonder where his breakfast is. He's had two falls, neither of which were documented by the staff in incident reports until we pushed it. Carmi and Nonong will be doing 24-hour shifts for at least the next couple of weeks. If Dad settles down and gets off the Vampire Schedule, we'll be able to go back to 12-hour shifts.
Quincy has been in the house for much of the last two months. He has a growth on his paw and we're hoping it will heal over and get a hard paw-like skin on it. That seems to be taking too much time. We put all kinds of bandages on it and make booties out of my collection of unmatched socks but after each time we think he's healed, it opens up and starts to bleed again. It seems to be getting larger, and our neighbor, the vet tech, says it will need to be removed. Oh, boy! More vet bills. We need a vet in the family.
Kyle was able to wrangle a new phone for you from Sprint. It arrived today and you spent several hours figuring out how to use every little function it has. You should be sitting pretty; it's the latest and the greatest.
You have reached the point where you are starting to dread your chemo days. You look forward to every other Tuesday with trepidation. You are starting to get neuropathy in your hands and feet. You reached into the freezer at the grocery store to get some ice cream and were greeted by shooting needle-like pain in your fingers. It has been getting better within a few days after your chemo treatments but lingers a bit longer each time. You are more sensitive to both heat and cold now. The doctor says that sometimes people get neuropathy permanently after chemo.
Tomorrow at work two things will happen: 1)the K teachers will meet with the district literacy coach who will euphemistically ask us why our kids are so low and 2) we will finally find out who our new principal will be. It's crazy hair day at school. But every day is crazy kid day.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Wednesday, April 8
This has been a difficult last few days. I have felt uncomfortable and criticized. You have said things to me that make me feel you think I am a bad person. It harkens back to feelings I used to get, particularly from my stepfather. I would be cruising along through life, and then from out of nowhere he would start in on me. "That girl is so rude. She's so stuck-up. She blahblahblah....." And I get this horrible deja vu feeling that I am bad and I just don't know it. You (and my SF) are letting me in on this very special secret. Don't I know? Isn't it obvious? How can I not see it? It is becoming clear to me that you are feeling very insecure. As was my SF; he just didn't have a good excuse for it like cancer. You have made comments to the effect that you think I act inappropriately with Laura's boyfriend and that the network of friends I have might be attempts to replace you. I admit to having some degree of 'anticipatory grief'. I admit to being terrified of what I will feel when you are gone. I admit to being confused about our future. I admit that there are times when I'm not so strong. I fear loneliness. I always have. I wish I didn't. You say that when you are gone, I can 'replace' you. I wish it were that easy. My therapist says that men do that all the time. I see that. Bob, at church, lost Pat in June after 52 years of marriage and incredible closeness, constant togetherness. He met another woman on the cruise he took to scatter her ashes. He's now on another cruise to scatter the rest of Pat's ashes, and this new woman will be helping him. I just couldn't do that. I couldn't replicate the intimacy I need in a marriage like that. Too much, too fast. It would be a recipe for disaster for me.
Easter Dinner was lovely and we had two guests. I like small dinner gatherings. They are comfortable. Again, I didn't feel I had to put on any appearances. The food (hot chicken salad, corn pudding, green salad and lemon chess pie) all turned out remarkably well. Yep, I was cooking from scratch, a rare and satisfying event. You were quite impressed and complimented me a lot on the meal. Everything turned out perfectly, and all of us were extremely happy with the food. Flowers from the massive bulbs on our front walkway made the table look beautiful.
Laura had to come into town today to have her dog's teeth worked on. She and I spent time together. I told her you thought I was being inappropriate with Kyle. I wanted to know if she thought that way too. She was shocked. She said she and he love the way I am with them, that he feels welcome, accepted and liked by me, that I am not the least bit inappropriate. On the other hand, he doesn't feel very comfy with you.
You have told me that having cancer is making you feel 'less than'. You feel less than a whole person, less of a man, less of a human, less capable of being who you want to be. I feel like you are watching me. Yet, I understand how you must be feeling. I can begin to put myself in your place and feel your sense of powerlessness. But after all these years. And all we've been through. And I've been faithful to you the entire time, even when we were separated, even when I was disgusted and furious with you. I mentioned your distrust at the Good Wives' Club. They could understand. I was able to reach a new level of safety with them last night. One good thing that came out of it was that they reminded me that there is significant evidence that chemo causes personality changes. One person said her husband is 'short', meaning impatient, now compared to before he started chemo. You, too, are being short. At dinner you told me you want to go over our expenses again. You just can't understand where the money is going. I told you we've already been over this, that I have the taxes to do. I don't want to go over the monthlies. I can tell you where the expenses are. Then you said I was ruining dinner. You wanted to write it down and that was that. This is just one example of your shortness but more importantly, of your insistence lately that we do everything your way. And when I have tried to disagree, you tell me I am being unreasonable, difficult, I am ruining a 'happy' situation. You even called me a bitch once. The GWC reminded me that chemo can interfere with moods and that a lot of cancer patients suffer from depression. In light of the possible effects of this new chemo, I think you need to call your doc for a meds adjustment.
Easter Dinner was lovely and we had two guests. I like small dinner gatherings. They are comfortable. Again, I didn't feel I had to put on any appearances. The food (hot chicken salad, corn pudding, green salad and lemon chess pie) all turned out remarkably well. Yep, I was cooking from scratch, a rare and satisfying event. You were quite impressed and complimented me a lot on the meal. Everything turned out perfectly, and all of us were extremely happy with the food. Flowers from the massive bulbs on our front walkway made the table look beautiful.
Laura had to come into town today to have her dog's teeth worked on. She and I spent time together. I told her you thought I was being inappropriate with Kyle. I wanted to know if she thought that way too. She was shocked. She said she and he love the way I am with them, that he feels welcome, accepted and liked by me, that I am not the least bit inappropriate. On the other hand, he doesn't feel very comfy with you.
You have told me that having cancer is making you feel 'less than'. You feel less than a whole person, less of a man, less of a human, less capable of being who you want to be. I feel like you are watching me. Yet, I understand how you must be feeling. I can begin to put myself in your place and feel your sense of powerlessness. But after all these years. And all we've been through. And I've been faithful to you the entire time, even when we were separated, even when I was disgusted and furious with you. I mentioned your distrust at the Good Wives' Club. They could understand. I was able to reach a new level of safety with them last night. One good thing that came out of it was that they reminded me that there is significant evidence that chemo causes personality changes. One person said her husband is 'short', meaning impatient, now compared to before he started chemo. You, too, are being short. At dinner you told me you want to go over our expenses again. You just can't understand where the money is going. I told you we've already been over this, that I have the taxes to do. I don't want to go over the monthlies. I can tell you where the expenses are. Then you said I was ruining dinner. You wanted to write it down and that was that. This is just one example of your shortness but more importantly, of your insistence lately that we do everything your way. And when I have tried to disagree, you tell me I am being unreasonable, difficult, I am ruining a 'happy' situation. You even called me a bitch once. The GWC reminded me that chemo can interfere with moods and that a lot of cancer patients suffer from depression. In light of the possible effects of this new chemo, I think you need to call your doc for a meds adjustment.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Spring Break, Week 1
The bike ride on your birthday was more than perfect. I was reminded of how superior our spring and summer route to Manhattan and Hermosa Beaches is to the winter route that barely goes beyond Marina del Rey. The comparison, in fact, is pitiful. Upon reaching Manhattan Beach, we enter a different world, a world of beach communities where sun, sand, piers, surfboards, and wide-windowed houses dominate the landscape. There the focus is on being one with the beach. It's Spring Break, the place is teeming with people intent on spending their time enjoying the ocean. I so marveled at the forgotten beauty of this ride that I felt compelled to call Beth and apologize for taking her on such a poor imitation of it when she was here. She must come back down so we can do the real thing. I can't let her miss out on this beachride experience. It will remind her of our days on Balboa Island. Laura rode with us and complained of her ass being sore. She was visibly uncomfortable, especially on the ride home. We stopped in Manhattan Beach and ate at Wahoo's. It's ambiance leaves much to be desired. The food is okay but was way too heavy on the cilantro. They need to slap a little sour cream on that stuff. Low fat is good but taste is imperative. Later in the day, I noticed that the back of Laura's hands had gotten sunburned. That poor child! She got my mother's complexion but not her distaste for the sun. The backs of her calves were also burnt. She was glad to get back on the road to the desert that evening. She did, however, stay for dinner before she left.
Tuesday was chemo day. We went to the oncology center and I learned how they hook you up. Since you had to stay for two hours for one type of chemo before you got your pack of 5FU to take home, I was able to go across the street to see Dad at the health care center. Gotta love that name 5FU. That's what I'd like to say to cancer. FU.
The oncological center is a feast for the eyes. Someone sure got it right. If you have to have cancer and chemo, then let's make a place that's aesthetically pleasing. And it made my eyes happy! If eyes could sing, mine would have sung 'Vissi d'Arte' from Tosca. The walls are filled with the most beautiful paintings, sculptures and collages. Large leather recliners where when you sit to get your infusions you face floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows that look west to the ocean. They have pillows and blankets, and the atmosphere is intensely serene. You slept through much of your treatment, and Jose came in for his treatment near the end of yours so you two were able to talk.
We went home with you hooked up to your fanny pack of 5FU and who knows what else. You were to wear it for 46 hours and disconnect it when it starts beeping on Thursday morning. What I noticed was how soon the fatigue set in. You began to nap that afternoon and fell asleep in front of the TV somewhat early. Afraid that a dog or a wife might jostle your pack and sending toxic chemicals spewing all over our bed, you went alone to sleep in the middle bedroom. Again you felt slightly headachy and mildly nauseous. You chose not to do much exercise during those days but managed to function, running errands and taking care of small tasks around the house and at Dad's condo.
Tuesday was chemo day. We went to the oncology center and I learned how they hook you up. Since you had to stay for two hours for one type of chemo before you got your pack of 5FU to take home, I was able to go across the street to see Dad at the health care center. Gotta love that name 5FU. That's what I'd like to say to cancer. FU.
The oncological center is a feast for the eyes. Someone sure got it right. If you have to have cancer and chemo, then let's make a place that's aesthetically pleasing. And it made my eyes happy! If eyes could sing, mine would have sung 'Vissi d'Arte' from Tosca. The walls are filled with the most beautiful paintings, sculptures and collages. Large leather recliners where when you sit to get your infusions you face floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows that look west to the ocean. They have pillows and blankets, and the atmosphere is intensely serene. You slept through much of your treatment, and Jose came in for his treatment near the end of yours so you two were able to talk.
We went home with you hooked up to your fanny pack of 5FU and who knows what else. You were to wear it for 46 hours and disconnect it when it starts beeping on Thursday morning. What I noticed was how soon the fatigue set in. You began to nap that afternoon and fell asleep in front of the TV somewhat early. Afraid that a dog or a wife might jostle your pack and sending toxic chemicals spewing all over our bed, you went alone to sleep in the middle bedroom. Again you felt slightly headachy and mildly nauseous. You chose not to do much exercise during those days but managed to function, running errands and taking care of small tasks around the house and at Dad's condo.
Monday, March 29, 2010
YOU ARE 65!
It's 8:30 a.m. and you have already been up and are back to sleep. On another cancer patient this behavior might look like cancer is weakening you. Cancer hasn't really changed your sleep patterns; they have always been weird. Throughout our lives you have risen at odd hours, done some usual and unusual tasks, and gone back to sleep when the rest of the world is waking from its typical, solid, uninterrupted eight. I know a lot of men have to get up once, twice, maybe three times a night, and you do too. But this is different. You get up, go out into the family room, read, check email, watch TV, meditate, and return to bed for a couple more hours of sleep. When I work, you get up, make my coffee, make my breakfast, sometimes make my lunch, see me out the door, and then return to bed. Cancer has maybe enhanced this routine by extending the time you spend in bed. Your naps are longer, you are less-likely to suffer periods of true insomnia, and your nap clusters are longer after your chemo days when fatigue occasionally colors your whole world.
Laura is here. She stayed on after Kyle returned to work, and she and I will indulge your every wish today. We talked about bike riding and having brunch out. I am excited for this day. The weather is perfect, and I am on Spring Break. Glorious, fabulous, blissful Spring Break, two weeks of freedom from rising early, running full-steam and wrangling the spectrum of five-year-old behaviors.
We celebrated with a small dinner party last night. We had initially planned another one for Saturday evening but I hadn't fully recovered from my flu, and you canceled it because you didn't like the way I was looking. I was edgy and unhappy because you had created more of a mess in the house, and that meant I was going to spend Friday evening and Saturday cleaning. You rescheduled for two weeks from now. That works for me, and my aunt and uncle will be here from Boise. It could be even better. It will definitely be better. But I have a problem with the way it went down, and I will address it later in this blog. I have already addressed it with you. Last night we had pistachio-encrusted seared ahi, garlic mashed potatoes, Mediterranean veggies, and THE butter almond cake. Suzin brought appetizers, and I had some Guggisberg cheese left from my cousin's last visit. I had originally planned on wasabi mashed potatoes, but you said wasabi is no longer agreeing with you. With only six of us, it was a relaxed, intimate evening that required no putting on of appearances. The flowers from our front walkway were stunning in the rounded vase I used. We all fit comfortably around the table. I would like to feel that relaxed at all our gatherings.
My friend from my childhood, Debbie, finished her paintings of Matt and Quincy. They were even more perfect than they had been last week. Debbie always tries to capture an animal's personality by including a favorite toy or something that illustrates what the dog likes to do. We had talked about putting in some kind of food but instead she painted them sitting in front of our house, with the irises in full-bloom going up our walkway. They are incredible! And with her artistic touch, she painted Quincy in front of the left side of the house, and Matt in front of the right side, with both portraits ending at the front door. I was deliriously happy when she brought them over yesterday! Do we frame them together, or separately? Each is 10" x 10". We gave them to you after dinner. You want them framed together; I think separately would accentuate the way the house is divided exactly in the middle. She even painted the screen door with the sunburst in it. I couldn't be happier. Finally a gift you won't return.....
Laura is here. She stayed on after Kyle returned to work, and she and I will indulge your every wish today. We talked about bike riding and having brunch out. I am excited for this day. The weather is perfect, and I am on Spring Break. Glorious, fabulous, blissful Spring Break, two weeks of freedom from rising early, running full-steam and wrangling the spectrum of five-year-old behaviors.
We celebrated with a small dinner party last night. We had initially planned another one for Saturday evening but I hadn't fully recovered from my flu, and you canceled it because you didn't like the way I was looking. I was edgy and unhappy because you had created more of a mess in the house, and that meant I was going to spend Friday evening and Saturday cleaning. You rescheduled for two weeks from now. That works for me, and my aunt and uncle will be here from Boise. It could be even better. It will definitely be better. But I have a problem with the way it went down, and I will address it later in this blog. I have already addressed it with you. Last night we had pistachio-encrusted seared ahi, garlic mashed potatoes, Mediterranean veggies, and THE butter almond cake. Suzin brought appetizers, and I had some Guggisberg cheese left from my cousin's last visit. I had originally planned on wasabi mashed potatoes, but you said wasabi is no longer agreeing with you. With only six of us, it was a relaxed, intimate evening that required no putting on of appearances. The flowers from our front walkway were stunning in the rounded vase I used. We all fit comfortably around the table. I would like to feel that relaxed at all our gatherings.
My friend from my childhood, Debbie, finished her paintings of Matt and Quincy. They were even more perfect than they had been last week. Debbie always tries to capture an animal's personality by including a favorite toy or something that illustrates what the dog likes to do. We had talked about putting in some kind of food but instead she painted them sitting in front of our house, with the irises in full-bloom going up our walkway. They are incredible! And with her artistic touch, she painted Quincy in front of the left side of the house, and Matt in front of the right side, with both portraits ending at the front door. I was deliriously happy when she brought them over yesterday! Do we frame them together, or separately? Each is 10" x 10". We gave them to you after dinner. You want them framed together; I think separately would accentuate the way the house is divided exactly in the middle. She even painted the screen door with the sunburst in it. I couldn't be happier. Finally a gift you won't return.....
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Another Flying Week and You're Almost 65
Writing a blog about your so-called 'terminal' cancer really isn't something that can be done in isolation. The rest of life weaves its way in and out of my writing. Does it interfere? Or is life a tapestry that can't be unraveled? Dad, dogs, family, work, friends, the flu. They become inextricably woven together. They will all spill into this blog at one time or another. But your cancer is the unspoken dye that colors everything now. We don't get to choose whether or not we can remove it. This cancer is not a choice. Pancreatic cancer never goes away. "We" have cancer. Our lives have cancer. And when the cancer is gone, there will be no more "we". Then, maybe then, I will have a life free of cancer, but "we" never will. When my life no longer has cancer, it will no longer have you.
You wore your fanny pack for 48 hours. It emitted a gentle little 'whirring' sound every so often. You were slightly nauseous at times, but never enough to throw up. In the end, after the pack was removed, I asked what the side effects were, and you said fatigue, headache and not much else. They want you to do this 16 times. Every two or three months they will do a CT scan to check the tumor size. If they are able to shrink it to half its size, they will do the surgery. The procedure will take 10-12 hours and you will be in the hospital for two weeks. If they are unable to shrink the tumor and do the surgery, the tumor will at some point in time grow enough to choke off the blood supply to your entire intestinal tract. I don't know what we will do then. With my counselor's help, I have decided not to think about that. Your next fanny pack was supposed to come on Monday, your 65th birthday, it will have been two weeks, but they are letting you do it on Tuesday instead.
Beth came down on Friday. She took a long shower and then you dropped her off at the health care center to see Dad. I arrived about an hour later, we spent some time with him, and then she and I came home. She saw how much better he is now and she was relieved that if this is her last memory of him, it will be one of more clarity and mental presence. She had brought down the wonderful book his father had made for us of our family history. Dad was engrossed in it. We had a relaxing evening at home. We were able to go over Dad's business and review the plans in his trust. I hadn't really firmed up a potential appointment with Dad's financial adviser, so that didn't happen the way I had hoped. You let us have a lot of 'girl time'; you made us dinner and we soaked in the hot tub. Early Saturday morning we got up but you were gone. I thought that maybe you had gone out to breakfast with David. We got into the big van with the bikes and headed off to Starbucks. You called. You had been at Trader Joe's and wanted to go riding with us. I dropped Beth off to pick up our coffee order and came back for you. We had another gorgeous ride on the bike path, the weather was perfect but the birds weren't out for Beth to get to enjoy. We decided we would try it again on Sunday morning. Beth and I had arranged for our childhood friend, Debbie, to come over. She came by for lunch. We ended up talking for three hours before we were able to stop and visit Dad. Debbie was so thrilled to see Dad, and he remembered her and her family well. It was a fabulous reunion. We are so much alike and have had so many common experiences during the years our lives headed off in different directions. Debbie taught art in private schools for several years. She has three children, she and her husband are devout Christians, and times are tough for them. Yet she still has the same sweet, loving disposition she always had. She and I started taking violin lessons in elementary school, and she still plays in local orchestras and productions. I have vague recollections of sketching and drawing with her when we were little. She has kept that up too. When she recently quit her job as an art teacher she decided to go back to oil painting, except this time she does oil paintings of dogs. I had sent her some jpgs of Matt, Quincy and Stevie, and she painted them. They are beautiful! They look exactly like our boys, and she is adding her own artistic touch to them. It's exciting! I told her I would pay her for them. I think I finally have a gift for you that you'll like! She will bring them over this weekend. The only problem I have is a frame.....But Del makes his own, and he and Ann are coming out in two weeks.
Sunday didn't materialize the way we had hoped. On Saturday Beth and I stayed up watching 'Kitchen Nightmares' and you, she and I had a late dinner. We went to bed around eleven because we were going to go bike riding at 8:00. In the night I started feeling a dryness in my throat, then a croupy cough, and by morning I was running a fever. Oh, yuck! I hadn't come down with a cold; I had the flu! I dragged myself out at 7:45 to tell Beth. She was gracious about having to change her plans, and you drove her to the airport at 10:15. I was in bed for three days. Three days with a fever can feel both like a blink of an eye and an eternity at the same time.
It was tough to return to work on Wednesday, and my kids had been off-the-charts with their behavior. B had been wearing a belt to school and taking it off at lunchtime to use to hit the other children. Someone had removed the science experiment. I mean, there was nothing left but an empty jar. The sub had left me a note that they couldn't do the seed-growth pages for the science journals because there were no seeds growing. S was hatching a plot to have an all-out sand war. With what sand? I thought. The district removed it all because the neighborhood cats had been using it as a latrine. Then I found one area, a place where an old tree had been removed from it's island in the center of the blacktop. Somehow that circle was filled with sand. I had seen sand coming out of S's shoes. It was the first time in years I had had sand on the classroom rug. It was making sense now. He was randomly attacking others with handfuls of sand during lunch. D was bringing interesting things to school. SD was masticating the cuffs and necks of his shirts so badly. I have started calling him my 'little cloth eater'. Someone in another class had been dropping the girls' bathroom pass in the toilet every day. Julie was pissed. Someone had started peeing daily on the boys' bathroom floor in my room. As we were getting ready for lunch, the assistant principal came in the room. She was angry about what had been going on. And she told them so. She read them the riot act. I think she scared the daylights out of them, but at that point they deserved it. She told me about the belt and had B remove it and give it to me. She walked the most silent line in history to the cafeteria.
By the time I was finished with school, going to therapy and visiting Dad, I was extremely tired. When I went to pick you up from yoga at the Wellness Community, I was not in a good mood. You were 15 minutes late and wouldn't pick up my phone calls. Why do you do that? If I don't answer your calls, you read me the riot act. But you consistently don't answer mine. Is that fair???? And then if I bring it up, you act like I'm the biggest bitch on the planet. Is that fair? But that's a game you've always played with me. If I complain about something you do, you attack with swift force, trying to immobilize me, trying to shoot me dead in the water. Why do I back down? I feel I have a right to approach you in the same manner as you do me when I don't answer your calls. And the only time I don't answer your calls is when I am on a call to another person and I don't feel it's a good time to interrupt my conversation. We went to dinner nearby and ran into some minor district honchos. You weren't exactly friendly. I was uncomfortable. Once again, the woman who has never liked me was there. At least it doesn't bother me now like it did 35 years ago. I still don't think you're going to answer my calls.
The Good Wives Club had a warm meeting. I am feeling more relaxed in the group and my trust is growing. There is an affection flowing between all of us now. We are developing a kinship. Karen was back from her vacation and Janet suggested I tell her about my talk with my dad. I said I'd cry again. They said they wanted me to tell Karen. They said it would be incomplete if Karen didn't hear me tell it. They were right. So I did it again. Tears and all. And Karen was wonderfully supportive. I told them that next week I would tell them my cookie stories. They don't know that for me, telling them the cookie stories is the sign that I now trust them.
By today I had wrangled my students back into some pretty decent behavior. Teaching happened. I think some real learning happened too. I was happy. It is getting back to normal, just in time for Spring Break to come and throw them all out of their good habits.
For at least a month now, the dogs have been coming in at night. Matt was getting very upset that he was left our in the yard while Quincy was lavishing in the comfort, warmth and affection of the house, so you were bringing him inside to sleep with you in the middle bedroom while Q-ball slept with me. Quincy's paw is well enough now that we have taken the bandage off and you put him in the back yard for several hours a day. I think, I have a feeling though, that the dogs will be coming in every night from now on, whether or not they have boo-boos on their paws.
You wore your fanny pack for 48 hours. It emitted a gentle little 'whirring' sound every so often. You were slightly nauseous at times, but never enough to throw up. In the end, after the pack was removed, I asked what the side effects were, and you said fatigue, headache and not much else. They want you to do this 16 times. Every two or three months they will do a CT scan to check the tumor size. If they are able to shrink it to half its size, they will do the surgery. The procedure will take 10-12 hours and you will be in the hospital for two weeks. If they are unable to shrink the tumor and do the surgery, the tumor will at some point in time grow enough to choke off the blood supply to your entire intestinal tract. I don't know what we will do then. With my counselor's help, I have decided not to think about that. Your next fanny pack was supposed to come on Monday, your 65th birthday, it will have been two weeks, but they are letting you do it on Tuesday instead.
Beth came down on Friday. She took a long shower and then you dropped her off at the health care center to see Dad. I arrived about an hour later, we spent some time with him, and then she and I came home. She saw how much better he is now and she was relieved that if this is her last memory of him, it will be one of more clarity and mental presence. She had brought down the wonderful book his father had made for us of our family history. Dad was engrossed in it. We had a relaxing evening at home. We were able to go over Dad's business and review the plans in his trust. I hadn't really firmed up a potential appointment with Dad's financial adviser, so that didn't happen the way I had hoped. You let us have a lot of 'girl time'; you made us dinner and we soaked in the hot tub. Early Saturday morning we got up but you were gone. I thought that maybe you had gone out to breakfast with David. We got into the big van with the bikes and headed off to Starbucks. You called. You had been at Trader Joe's and wanted to go riding with us. I dropped Beth off to pick up our coffee order and came back for you. We had another gorgeous ride on the bike path, the weather was perfect but the birds weren't out for Beth to get to enjoy. We decided we would try it again on Sunday morning. Beth and I had arranged for our childhood friend, Debbie, to come over. She came by for lunch. We ended up talking for three hours before we were able to stop and visit Dad. Debbie was so thrilled to see Dad, and he remembered her and her family well. It was a fabulous reunion. We are so much alike and have had so many common experiences during the years our lives headed off in different directions. Debbie taught art in private schools for several years. She has three children, she and her husband are devout Christians, and times are tough for them. Yet she still has the same sweet, loving disposition she always had. She and I started taking violin lessons in elementary school, and she still plays in local orchestras and productions. I have vague recollections of sketching and drawing with her when we were little. She has kept that up too. When she recently quit her job as an art teacher she decided to go back to oil painting, except this time she does oil paintings of dogs. I had sent her some jpgs of Matt, Quincy and Stevie, and she painted them. They are beautiful! They look exactly like our boys, and she is adding her own artistic touch to them. It's exciting! I told her I would pay her for them. I think I finally have a gift for you that you'll like! She will bring them over this weekend. The only problem I have is a frame.....But Del makes his own, and he and Ann are coming out in two weeks.
Sunday didn't materialize the way we had hoped. On Saturday Beth and I stayed up watching 'Kitchen Nightmares' and you, she and I had a late dinner. We went to bed around eleven because we were going to go bike riding at 8:00. In the night I started feeling a dryness in my throat, then a croupy cough, and by morning I was running a fever. Oh, yuck! I hadn't come down with a cold; I had the flu! I dragged myself out at 7:45 to tell Beth. She was gracious about having to change her plans, and you drove her to the airport at 10:15. I was in bed for three days. Three days with a fever can feel both like a blink of an eye and an eternity at the same time.
It was tough to return to work on Wednesday, and my kids had been off-the-charts with their behavior. B had been wearing a belt to school and taking it off at lunchtime to use to hit the other children. Someone had removed the science experiment. I mean, there was nothing left but an empty jar. The sub had left me a note that they couldn't do the seed-growth pages for the science journals because there were no seeds growing. S was hatching a plot to have an all-out sand war. With what sand? I thought. The district removed it all because the neighborhood cats had been using it as a latrine. Then I found one area, a place where an old tree had been removed from it's island in the center of the blacktop. Somehow that circle was filled with sand. I had seen sand coming out of S's shoes. It was the first time in years I had had sand on the classroom rug. It was making sense now. He was randomly attacking others with handfuls of sand during lunch. D was bringing interesting things to school. SD was masticating the cuffs and necks of his shirts so badly. I have started calling him my 'little cloth eater'. Someone in another class had been dropping the girls' bathroom pass in the toilet every day. Julie was pissed. Someone had started peeing daily on the boys' bathroom floor in my room. As we were getting ready for lunch, the assistant principal came in the room. She was angry about what had been going on. And she told them so. She read them the riot act. I think she scared the daylights out of them, but at that point they deserved it. She told me about the belt and had B remove it and give it to me. She walked the most silent line in history to the cafeteria.
By the time I was finished with school, going to therapy and visiting Dad, I was extremely tired. When I went to pick you up from yoga at the Wellness Community, I was not in a good mood. You were 15 minutes late and wouldn't pick up my phone calls. Why do you do that? If I don't answer your calls, you read me the riot act. But you consistently don't answer mine. Is that fair???? And then if I bring it up, you act like I'm the biggest bitch on the planet. Is that fair? But that's a game you've always played with me. If I complain about something you do, you attack with swift force, trying to immobilize me, trying to shoot me dead in the water. Why do I back down? I feel I have a right to approach you in the same manner as you do me when I don't answer your calls. And the only time I don't answer your calls is when I am on a call to another person and I don't feel it's a good time to interrupt my conversation. We went to dinner nearby and ran into some minor district honchos. You weren't exactly friendly. I was uncomfortable. Once again, the woman who has never liked me was there. At least it doesn't bother me now like it did 35 years ago. I still don't think you're going to answer my calls.
The Good Wives Club had a warm meeting. I am feeling more relaxed in the group and my trust is growing. There is an affection flowing between all of us now. We are developing a kinship. Karen was back from her vacation and Janet suggested I tell her about my talk with my dad. I said I'd cry again. They said they wanted me to tell Karen. They said it would be incomplete if Karen didn't hear me tell it. They were right. So I did it again. Tears and all. And Karen was wonderfully supportive. I told them that next week I would tell them my cookie stories. They don't know that for me, telling them the cookie stories is the sign that I now trust them.
By today I had wrangled my students back into some pretty decent behavior. Teaching happened. I think some real learning happened too. I was happy. It is getting back to normal, just in time for Spring Break to come and throw them all out of their good habits.
For at least a month now, the dogs have been coming in at night. Matt was getting very upset that he was left our in the yard while Quincy was lavishing in the comfort, warmth and affection of the house, so you were bringing him inside to sleep with you in the middle bedroom while Q-ball slept with me. Quincy's paw is well enough now that we have taken the bandage off and you put him in the back yard for several hours a day. I think, I have a feeling though, that the dogs will be coming in every night from now on, whether or not they have boo-boos on their paws.
Monday, March 15, 2010
A Week Flies By....
The week went by as deliria for everyone. Dad is still in the hospital but he is much better. He has beaten the double pneumonia (Ah! If only this medical knowledge had existed when his mother had pneumonia in 1931....) but the congestive heart failure is in overdrive. The doctors, all three of them, have told me that this is not something they are able to control anymore and that this is the end. Not the end within a matter of hours but in a matter of weeks or months. Earlier in the week he was gasping for air, they couldn't infuse oxygen through his nose and he was on an oxygen mask. It was hard to understand what he was saying, not just because of the mask but because he seemed unable to control his lips and articulate distinctly. He was moved from ICU to PCCU and now today he is in a regular hospital room where he's sure to get lots of neglect from the nurses. They need to put a posey vest on him at night or he will get out of bed and try to walk around. Then, of course, he will fall. Carmi puts the vest on him when she leaves and takes it off when she gets back in the morning. He might be in the hospital one more day only. Then he will be transferred back to the health care center for skilled nursing. I hear he can be there for 20 days under Medicare. The doctors said he could come home if we had 24 -hour care for him but I didn't feel comfortable with that. He is still on oxygen and he is very weak. His heart rate is in the 80's now but even I can see the irregular beats on the monitors.
On Friday I had the first conversation with a doctor where I was told that this was the end. It made me very sad. I cried at lunchtime. I was worried that Dad didn't know how much I had valued what he did for me all those years. I was sad you had spoken for me in your conversations with Dad, had grossly misrepresented my recollections of him and the job he had done as a father. The principal and my friends kicked me out. Told me they'd take care of my class and close up my room for the weekend. I went to the hospital, and Dad was asleep for most of the time. He had visitors: David, Sonia (his beloved former secretary) and Paul. It was Paul who pulled Dad out of the fog. Paul has a marvelous way of engaging people in conversation by connecting to past experiences and tying them to the present. He kept connecting Dad, "Remember when Cathy and I were on our honeymoon and we stopped in Los Angeles and you took us to Shutters?" "Remember that time Brownie called you and told you about the fundraising?" On and on he went, and at last Dad was completely in the conversation. What a gift he has! And I wonder if he even knows what an impact he had on Dad. After that, when Dad was awake during the weekend, he was lucid. He slept almost constantly, maybe 20 hours a day, but when he was awake, he could engage in more meaningful conversations than before. His color is returning, and I say he's like an old Timex watch. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Of course the ticking is arhythmic, but it's ticking.
Beth and Mark drove down with Haley and Maddie (the terrier) but could only stay about 15 hours. They/We weren't sure how much time we had left with Dad. He was somewhat incoherent during their visit. They were not sure how much he understood of what they were saying. They had to get back home. But since then Dad has improved, and Beth will come back down this weekend. The weather will be beautiful, we will have more time.
I rode my bike both Saturday and Sunday. It was too perfect to describe. I had my iPod on and listened to music, mostly my WOW 2008, and had what I consider to be incredible worship time. It couldn't have been more right for riding. The sky was all blue, there was no wind, there were very few pedestrians cluttering the bike path, and it wasn't too warm or too cold. The wildlife was out! Egrets, pelicans, grebes, mallards. I am beginning to understand why Dad has been a birdwatcher since college. Birds are starting to fascinate me. I told Beth to bring clothes and shoes for biking, that I was going to take her on a ride that would be like heaven on earth.
It wasn't until Sunday morning that I had time alone with Dad when he was awake and alert enough for me to thank him for the job he did parenting me. I thanked him for being the one person who always kept his promises to me, for being trustworthy and reliable, for loving me when I didn't love myself, for believing in me when I felt like an utter failure, for telling me I could learn anything I wanted and that I was brilliant, for supporting me emotionally and financially, and for being my biggest fan. I told him that if it hadn't been for him, I don't know what I would have become. I told him I loved him both before and after I said it. I cried but didn't sob or lose my composure. And when I was done, he looked at me with the most loving eyes and nodded. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I am so incredibly glad I had that moment with him. I looked up at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. on March 14, 2010. I will remember that moment forever.
Our long-awaited trip to the oncological surgeon was not what we had wanted. Although your tumor hasn't grown, it's still too large to perform the surgery. He does a nice bypass where he takes some femoral artery or something and grafts it to the SMA above and below the tumor. He can do it if the tumor isn't too large. Yours extends down too far. He would have to miss several of the branching vessels that feed blood to the intestinal tract and he said you would not like that at all. He said your quality of life would be so bad that you would hate him. You would have pain, discomfort, and a severely impaired ability to digest food. Probably a ton of dead intestinal tissue too. Therefore you will have to undergo two or three months of chemo with the hope of shrinking the tumor and doing the surgery then. If that's the case, then you will be on chemo from the middle of March until the beginning of June, and surgery and recovery would go from the beginning of June until sometime in August. And that would only be if the chemo shrinks the tumor enough for you to have the surgery. It doesn't seem like a long shot to us now.
On Thursday you went in for a mediport. It was a minor surgical procedure but they wouldn't let you drive yourself home. I 'picked you up' at lot C at the hospital and drove you to where you had parked your car. You drove yourself home and have been basically fine but caught a cold the next day. At first I didn't know if you were reacting to the procedure but it seems you might really have a cold. Today you got your first go around with the new chemo: two hours in a chair at the oncologist's office and the rest of the 24 hours with 5FU on a pump. You are wearing a fanny back. Laura would say you're a geek. Today you're a brave nauseous geek.
On Friday I had the first conversation with a doctor where I was told that this was the end. It made me very sad. I cried at lunchtime. I was worried that Dad didn't know how much I had valued what he did for me all those years. I was sad you had spoken for me in your conversations with Dad, had grossly misrepresented my recollections of him and the job he had done as a father. The principal and my friends kicked me out. Told me they'd take care of my class and close up my room for the weekend. I went to the hospital, and Dad was asleep for most of the time. He had visitors: David, Sonia (his beloved former secretary) and Paul. It was Paul who pulled Dad out of the fog. Paul has a marvelous way of engaging people in conversation by connecting to past experiences and tying them to the present. He kept connecting Dad, "Remember when Cathy and I were on our honeymoon and we stopped in Los Angeles and you took us to Shutters?" "Remember that time Brownie called you and told you about the fundraising?" On and on he went, and at last Dad was completely in the conversation. What a gift he has! And I wonder if he even knows what an impact he had on Dad. After that, when Dad was awake during the weekend, he was lucid. He slept almost constantly, maybe 20 hours a day, but when he was awake, he could engage in more meaningful conversations than before. His color is returning, and I say he's like an old Timex watch. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Of course the ticking is arhythmic, but it's ticking.
Beth and Mark drove down with Haley and Maddie (the terrier) but could only stay about 15 hours. They/We weren't sure how much time we had left with Dad. He was somewhat incoherent during their visit. They were not sure how much he understood of what they were saying. They had to get back home. But since then Dad has improved, and Beth will come back down this weekend. The weather will be beautiful, we will have more time.
I rode my bike both Saturday and Sunday. It was too perfect to describe. I had my iPod on and listened to music, mostly my WOW 2008, and had what I consider to be incredible worship time. It couldn't have been more right for riding. The sky was all blue, there was no wind, there were very few pedestrians cluttering the bike path, and it wasn't too warm or too cold. The wildlife was out! Egrets, pelicans, grebes, mallards. I am beginning to understand why Dad has been a birdwatcher since college. Birds are starting to fascinate me. I told Beth to bring clothes and shoes for biking, that I was going to take her on a ride that would be like heaven on earth.
It wasn't until Sunday morning that I had time alone with Dad when he was awake and alert enough for me to thank him for the job he did parenting me. I thanked him for being the one person who always kept his promises to me, for being trustworthy and reliable, for loving me when I didn't love myself, for believing in me when I felt like an utter failure, for telling me I could learn anything I wanted and that I was brilliant, for supporting me emotionally and financially, and for being my biggest fan. I told him that if it hadn't been for him, I don't know what I would have become. I told him I loved him both before and after I said it. I cried but didn't sob or lose my composure. And when I was done, he looked at me with the most loving eyes and nodded. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life. I am so incredibly glad I had that moment with him. I looked up at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. on March 14, 2010. I will remember that moment forever.
Our long-awaited trip to the oncological surgeon was not what we had wanted. Although your tumor hasn't grown, it's still too large to perform the surgery. He does a nice bypass where he takes some femoral artery or something and grafts it to the SMA above and below the tumor. He can do it if the tumor isn't too large. Yours extends down too far. He would have to miss several of the branching vessels that feed blood to the intestinal tract and he said you would not like that at all. He said your quality of life would be so bad that you would hate him. You would have pain, discomfort, and a severely impaired ability to digest food. Probably a ton of dead intestinal tissue too. Therefore you will have to undergo two or three months of chemo with the hope of shrinking the tumor and doing the surgery then. If that's the case, then you will be on chemo from the middle of March until the beginning of June, and surgery and recovery would go from the beginning of June until sometime in August. And that would only be if the chemo shrinks the tumor enough for you to have the surgery. It doesn't seem like a long shot to us now.
On Thursday you went in for a mediport. It was a minor surgical procedure but they wouldn't let you drive yourself home. I 'picked you up' at lot C at the hospital and drove you to where you had parked your car. You drove yourself home and have been basically fine but caught a cold the next day. At first I didn't know if you were reacting to the procedure but it seems you might really have a cold. Today you got your first go around with the new chemo: two hours in a chair at the oncologist's office and the rest of the 24 hours with 5FU on a pump. You are wearing a fanny back. Laura would say you're a geek. Today you're a brave nauseous geek.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
It CAN Get Crazier!
Saturday at last! I can sleep in and drink my coffee sitting down. In theory.
I woke at 6:26 to a sound. Oh, no! We left the hot tub on all night. The motor always wakes me up when we do. Oh, well, at least I can enjoy my coffee before I have to take a shower, visit Dad at the hospital and go to a funeral.
Imagine my surprise when I walked into Dad's hospital room and found a strange man in the bed! And my next thought was: where is my dad? He had been taken up to the ICU. He was in distress. The pulmonologist and cardiologist were both there. The short story was that his lungs have been filling with liquid too quickly. They have been giving him lasiks and diuretics but it hasn't helped. The pulmonologist told me he'll get over this. The cardiologist told me he has less than a 50% chance of getting over this. Dad looked more like the cardiologist's description. I sent out a text to multiple recipients and started making phone calls. David showed up. He seemed pretty much in control of himself but, just to be safe, I didn't tell him what the cardiologist had said. It's tough for me when he cries. Carmi and Gail came in. There were so many of us, the nurse had to kick us out and enforce the 'two visitors' policy.
You picked me up for lunch and I left my car at Suzin's house. At lunch I told you that I think Dad is particularly distressed about his relationship to you, and I believe he really wants to see you and know that you forgive him for his pecadillos against you. You asked me what I would like you to do. I said I wanted you to talk to him, make peace with him, let him know that you forgive him. You said you really are sorry the two of you didn't like each other. I asked what you were planning on saying to him and you said, "I'm sorry you and I didn't like each other." I said that would not be okay. "What would you like me to say to him?" you asked. "I would like you to thank him for being a good father to your wife. I would like you to thank him for believing in her when she didn't even believe in herself, for supporting her through hard times, lost years, and helping her become the person she is today. If it weren't for him, I don't know where I'd be or what I would have become." And then I started to cry. Can't you see that this man, with all his shortcomings, saved me from my idiocy during my lost years? Saved me from the despair of my first marriage? Told me I could become whatever I wanted? Could learn anything I put my mind to? Listened to me whenever I needed him----including long, expensive phone calls from Ohio when he had patients waiting for him? Tell him you see the good he did, even though you and he are almost as different as two people could ever be.
I called Beth again, told her what the cardiologist had said, and asked her if she wanted to see Dad one last time. She said yes. We'd set it up, get her down here, I would let her know for sure tomorrow.
When I returned after lunch, Dad was looking much better. How amazing that such a change could take place in an hour. He was a little calmer, a little less-distressed looking. His eyes could focus a bit. We stayed another hour. I was all dressed up for the funeral with pantyhose, suit, heels. I wanted to get home and get into something more comfortable. I was taking a pass on the funeral. I asked the nurse if I could come back and spend the night on the sleeping bench in Dad's room, and she responded that they only let people do that when patients are unstable and critical, not for stabilized patients. Oh, I guess my dad is stable now. News to me.
It's pouring down rain, I'm tired, my high heels gave me a blister, and I'm not spending the night at the hospital. Dad is sort of stable, Beth is coming down anyway and she's bringing Mark, and by missing the funeral I didn't have to have another encounter with my ex. It got crazier but it's not all bad.
I woke at 6:26 to a sound. Oh, no! We left the hot tub on all night. The motor always wakes me up when we do. Oh, well, at least I can enjoy my coffee before I have to take a shower, visit Dad at the hospital and go to a funeral.
Imagine my surprise when I walked into Dad's hospital room and found a strange man in the bed! And my next thought was: where is my dad? He had been taken up to the ICU. He was in distress. The pulmonologist and cardiologist were both there. The short story was that his lungs have been filling with liquid too quickly. They have been giving him lasiks and diuretics but it hasn't helped. The pulmonologist told me he'll get over this. The cardiologist told me he has less than a 50% chance of getting over this. Dad looked more like the cardiologist's description. I sent out a text to multiple recipients and started making phone calls. David showed up. He seemed pretty much in control of himself but, just to be safe, I didn't tell him what the cardiologist had said. It's tough for me when he cries. Carmi and Gail came in. There were so many of us, the nurse had to kick us out and enforce the 'two visitors' policy.
You picked me up for lunch and I left my car at Suzin's house. At lunch I told you that I think Dad is particularly distressed about his relationship to you, and I believe he really wants to see you and know that you forgive him for his pecadillos against you. You asked me what I would like you to do. I said I wanted you to talk to him, make peace with him, let him know that you forgive him. You said you really are sorry the two of you didn't like each other. I asked what you were planning on saying to him and you said, "I'm sorry you and I didn't like each other." I said that would not be okay. "What would you like me to say to him?" you asked. "I would like you to thank him for being a good father to your wife. I would like you to thank him for believing in her when she didn't even believe in herself, for supporting her through hard times, lost years, and helping her become the person she is today. If it weren't for him, I don't know where I'd be or what I would have become." And then I started to cry. Can't you see that this man, with all his shortcomings, saved me from my idiocy during my lost years? Saved me from the despair of my first marriage? Told me I could become whatever I wanted? Could learn anything I put my mind to? Listened to me whenever I needed him----including long, expensive phone calls from Ohio when he had patients waiting for him? Tell him you see the good he did, even though you and he are almost as different as two people could ever be.
I called Beth again, told her what the cardiologist had said, and asked her if she wanted to see Dad one last time. She said yes. We'd set it up, get her down here, I would let her know for sure tomorrow.
When I returned after lunch, Dad was looking much better. How amazing that such a change could take place in an hour. He was a little calmer, a little less-distressed looking. His eyes could focus a bit. We stayed another hour. I was all dressed up for the funeral with pantyhose, suit, heels. I wanted to get home and get into something more comfortable. I was taking a pass on the funeral. I asked the nurse if I could come back and spend the night on the sleeping bench in Dad's room, and she responded that they only let people do that when patients are unstable and critical, not for stabilized patients. Oh, I guess my dad is stable now. News to me.
It's pouring down rain, I'm tired, my high heels gave me a blister, and I'm not spending the night at the hospital. Dad is sort of stable, Beth is coming down anyway and she's bringing Mark, and by missing the funeral I didn't have to have another encounter with my ex. It got crazier but it's not all bad.
Friday March 5
Today was one of those long faculty meetings but through the years our leadership has endeavored to make these meetings efficient and meaningful. The assistant superintendent announced that, as of yesterday, there were enough people taking the early retirement incentive to bring down the number of pink slips to 62, a little less than 8% of the district's teaching staff. It's an improvement over the initial 90. The K teachers had a meeting with the district literacy coach and I felt eyes looking at me to represent not only who we are now, but to speak almost as an historian on many aspects of the teaching practices we had over the years.
As usual, the instructional day flew by. The kids were great for the most part. At afternoon free-choice time Eboni came in and we did our serious weekly debriefing of American Idol. My days as an erstwhile singer have caused me to get sucked-in to that show. She and I have detailed discussions of performances, 'pitchiness', stage-presence and star potential. I can't call who the winner will be, I haven't done it yet, but it sure is fun to live out these young people's dreams week after week. Eb is a great thinker and I love her perspectives on the competition. While we were talking, B started destroying other children's Lego and train projects, and I had him come sit at the table near me and Eb. He is so detached from his actions. I am so worried about him.
After school I had two parent conferences, mostly about the progress reports but also about behaviors and things going on in their homes.
I rested before visiting Dad in the hospital. Dad got panicky in the early evening. He was having trouble breathing and they put him on an oxygen mask. He told Carmi he thought he was dying and that he wanted her to call me. I felt bad I hadn't gotten up their earlier but I was exhausted and needed to rest after work before doing a hospital vigil. He was trying to get out of bed. He always does that when he gets disoriented, and the hospital hired a CNA to stay in his room 24/7. Both he and the patient in the other bed were trying to get up. The hospital knows if a patient gets up and falls, they will be sued. The CNA is definitely a cost-saving measure.
As usual, the instructional day flew by. The kids were great for the most part. At afternoon free-choice time Eboni came in and we did our serious weekly debriefing of American Idol. My days as an erstwhile singer have caused me to get sucked-in to that show. She and I have detailed discussions of performances, 'pitchiness', stage-presence and star potential. I can't call who the winner will be, I haven't done it yet, but it sure is fun to live out these young people's dreams week after week. Eb is a great thinker and I love her perspectives on the competition. While we were talking, B started destroying other children's Lego and train projects, and I had him come sit at the table near me and Eb. He is so detached from his actions. I am so worried about him.
After school I had two parent conferences, mostly about the progress reports but also about behaviors and things going on in their homes.
I rested before visiting Dad in the hospital. Dad got panicky in the early evening. He was having trouble breathing and they put him on an oxygen mask. He told Carmi he thought he was dying and that he wanted her to call me. I felt bad I hadn't gotten up their earlier but I was exhausted and needed to rest after work before doing a hospital vigil. He was trying to get out of bed. He always does that when he gets disoriented, and the hospital hired a CNA to stay in his room 24/7. Both he and the patient in the other bed were trying to get up. The hospital knows if a patient gets up and falls, they will be sued. The CNA is definitely a cost-saving measure.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
I Suppose It Could Get Crazier
The day started with Dad calling out at 5:30 a.m. And where did we find him? Lying on his back. And where was he lying on his back? On the floor in the kitchen. Not really in the kitchen but on the threshold between the kitchen and the front room. Do you realize the significance of that? Dad had opened the door and had fallen right there at that boundary point, straddling the line that separated his part of the house and ours, the point the door closes off. How long he had been there, I don't know, but he was cold and shivering. The furniture in his arms' reach had been jostled, even the little rug under the piano bench was folded up, as he had tried to grab onto anything her could to pull himself up. His bathrobe lay in a heap on the floor and he was in his long red-and-white-striped nightshirt.
I had bolted out of bed and immediately run out to him. He looked up and said, "You look like one of my daughters." I thought I looked more like Clarabelle the Clown. My hair was standing straight out to the sides. Dad had on regular socks, not the kind they give patients at the hospital that have the little rubber paw prints on the bottoms, but regular socks that cause you to slip and slide all over hardwood floors. And fall. You put on some sweats and asked Dad if he felt like he was hurt or had any broken bones. Then you lifted him up (by yourself---what were you thinking??) and I helped you get him into the wheelchair. On the way to the bedroom Dad asked to stop at the bathroom. While in there he asked if we were anywhere near where we lived. I said yes.
When we put Dad in bed, we turned on the electric blanket. It was cranked all the way up! Yikes! That would be hot even for me! On top of the blanket Dad had the bedspread, a lap blanket and a large bath towel. He was coughing slightly. I turned the EB down to 3 and, after talking to himself for a while, I could hear him move into the heavy, throaty breathing of sleep. My day had just begun.
I had been up til 11:40 trying to confirm the substitute for my class this morning so I could go to the oncologist with you. The 5:30 'wake-up' wasn't quite what I had planned. Carmi showed up at 7:30 and you asked her to start 24-hour shifts. It was at that moment that I realized Dad was headed back to the hospital. It all fell quickly into place: accelerating disorientation, crazy talk, aimless walking, a cough. He has something, probably another infection. Carmi said she'd call the doctor and see if she could get an appointment. They had just gone in on Tuesday and the doctor found nothing wrong with Dad.
We ran off to the oncologist's. What an education that was! The doctor was kind and thorough. He gave detailed explanations on the type of tumor you have, what stage 1, 2, and 3 clinical trials are, how they can differ in the slightest of ways, and why it's okay for you to participate in a stage 1 trial. He said you got a good, general, safe chemo regimen at Kaiser but how chemo can --and should---be tailored to a patient based on the patient's responses to prior chemo treatments. He talked about how you should tell him about every prescription and supplement you take. He said the Big Mucky Muck we saw at UCLA is an example of someone who is out there doing extreme experimentation, that they all know each other, and go to the same meetings. He's a little less edgy but experimental. We were comfortable with him. He will work with the oncological surgeon. They will look at the new CT scan and decide which will come first, the surgery or another round of chemo. You will definitely have chemo. The surgery is something we hope for and they will do whatever they can to make it happen, but more chemo is a certainty. And he will monitor it to help you keep up your quality of life.
I went to work but it was early so on the way I went to the bank and Coffee Bean. I got a fattening drink, a yogurt parfait to eat at lunchtime, and money so I could pay Florinda the Magnificent. Then I sat in the parking lot at school and made phone calls. I had to update Beth on Dad. I also wanted to get info on In Home Supportive Services from Beth for a member of 'The Good Wives Club'. What I didn't realize was that by sitting in the car, I ran down the battery because the lights stay on until you set the alarm. Or something like that. Well, the short story is that I ran down the battery.
I reached my classroom just as two of my little boys were being sent to the office for fighting. D had punched S who then scratched D who then retaliated by biting S. God it was good to get back to the insanity of work! How I absolutely love just about anything those little guys do! (But of course I can't show them.) Welcome back to the Land of Cute. My friend was 'punting' as I walked in. She's a good sport. She was going over the homework they had done last night 'Draw a picture of what you want to be when you grow up and have your grown-up write the description you give'. Most of them wanted to be teachers. I hope that speaks well of their experiences with teachers so far in their little lives.
At 2:30 you picked me up so we could go to the cardiologist. You had selected the cardiologist Dad sees; you've certainly been in his office enough with Dad. The doctor greeted us himself and ushered us into my favorite exam room: The Fishing Room. I don't know if my favorite part of that room is the book called "Two Dicks Go Fishing" or the lower-half of duck models affixed to the ceiling. Then there are lots of fish paintings and mounted fish. I keep hoping one of them will start singing. I love those goofy things.
The doctor listened to your heart and was concerned about your leaky valve. "I can hear your leaky valve all the way up in your neck," he said. "And I can hear your aorta, which is located back near your spine, all the way up in the front of your chest." Oh, no, my brain is groaning, how can your heart be so out-of-whack? He ordered an EKG, which was done on the spot, and you will go back on Monday afternoon for a cardiac ultrasound and a stress test. When he asked you about your physical shape, you did your macho athlete posturing about how we used to ride bikes for an hour and a half at a good clip last summer but now only ride for about a half hour. Actually, I think you fibbed a little there, but I wasn't going to challenge you in front of the good doctor. He was impressive, thorough and clear. You must past his three tests: EKG, ultrasound and stress, before he gives you the go-ahead for surgery. He said lots of people can do it with leaky mitral valves. Ten to twelve hours on the table with a team of oncological surgeons is tantamount to 24 to 36 hours of surgical man-hours. It will be tough but he says you look and sound pretty healthy. He needs to be sure.
I went right over to the ER because that's where Dad and Carmi were. I was stunned to find out that Dad has bilateral pneumonia and his congestive heart failure has gotten out of control for the first time in several years. The signs of illness were there in the form of his disorientation and early risings, but the typical physical symptoms were lagging behind. They admitted him to the hospital.
When you dropped me off to pick up the car at work, jumper cables in hand, but the car started right up without them. The clock said it was noon but the car ran and got me to our sushi place. We ordered some of our favorite rolls but I just wasn't in a good eating mood. I took part of one home for lunch tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday, I can't wait for this week to be over. I am tired and, more than that, I am fatigued in a way that makes me feel melancholy. I have not been a melancholy person in my adult years and don't like the trips to the past where I get weepy or feel cracks in my self-control. I suppose it could get crazier. I would like to get a solid eight hours of sleep.
I had bolted out of bed and immediately run out to him. He looked up and said, "You look like one of my daughters." I thought I looked more like Clarabelle the Clown. My hair was standing straight out to the sides. Dad had on regular socks, not the kind they give patients at the hospital that have the little rubber paw prints on the bottoms, but regular socks that cause you to slip and slide all over hardwood floors. And fall. You put on some sweats and asked Dad if he felt like he was hurt or had any broken bones. Then you lifted him up (by yourself---what were you thinking??) and I helped you get him into the wheelchair. On the way to the bedroom Dad asked to stop at the bathroom. While in there he asked if we were anywhere near where we lived. I said yes.
When we put Dad in bed, we turned on the electric blanket. It was cranked all the way up! Yikes! That would be hot even for me! On top of the blanket Dad had the bedspread, a lap blanket and a large bath towel. He was coughing slightly. I turned the EB down to 3 and, after talking to himself for a while, I could hear him move into the heavy, throaty breathing of sleep. My day had just begun.
I had been up til 11:40 trying to confirm the substitute for my class this morning so I could go to the oncologist with you. The 5:30 'wake-up' wasn't quite what I had planned. Carmi showed up at 7:30 and you asked her to start 24-hour shifts. It was at that moment that I realized Dad was headed back to the hospital. It all fell quickly into place: accelerating disorientation, crazy talk, aimless walking, a cough. He has something, probably another infection. Carmi said she'd call the doctor and see if she could get an appointment. They had just gone in on Tuesday and the doctor found nothing wrong with Dad.
We ran off to the oncologist's. What an education that was! The doctor was kind and thorough. He gave detailed explanations on the type of tumor you have, what stage 1, 2, and 3 clinical trials are, how they can differ in the slightest of ways, and why it's okay for you to participate in a stage 1 trial. He said you got a good, general, safe chemo regimen at Kaiser but how chemo can --and should---be tailored to a patient based on the patient's responses to prior chemo treatments. He talked about how you should tell him about every prescription and supplement you take. He said the Big Mucky Muck we saw at UCLA is an example of someone who is out there doing extreme experimentation, that they all know each other, and go to the same meetings. He's a little less edgy but experimental. We were comfortable with him. He will work with the oncological surgeon. They will look at the new CT scan and decide which will come first, the surgery or another round of chemo. You will definitely have chemo. The surgery is something we hope for and they will do whatever they can to make it happen, but more chemo is a certainty. And he will monitor it to help you keep up your quality of life.
I went to work but it was early so on the way I went to the bank and Coffee Bean. I got a fattening drink, a yogurt parfait to eat at lunchtime, and money so I could pay Florinda the Magnificent. Then I sat in the parking lot at school and made phone calls. I had to update Beth on Dad. I also wanted to get info on In Home Supportive Services from Beth for a member of 'The Good Wives Club'. What I didn't realize was that by sitting in the car, I ran down the battery because the lights stay on until you set the alarm. Or something like that. Well, the short story is that I ran down the battery.
I reached my classroom just as two of my little boys were being sent to the office for fighting. D had punched S who then scratched D who then retaliated by biting S. God it was good to get back to the insanity of work! How I absolutely love just about anything those little guys do! (But of course I can't show them.) Welcome back to the Land of Cute. My friend was 'punting' as I walked in. She's a good sport. She was going over the homework they had done last night 'Draw a picture of what you want to be when you grow up and have your grown-up write the description you give'. Most of them wanted to be teachers. I hope that speaks well of their experiences with teachers so far in their little lives.
At 2:30 you picked me up so we could go to the cardiologist. You had selected the cardiologist Dad sees; you've certainly been in his office enough with Dad. The doctor greeted us himself and ushered us into my favorite exam room: The Fishing Room. I don't know if my favorite part of that room is the book called "Two Dicks Go Fishing" or the lower-half of duck models affixed to the ceiling. Then there are lots of fish paintings and mounted fish. I keep hoping one of them will start singing. I love those goofy things.
The doctor listened to your heart and was concerned about your leaky valve. "I can hear your leaky valve all the way up in your neck," he said. "And I can hear your aorta, which is located back near your spine, all the way up in the front of your chest." Oh, no, my brain is groaning, how can your heart be so out-of-whack? He ordered an EKG, which was done on the spot, and you will go back on Monday afternoon for a cardiac ultrasound and a stress test. When he asked you about your physical shape, you did your macho athlete posturing about how we used to ride bikes for an hour and a half at a good clip last summer but now only ride for about a half hour. Actually, I think you fibbed a little there, but I wasn't going to challenge you in front of the good doctor. He was impressive, thorough and clear. You must past his three tests: EKG, ultrasound and stress, before he gives you the go-ahead for surgery. He said lots of people can do it with leaky mitral valves. Ten to twelve hours on the table with a team of oncological surgeons is tantamount to 24 to 36 hours of surgical man-hours. It will be tough but he says you look and sound pretty healthy. He needs to be sure.
I went right over to the ER because that's where Dad and Carmi were. I was stunned to find out that Dad has bilateral pneumonia and his congestive heart failure has gotten out of control for the first time in several years. The signs of illness were there in the form of his disorientation and early risings, but the typical physical symptoms were lagging behind. They admitted him to the hospital.
When you dropped me off to pick up the car at work, jumper cables in hand, but the car started right up without them. The clock said it was noon but the car ran and got me to our sushi place. We ordered some of our favorite rolls but I just wasn't in a good eating mood. I took part of one home for lunch tomorrow. Tomorrow is Friday, I can't wait for this week to be over. I am tired and, more than that, I am fatigued in a way that makes me feel melancholy. I have not been a melancholy person in my adult years and don't like the trips to the past where I get weepy or feel cracks in my self-control. I suppose it could get crazier. I would like to get a solid eight hours of sleep.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Medicare, Day 1
Yesterday was a huge day. It was a good thing I had stayed home from work with a cold; you were having your first appointment at St. John's, and I got to go with you. After getting lost twice, we finally got to the hospital's 'garden level' where the cancer treatment center is. It was pretty posh, and the other people in the waiting area looked like they were well-heeled. You had to fill out lots of paperwork and spend quite a bit of time convincing the secretaries that you were not on Kaiser's Medicare Advantage. Since you had just cleared that up with my school district, you were very sure of it. They kept saying you had Kaiser for Medicare, you kept saying you didn't. You prevailed. They were apologizing and getting cards for you. You only had a $155 deductible to pay. We spent a lot of time waiting, even after you were finished with the paperwork, and I had to go feed the parking meter. It was a lot of walking, not good for my cold. I had had to call in the relief caregiver early on Sunday because I couldn't take Dad to church. I stayed in bed all day and missed the neighborhood ladies tea, much to my dismay.
Saint John's seemed to be empty, big, and beautiful. All the patients were white. They looked well-0ff. The facility was state-of-the-art. And the parking was a nightmare. $12 flat fee or street parking in two-hour spots. And the parking structures are out of the question. I don't think they'll be giving me any free parking passes.
When we were taken into the waiting room, the nurse asked us from how far away we had come. Apparently, they have patients from all over. The fellow you were talking to in the waiting area had come down from Bakersfield. I get it. It's famous.
The doctor was so informative. He came in with a colleague. They examined you. I saw him pull your socks down to check for edema in your ankles and look for healthy veins. They looked at your skin and asked me about different spots on your back. One doctor asked you if you had a leaky valve. I said no, you said yes. WHAT??? Since when have you had a leaky valve, and why hasn't it been repaired?? We talked about your medical history but, despite your multiple medical conditions, he thinks you're pretty healthy, a good candidate. I agree. And there IS a surgery that can be done! AHA!!! But it's tricky, as you well know. It involves grafting the SMA (superior mesenteric artery), which is no small task. We learned more from your latest Kaiser CT scan as the doctor put your disk in the computer and went over it. There is not only an SMA but a SMV (superior mesenteric vein). That makes sense: what goes in must come out. Both have been impacted by your tumor. The SMV has found other pathways for returning the de-oxygenated blood to your heart. But the SMA is going to be strangled if the pressure is not relieved. The surgery he has performed is a Whipple (removal of a portion of the pancreas along with the tumor) that involves grafting and rebuilding the SMA. The normal Whipple doesn't mess with the SMA or SMV. And the only pancreatic cancer patients who live five years or more have had the Whipple. I am calling this new procedure a 'Whipple Plus'. What makes it tricky is that at the point where the SMA and the tumor come together is a network of branching vessels leaving the SMA to take blood to the intestines. The SMA is the blood supply for the entire intestinal tract. And that's a busy place down there! He would need to make a graft and replicate the vessels. The surgery would take 10 -12 hours and is delicate. There is a 3 - 5% chance you could bleed out right there in the operating room. There is a chance he could get in there and discover it is too difficult to attempt, and he would just have to close you back up. He has done about a dozen of these 'Whipple Pluses' but, despite that small number, no one else in the country has done more than he. He ordered another CT scan, this time with thinner sections, and you had it done this morning. He is wondering whether or not he should wait until you have tried the new chemo you will be taking at St. John's before he does the operation. If your tumor responds to the chemo by shrinking, then it would create a better surgical scenario. Neither one of us heard a clear answer from him on that one. I guess the new CT scan will give him the information he needs. The doctor will be out of town for the rest of this week. He will call you after he has reviewed the latest scan.
What we both liked about this meeting was that we had finally found a doctor who didn't look at you like you were a dead man. It was so nice to meet someone who was trying to find a way to not only keep you alive but who would try to eliminate your cancer. This was a good change for you. It's not a coincidence that you are turning 65 exactly at this time. It's not a coincidence that your tumor is not growing at this time. It's not a coincidence that I was ill Monday. (I can hear the Christians chuckling....) It's called a God-incidence. Too bad you don't believe in it.
Today you said you hadn't seen a cardiologist since your follow-up to your triple bypass three years ago. You haven't? You said that along with an appointment with the new oncologist on Thursday, you have an appointment with a cardiologist, Dad's cardiologist. Well, we've certainly made enough visits to his office, and he's the only person Dad will obey without question. And you're thinking of changing psychiatrists too.
Saint John's seemed to be empty, big, and beautiful. All the patients were white. They looked well-0ff. The facility was state-of-the-art. And the parking was a nightmare. $12 flat fee or street parking in two-hour spots. And the parking structures are out of the question. I don't think they'll be giving me any free parking passes.
When we were taken into the waiting room, the nurse asked us from how far away we had come. Apparently, they have patients from all over. The fellow you were talking to in the waiting area had come down from Bakersfield. I get it. It's famous.
The doctor was so informative. He came in with a colleague. They examined you. I saw him pull your socks down to check for edema in your ankles and look for healthy veins. They looked at your skin and asked me about different spots on your back. One doctor asked you if you had a leaky valve. I said no, you said yes. WHAT??? Since when have you had a leaky valve, and why hasn't it been repaired?? We talked about your medical history but, despite your multiple medical conditions, he thinks you're pretty healthy, a good candidate. I agree. And there IS a surgery that can be done! AHA!!! But it's tricky, as you well know. It involves grafting the SMA (superior mesenteric artery), which is no small task. We learned more from your latest Kaiser CT scan as the doctor put your disk in the computer and went over it. There is not only an SMA but a SMV (superior mesenteric vein). That makes sense: what goes in must come out. Both have been impacted by your tumor. The SMV has found other pathways for returning the de-oxygenated blood to your heart. But the SMA is going to be strangled if the pressure is not relieved. The surgery he has performed is a Whipple (removal of a portion of the pancreas along with the tumor) that involves grafting and rebuilding the SMA. The normal Whipple doesn't mess with the SMA or SMV. And the only pancreatic cancer patients who live five years or more have had the Whipple. I am calling this new procedure a 'Whipple Plus'. What makes it tricky is that at the point where the SMA and the tumor come together is a network of branching vessels leaving the SMA to take blood to the intestines. The SMA is the blood supply for the entire intestinal tract. And that's a busy place down there! He would need to make a graft and replicate the vessels. The surgery would take 10 -12 hours and is delicate. There is a 3 - 5% chance you could bleed out right there in the operating room. There is a chance he could get in there and discover it is too difficult to attempt, and he would just have to close you back up. He has done about a dozen of these 'Whipple Pluses' but, despite that small number, no one else in the country has done more than he. He ordered another CT scan, this time with thinner sections, and you had it done this morning. He is wondering whether or not he should wait until you have tried the new chemo you will be taking at St. John's before he does the operation. If your tumor responds to the chemo by shrinking, then it would create a better surgical scenario. Neither one of us heard a clear answer from him on that one. I guess the new CT scan will give him the information he needs. The doctor will be out of town for the rest of this week. He will call you after he has reviewed the latest scan.
What we both liked about this meeting was that we had finally found a doctor who didn't look at you like you were a dead man. It was so nice to meet someone who was trying to find a way to not only keep you alive but who would try to eliminate your cancer. This was a good change for you. It's not a coincidence that you are turning 65 exactly at this time. It's not a coincidence that your tumor is not growing at this time. It's not a coincidence that I was ill Monday. (I can hear the Christians chuckling....) It's called a God-incidence. Too bad you don't believe in it.
Today you said you hadn't seen a cardiologist since your follow-up to your triple bypass three years ago. You haven't? You said that along with an appointment with the new oncologist on Thursday, you have an appointment with a cardiologist, Dad's cardiologist. Well, we've certainly made enough visits to his office, and he's the only person Dad will obey without question. And you're thinking of changing psychiatrists too.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Health Nut
Today I got to do one of my favorite things: sit with my coffee. I even posted it on Facebook. But as soon as I did that, the phone rang and it was the man ready to clean the carpets at Dad's condo. And off we went. Still minus breakfast but at least I got to sit with my coffee.
The guy wanted $120 to do the living room and the stairs. I don't think so. You got him down to $80. You crack me up with your persistence in dealing people down on prices. I swept the patio because we had pulled out the indoor/outdoor carpeting yesterday and underneath was WOW! a dirty mess! It took me over an hour and it was raining. Such joy! But the water was actually helpful. And now it's clean. It just doesn't look too good because the patio color isn't uniform. I am hoping they will make it into something that's just right for them, a comfortable play area for their little kids.
I then took the rug shampooer back over to school and recleaned the area where B had poured the liquid cleaner. The stain came out, thankfully. After all, it WAS soap.
Breakfast was at 11:00. Better late than never, and I didn't mind not eating until then.
In the afternoon we went to Whole Foods. Organic this, organic that. Grass-fed, cage-free animals. All the while we were there I kept thinking:"Please don't let me become one of those people who has to have everything organic! It's so weird." We bought very little food but the total came to $123. I don't want to become one of those health nuts.
The guy wanted $120 to do the living room and the stairs. I don't think so. You got him down to $80. You crack me up with your persistence in dealing people down on prices. I swept the patio because we had pulled out the indoor/outdoor carpeting yesterday and underneath was WOW! a dirty mess! It took me over an hour and it was raining. Such joy! But the water was actually helpful. And now it's clean. It just doesn't look too good because the patio color isn't uniform. I am hoping they will make it into something that's just right for them, a comfortable play area for their little kids.
I then took the rug shampooer back over to school and recleaned the area where B had poured the liquid cleaner. The stain came out, thankfully. After all, it WAS soap.
Breakfast was at 11:00. Better late than never, and I didn't mind not eating until then.
In the afternoon we went to Whole Foods. Organic this, organic that. Grass-fed, cage-free animals. All the while we were there I kept thinking:"Please don't let me become one of those people who has to have everything organic! It's so weird." We bought very little food but the total came to $123. I don't want to become one of those health nuts.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Friday, near the end of February
Wednesday has turned into 'therapy day' for me, and I guess it will remain that way for the foreseeable future. One hour in individual therapy and two in the group at the Wellness Community. I usually wait until near the end of the group to speak. When I walk in and we start, I'm always thinking, "I really don't have anything to say." Then as time goes by, something sparks a thought or stirs a memory and I join in the sharing. This time I hadn't shared at all, and it was almost quitting time when the leader asked me if I was worried about money. She's really perceptive and works to make sure we all have time to share during the course of our meeting. She was looking for a way to bring me in, I could tell. I said that what worried me about money was that you had never been the financial partner I had hoped you would be. They already knew about gambling and I let myself feel their reactions to what I was saying: you don't help with the bills, I manage our, Dad's and Laura's finances, you had an inheritance but it's now gone, there is no life insurance. My only hope is that you don't leave me with debts to pay, neither from medical expenses nor from credit cards. I don't think that's too much to ask. Someone asked if you substituted the gambling with shopping but I said, no, you had always been a 'buyer'. I told them your sister had called you a compulsive consumer once, and I thought it had been a perfect description. She had such a good read on you. After that, I felt bad that she isn't part of our lives anymore. I miss her. On the way home you asked me what was on my mind. I didn't want to tell you so I just said I was tired.
B has been a psychotic little pill again. On Wednesday alone he spat in a girl's hair, peed on the bathroom floor on purpose, brought a bottle of Liquid Paper from home and was painting it on the play structure, and then poured a bottle of multi-surface cleaning liquid on the newly-shampooed carpet when he was supposed to be at daycare. After school I had him cleaning up the liquid when the custodian came in. I told him B had to mop the bathroom floor. He said that was okay, he'd do it. I said no, B needs to do it. He said the mop was way too heavy. I said, "Work with me here, Tim. B needs to mop it up. I do this when kids deliberately pee on the floor. I know the mop is heavy." He only had B do it for a little while. Tim's a softie. I emailed B's parents (who are divorced). To Mom I said, "I don't think B is crying out for help; I think he's screaming for it." She agreed, and called some therapists for an appointment for the little darling. Dad came in both Thursday and today to see how B was doing. B does fine while his dad is there.
We went to Dad's condo and vacuumed and shampooed the carpets. The new tenants are moving in late tomorrow. I hope the carpets are dry. The carpet cleaners who were supposed to come were too late. The light is bad and it was dark by the time they called. They'll be there tomorrow morning at 8 am. And the former tenants are starting to ask about their deposit. They are NOT going to be happy when I tell them I had to replace four blinds and pay to have the place cleaned. I am avoiding that conversation.
B has been a psychotic little pill again. On Wednesday alone he spat in a girl's hair, peed on the bathroom floor on purpose, brought a bottle of Liquid Paper from home and was painting it on the play structure, and then poured a bottle of multi-surface cleaning liquid on the newly-shampooed carpet when he was supposed to be at daycare. After school I had him cleaning up the liquid when the custodian came in. I told him B had to mop the bathroom floor. He said that was okay, he'd do it. I said no, B needs to do it. He said the mop was way too heavy. I said, "Work with me here, Tim. B needs to mop it up. I do this when kids deliberately pee on the floor. I know the mop is heavy." He only had B do it for a little while. Tim's a softie. I emailed B's parents (who are divorced). To Mom I said, "I don't think B is crying out for help; I think he's screaming for it." She agreed, and called some therapists for an appointment for the little darling. Dad came in both Thursday and today to see how B was doing. B does fine while his dad is there.
We went to Dad's condo and vacuumed and shampooed the carpets. The new tenants are moving in late tomorrow. I hope the carpets are dry. The carpet cleaners who were supposed to come were too late. The light is bad and it was dark by the time they called. They'll be there tomorrow morning at 8 am. And the former tenants are starting to ask about their deposit. They are NOT going to be happy when I tell them I had to replace four blinds and pay to have the place cleaned. I am avoiding that conversation.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Sunday was a relief day for me because I didn't go to church. When I went to wake up Dad, he said he hadn't slept at all during the night and wanted to sleep a little bit. So he slept until almost noon and woke up famished. I had checked on him a couple of times during the morning but the lights were off and the room pitch dark. I cut freesias and did chores. We moved some things around in order to get the monstrous dog cage out of the middle of the family room. But, despite the rearranging, the cage is still in its old place. I went on a bike ride by myself but the wind was ferocious; I was killing myself riding out the jetty but when I looked at the speedometer, I was only going 6 mph. I was pooped! We did a little shopping for the Mediterranean diet you want to start. It's simple enough; just eat what the folks eat on the Mediterranean. Good thing we've been there. Meat, dark green leafies, olive oil, organic, cage-free, natural, natural, natural......
School went by really smoothly but B was on a tear in his own sneaky, psychotic, emotionally-vapid way. During afternoon worktime he took the tops off of four markers and dropped them into the bottles of water we keep for earthquake supplies. After school I noticed the bottles had become bottles of 'colored' water. And I wasn't very amused. We told Mom it's time to seek counseling. I think she's not quite ready to do it. Too bad. He's a mess.
We did a little work at the condo and called on the references for the prospective tenant. Everybody loves him, and his family will have his back no matter what happens. You even spoke to his mom. So we will let him move in. I got a good feeling from him. We finally made it to the Pancreatic Cancer Support Group at the Wellness Community. As we were walking in, a woman waved at me. I knew I knew her but I also knew it wasn't from my Wednesday group at the Wellness Community. It turns out she was someone from the district who retired years and years ago. She also had had a heart attack in early 1980 as a fairly young woman. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a week before you were. She opted to go for treatment with the big mucky muck at UCLA and has had favorable results. Her tumor has shrunk a bit. After the meeting we met Jessica for dinner. You were sort of rude to me at dinner, and I could tell she was a little uncomfortable with it. I couldn't quite figure out what was behind it but after we got home, and I brought it up, you said that I leave you out of conversations and interrupt you when you talk. Hmmmmmm.......I'll have to have more specifics on that because you seem to be quite the talker as far as I'm concerned. I asked you to tap me on the thigh the next time we're in a situation where you are feeling that way so I can tune in to exactly what it is I am doing.
Today we paid to have the condo cleaned. The woman said they speak English and bring all the cleaning supplies. Wrong on both counts. The woman was Russian, didn't speak English, didn't bring a vacuum cleaner, and was dropped off and picked up by some guy in a black Mercedes. What's up with THAT??? I was unhappy with the cleaning job she did. I was really unhappy. I was scraping crud off the insides of the sinks and the showers don't look very good. And NO VACUUM CLEANER!!!! What was she THINKING?? And it was soooooo expensive!
We had a quiet restful evening watching TV. You and I ate a little leftover steak and mixed veggies, then you went to bed in the middle bedroom.
School went by really smoothly but B was on a tear in his own sneaky, psychotic, emotionally-vapid way. During afternoon worktime he took the tops off of four markers and dropped them into the bottles of water we keep for earthquake supplies. After school I noticed the bottles had become bottles of 'colored' water. And I wasn't very amused. We told Mom it's time to seek counseling. I think she's not quite ready to do it. Too bad. He's a mess.
We did a little work at the condo and called on the references for the prospective tenant. Everybody loves him, and his family will have his back no matter what happens. You even spoke to his mom. So we will let him move in. I got a good feeling from him. We finally made it to the Pancreatic Cancer Support Group at the Wellness Community. As we were walking in, a woman waved at me. I knew I knew her but I also knew it wasn't from my Wednesday group at the Wellness Community. It turns out she was someone from the district who retired years and years ago. She also had had a heart attack in early 1980 as a fairly young woman. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a week before you were. She opted to go for treatment with the big mucky muck at UCLA and has had favorable results. Her tumor has shrunk a bit. After the meeting we met Jessica for dinner. You were sort of rude to me at dinner, and I could tell she was a little uncomfortable with it. I couldn't quite figure out what was behind it but after we got home, and I brought it up, you said that I leave you out of conversations and interrupt you when you talk. Hmmmmmm.......I'll have to have more specifics on that because you seem to be quite the talker as far as I'm concerned. I asked you to tap me on the thigh the next time we're in a situation where you are feeling that way so I can tune in to exactly what it is I am doing.
Today we paid to have the condo cleaned. The woman said they speak English and bring all the cleaning supplies. Wrong on both counts. The woman was Russian, didn't speak English, didn't bring a vacuum cleaner, and was dropped off and picked up by some guy in a black Mercedes. What's up with THAT??? I was unhappy with the cleaning job she did. I was really unhappy. I was scraping crud off the insides of the sinks and the showers don't look very good. And NO VACUUM CLEANER!!!! What was she THINKING?? And it was soooooo expensive!
We had a quiet restful evening watching TV. You and I ate a little leftover steak and mixed veggies, then you went to bed in the middle bedroom.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Saturday, February 20
Today I woke up exceedingly early. I was exhausted but didn't fall back asleep. I was meeting a friend from Bible study for coffee at 8:00. I hadn't seen her in about a year. We had a good, good time. Because of the exhaustion, I cried at one point in the talk. That's not usual for me. It was the point where we talked about God's hand in all of this, and I how I feel frustration at not being able to adequately share my beliefs with you because they live so deeply in the core of my being, where I find things hard to put into words. I believe this is going to be someone else's job. But whose?
We rode bikes and you didn't make it very far before you turned around and went back to the van. I rode for 41 minutes and today I chose to take photos of the ride. I want to memorialize the beauty of our rides in a photo album on Facebook so I rode with my cell phone in my hand. Good thing I didn't drop it!
We rested and you slept. I couldn't. Not even with the exhaustion, not even with the pillow over my head. I got up and drove to Dad's condo, picked up our rug shampooer, and went over to my classroom and shampooed the carpet, at least the part where the kids sit. We call it the 'Rainbow Rug' because it is divided into different colored squares. I hadjust enough time to get some potatoes on the way home so I could make shepherd's pie for us and the Holyfields. Rose is ill again, sounds horrible, and I thought she needed someone to cook for her. She did. She has been in bed all week.
The weather was perfect today, despite forecasts of rain all weekend. The freesias along the walk are beginning to bloom and the aroma is spilling over onto the walkway. I can't wait to cut some and bring them into the house.
We rode bikes and you didn't make it very far before you turned around and went back to the van. I rode for 41 minutes and today I chose to take photos of the ride. I want to memorialize the beauty of our rides in a photo album on Facebook so I rode with my cell phone in my hand. Good thing I didn't drop it!
We rested and you slept. I couldn't. Not even with the exhaustion, not even with the pillow over my head. I got up and drove to Dad's condo, picked up our rug shampooer, and went over to my classroom and shampooed the carpet, at least the part where the kids sit. We call it the 'Rainbow Rug' because it is divided into different colored squares. I hadjust enough time to get some potatoes on the way home so I could make shepherd's pie for us and the Holyfields. Rose is ill again, sounds horrible, and I thought she needed someone to cook for her. She did. She has been in bed all week.
The weather was perfect today, despite forecasts of rain all weekend. The freesias along the walk are beginning to bloom and the aroma is spilling over onto the walkway. I can't wait to cut some and bring them into the house.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, February 18
Dad was released from the hospital on Wednesday morning. His heart rate had been abnormally slow because of one of his meds. They decreased the dosage, and the heart rate went back to normal. He is doing well.
We spent a quiet few days with your cold slowly running its course. You have been getting up 5 or 6 times a night lately to urinate, and it bothered you to the point that you made an appointment with a nurse practitioner who did that wonderful gloved-hand check of your prostate before she referred you to a urologist. The urologist did some kind of check-up on you and asked you to try not drinking more than 6 oz. of water after 6pm in the evenings. Maybe that will do the trick. I had noticed that your CT scan results said the dye had not gone as far down as your bladder, so I was worried that you were experiencing some kind of metastasis in that area. The urologist didn't seem to think so. I hope he isn't skipping too quickly over potential dangers.
In my cancer support group I shared that it's hard to celebrate the great news of your latest scan. And I wonder why. It seemed odd that I wasn't rejoicing but others understood. With your diagnosis, reports like this only mean, at best, that you are being given a slight reprieve from the torment of cancer. It means that this will be long. Like a series of storms, you will have some turbulent times and some easy times. This is an easy one. Maybe I can't rejoice because I know how it can turn on us. But we are celebrating our days, and I feel I am laughing and enjoying the small stuff more. I am not getting upset by the little annoyances, the naughty five-year-old behavior or petty differences people have. On some level it's easier to take care of business when I don't sweat it. Like I say, "It's that Nike thing. Just do it."
You spent a whole day talking to medical insurance agents on the phone and filling out papers for Medicare. It is going to be effective in less than two weeks! Can you believe it? You took the AARP supplemental insurance and have a CD of your latest scan to take over to Dr. Rosen at St. John's. Your health is looking good. You have the worst diagnosis of any member of your cancer support group yet you are in the best health of all of them. It's really amazing what's going on.
On Monday I went in to have my annual blood work done. They sent me the results by email and my cholesterol is over 200 again. It's 213. I am going to start taking the grapefruit pectin I bought last year and I'll watch the amounts of fats and sugars I put in my body. I don't know why it jumped up again. I weigh 20 pounds less than I did the last time I had blood work done, and when I did a home cholesterol test in August I got a reading of 145. Color me sad, frustrated and worried about my coronary health.
Today was the 100th day of school. We always make a big deal about it, but it's a complete change in routine and this year's class didn't handle that too well. It was an enjoyable day and the kids had a blast doing all of our activities, but B and S and S and S and K and K lost control of themselves for a while, and the room was a mess. In fact the carpet is really getting on my nerves, and I think I will bring our rug shampooer from home to clean it on Saturday. I can't take it looking like that. And the tables and bookcases are so dirty that I have decided we're going to do shaving cream art on them tomorrow. I spent too much time talking with Caro and Roxie after school so I didn't get my lesson plans written for next week. But I got my progress reports back from the principal who liked them and was wondering why I said Samuelito was late often and the office only have him marked for 5 tardies. Beats me. His dad doesn't sign in and I apparently don't write it down enough. But he's late every day and he doesn't do a lick of work. Being his teacher is a babysitting job and, although I don't think retention is an effective practice, every now and then I come across a child who will benefit from an encore performance in kindergarten, and Samuelito is one of them. The progress reports are in their envelopes and ready to go home. It's a load off of me.
Laura sent me a text message that said all the other students at Marinello's are having their mothers make them aprons, so would I make her one? Of course, I said, and we'd go to Joann's the next time she is here. Tonight I asked her if she was coming this weekend, and she said she didn't think so. I was hoping to get to see her.
We spent a quiet few days with your cold slowly running its course. You have been getting up 5 or 6 times a night lately to urinate, and it bothered you to the point that you made an appointment with a nurse practitioner who did that wonderful gloved-hand check of your prostate before she referred you to a urologist. The urologist did some kind of check-up on you and asked you to try not drinking more than 6 oz. of water after 6pm in the evenings. Maybe that will do the trick. I had noticed that your CT scan results said the dye had not gone as far down as your bladder, so I was worried that you were experiencing some kind of metastasis in that area. The urologist didn't seem to think so. I hope he isn't skipping too quickly over potential dangers.
In my cancer support group I shared that it's hard to celebrate the great news of your latest scan. And I wonder why. It seemed odd that I wasn't rejoicing but others understood. With your diagnosis, reports like this only mean, at best, that you are being given a slight reprieve from the torment of cancer. It means that this will be long. Like a series of storms, you will have some turbulent times and some easy times. This is an easy one. Maybe I can't rejoice because I know how it can turn on us. But we are celebrating our days, and I feel I am laughing and enjoying the small stuff more. I am not getting upset by the little annoyances, the naughty five-year-old behavior or petty differences people have. On some level it's easier to take care of business when I don't sweat it. Like I say, "It's that Nike thing. Just do it."
You spent a whole day talking to medical insurance agents on the phone and filling out papers for Medicare. It is going to be effective in less than two weeks! Can you believe it? You took the AARP supplemental insurance and have a CD of your latest scan to take over to Dr. Rosen at St. John's. Your health is looking good. You have the worst diagnosis of any member of your cancer support group yet you are in the best health of all of them. It's really amazing what's going on.
On Monday I went in to have my annual blood work done. They sent me the results by email and my cholesterol is over 200 again. It's 213. I am going to start taking the grapefruit pectin I bought last year and I'll watch the amounts of fats and sugars I put in my body. I don't know why it jumped up again. I weigh 20 pounds less than I did the last time I had blood work done, and when I did a home cholesterol test in August I got a reading of 145. Color me sad, frustrated and worried about my coronary health.
Today was the 100th day of school. We always make a big deal about it, but it's a complete change in routine and this year's class didn't handle that too well. It was an enjoyable day and the kids had a blast doing all of our activities, but B and S and S and S and K and K lost control of themselves for a while, and the room was a mess. In fact the carpet is really getting on my nerves, and I think I will bring our rug shampooer from home to clean it on Saturday. I can't take it looking like that. And the tables and bookcases are so dirty that I have decided we're going to do shaving cream art on them tomorrow. I spent too much time talking with Caro and Roxie after school so I didn't get my lesson plans written for next week. But I got my progress reports back from the principal who liked them and was wondering why I said Samuelito was late often and the office only have him marked for 5 tardies. Beats me. His dad doesn't sign in and I apparently don't write it down enough. But he's late every day and he doesn't do a lick of work. Being his teacher is a babysitting job and, although I don't think retention is an effective practice, every now and then I come across a child who will benefit from an encore performance in kindergarten, and Samuelito is one of them. The progress reports are in their envelopes and ready to go home. It's a load off of me.
Laura sent me a text message that said all the other students at Marinello's are having their mothers make them aprons, so would I make her one? Of course, I said, and we'd go to Joann's the next time she is here. Tonight I asked her if she was coming this weekend, and she said she didn't think so. I was hoping to get to see her.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Valentine's Weekend
I worked a little late on Friday in the hopes of not having to spend too much weekend time on my progress reports. When I got home you had come down with a cold. I am surprised you lasted this long without coming down with something. Kyle had a cold on our last day in Palm Springs. He had caught it from Laura. You must have picked up the bug that evening when we had dinner at their place.
On Saturday morning we went for a bike ride, you on your electric bike and me pedaling away on my Schwinn. It wore you out and you were in bed for just about the rest of the weekend. I didn't ride again because my back has been stiff since we were in the desert. Either I strained my lower back doing something there or the bed was not good for me because every morning I woke up feeling extremely stiff and achy.
Sunday was Valentine's Day. You were in bed but got up to go buy some beautiful roses and a card for me. It was sweet and beautiful. You told me you couldn't bear to have me go through the day without flowers and that I was the sweetest and smartest woman you know. The card said that for my gift I could choose a day at Burke-Williams spa or dinner and a show (theater). Was there a question there? Dinner and a show. No contest.
I had plenty of time to work on my progress reports. And plenty of time to catch up on this blog. Dad had a runny nose on Saturday and I thought I was doomed to catch one of your colds. Dad seems to have recovered but today he was taken to the hospital because he was feeling disoriented and weak. It might be a very quiet week around here.
On Saturday morning we went for a bike ride, you on your electric bike and me pedaling away on my Schwinn. It wore you out and you were in bed for just about the rest of the weekend. I didn't ride again because my back has been stiff since we were in the desert. Either I strained my lower back doing something there or the bed was not good for me because every morning I woke up feeling extremely stiff and achy.
Sunday was Valentine's Day. You were in bed but got up to go buy some beautiful roses and a card for me. It was sweet and beautiful. You told me you couldn't bear to have me go through the day without flowers and that I was the sweetest and smartest woman you know. The card said that for my gift I could choose a day at Burke-Williams spa or dinner and a show (theater). Was there a question there? Dinner and a show. No contest.
I had plenty of time to work on my progress reports. And plenty of time to catch up on this blog. Dad had a runny nose on Saturday and I thought I was doomed to catch one of your colds. Dad seems to have recovered but today he was taken to the hospital because he was feeling disoriented and weak. It might be a very quiet week around here.
We're Back!
Wednesday you saw your oncologist and asked to have a CT scan soon. She set it up for Thursday. You had trouble sleeping Wednesday night. You probably got a good chance to talk about it, your anxiety, and your thoughts about continuing with the Gemsar and Tarceva at your group that night.
On Thursday there was a little mix-up with your appointment but, true to form, you persevered and they did the scan. The results were ready on Friday. Your oncologist was going on vacation and she wanted to talk with you about the scan before she left. It showed no additional tumor growth. That means you have gone four months without any measurable change in your tumor. That's amazing! That's fantastic! That's unbelievable! How can you be living in the nightmare world of pancreatic cancer with a tumor that isn't growing? And better yet, your cancer hasn't spread to any other part of your body! Could this be another instance where you are an anomaly? An enigma? A freak of nature?
You will take another week to think things over. Will you stay on the Gemsar and Tarceva, or will you jump ship and move to something else? Hmmmmmm...
On Thursday there was a little mix-up with your appointment but, true to form, you persevered and they did the scan. The results were ready on Friday. Your oncologist was going on vacation and she wanted to talk with you about the scan before she left. It showed no additional tumor growth. That means you have gone four months without any measurable change in your tumor. That's amazing! That's fantastic! That's unbelievable! How can you be living in the nightmare world of pancreatic cancer with a tumor that isn't growing? And better yet, your cancer hasn't spread to any other part of your body! Could this be another instance where you are an anomaly? An enigma? A freak of nature?
You will take another week to think things over. Will you stay on the Gemsar and Tarceva, or will you jump ship and move to something else? Hmmmmmm...
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