As November ends, I can't help but wonder if this is the last November you'll have. What a strange feeling that is. I have always come to the end of a month without giving a moment's thought to whether or not I'll ever see that month again. Have you thought of that?
Today was the day you were supposed to give your working dog away. I had arranged for Carmi to drive with you in case you got tired for some reason. We brought the dog in last night, and you ended up leaving me in the bedroom with the dog while you slept in the middle bedroom. That animal woke me up twice during the night trying to get out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. By morning you had realized you couldn't give him away. It would have been like taking a part of you. Your initial altruism was being supplanted by your own needs. What had started as a desire to do what was best for the dog was now changing. The dog helps you, so he will stay. The woman who is taking him understood completely and will take him whenever you are willing to let him go. After all, she is a nurse.
I convinced Dad's doctor to put him in the care center where he was last year. It took all day to get the placement, but he will be there for a while and Carmi will go there to be with him every day. She will work shortened hours; we'll figure it out.
Principal J asked to talk to me today. I wondered if I was in trouble or if he was going to ask me to do something, He just wanted me to know that he knew about you. People are passing around the news. I know they think they are acting in my best interests but I feel uncomfortable about it. J said he wanted to be supportive of me during this time. I thanked him. We spoke for a long time. I told him about Dad. He was stunned. I worked with Caro on BTSA, the one thing that could slip through the cracks if I don't get back on the stick.
D's sister had recommended a place in Mexico she had heard about on some news broadcast. It's a place where people go to get 'detoxed'; I hope it's not one of those places that takes your money and promises you the moon. What we don't need is a snake oil salesman. I put some emails out to people asking if they had heard about this place. I am worried we'll get put in a position where we are getting taken advantage of by swindlers but going ahead and doing it because we don't want to miss out on the 'cure'.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday the 29th
I skipped church. I wanted to go to the evening service, an outstanding worship experience I rarely get to attend, and because Dad was in the hospital I would be able to get there today. He doesn't like the service, the music, the crowd, the casualness, and can't go anyway because it's in the basement level and there are several stairs.
I woke up at 4:00 a.m. That's the downside to getting rid of the flu: the return of insomnia. I spent the morning doing the final phases of my housecleaning. The counter tops are done, at least in the kitchen, and there is enough clean underwear to last the week.
We went to the mall to try to get a zip-up hoodie for you. They had been on sale for $10 on Saturday but today they were $24.50. You selected three items while I waited in line, then I paid for the items and you waited for me in the car. You had made a whey protein drink for lunch and it wasn't settling well. When we got home, you had your first emesis in weeks; that whey protein stuff just doesn't work for you. Everything else has stayed down, and you've taken some risks with eating, always pushing the limits, always wanting to see how far you can go. I once had a therapist say you are the kind of person who's always standing around stop signs, her words for people who test the limits. And she was completely right.
The beauty of today was the quiet. It was the first day in over a year when we were alone at home. Just the two of us. No Laura. No Dad. No Carmi. No one. The quiet was a remarkable sensation. It was so still, so peaceful, so restful. Last evening, as I sank into the quiet, I felt the need for Dad to be out of the house for a while. This quiet could be healing.
I visited Dad in the hospital. Again, my disappointment in that hospital mounted. The controls for his tv and the nurse call button don't work. I had to use the one from the other bed for him. I had thought they would leave the other bed empty because filling it would put Dad in a situation where he wouldn't have any control over the tv or any way to contact the nurses for help. I was wrong. When I arrived this afternoon, another patient had been moved in. Dad was finishing his course of IV antibiotics. He is pretty lucid now. I brought him mail and lots of catalogs to read. He hadn't had any visitors----or so he thought----but it turns out that Pastor Rick had gone by while he was asleep. I want to get ahold of the doctor before he finishes his rounds tomorrow morning. He has been on vacation, and I want to let him know that I think Dad should go to a skilled nursing facility before he comes home. He has balance and dizziness. This could give us the peace and quiet we need for a while.
When I returned from the hospital I was too tired to go back to town for the evening church service. I am sad but getting up at 4:00 a.m. makes 6:00 p.m. feel like bedtime.
I woke up at 4:00 a.m. That's the downside to getting rid of the flu: the return of insomnia. I spent the morning doing the final phases of my housecleaning. The counter tops are done, at least in the kitchen, and there is enough clean underwear to last the week.
We went to the mall to try to get a zip-up hoodie for you. They had been on sale for $10 on Saturday but today they were $24.50. You selected three items while I waited in line, then I paid for the items and you waited for me in the car. You had made a whey protein drink for lunch and it wasn't settling well. When we got home, you had your first emesis in weeks; that whey protein stuff just doesn't work for you. Everything else has stayed down, and you've taken some risks with eating, always pushing the limits, always wanting to see how far you can go. I once had a therapist say you are the kind of person who's always standing around stop signs, her words for people who test the limits. And she was completely right.
The beauty of today was the quiet. It was the first day in over a year when we were alone at home. Just the two of us. No Laura. No Dad. No Carmi. No one. The quiet was a remarkable sensation. It was so still, so peaceful, so restful. Last evening, as I sank into the quiet, I felt the need for Dad to be out of the house for a while. This quiet could be healing.
I visited Dad in the hospital. Again, my disappointment in that hospital mounted. The controls for his tv and the nurse call button don't work. I had to use the one from the other bed for him. I had thought they would leave the other bed empty because filling it would put Dad in a situation where he wouldn't have any control over the tv or any way to contact the nurses for help. I was wrong. When I arrived this afternoon, another patient had been moved in. Dad was finishing his course of IV antibiotics. He is pretty lucid now. I brought him mail and lots of catalogs to read. He hadn't had any visitors----or so he thought----but it turns out that Pastor Rick had gone by while he was asleep. I want to get ahold of the doctor before he finishes his rounds tomorrow morning. He has been on vacation, and I want to let him know that I think Dad should go to a skilled nursing facility before he comes home. He has balance and dizziness. This could give us the peace and quiet we need for a while.
When I returned from the hospital I was too tired to go back to town for the evening church service. I am sad but getting up at 4:00 a.m. makes 6:00 p.m. feel like bedtime.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Is It Saturday Already???
Last night I posted an email to a lot of people I know, telling them about Dad being in the hospital. People keep asking how they can help me, so I thought one way they can do it is by visiting Dad in the hospital. And today he had five visitors. I couldn't get there until after 7:00 p.m.
I had tried to clean the house but my cell phone kept ringing. I got very little done. Tomorrow I will finally clean those counter tops, and then maybe I'll feel it's sufficient. You could care less about cleaning. When we met, you thought the brush attachment on the vacuum cleaner was for dusting. Your apartment was layered in dust and there were spots on the kitchen ceiling from you turning on the blender without the lid. You had worked hard to clean your place before I first saw it, so your normal clutter and dirt had been cleaned up. Since then, any cleaning has been my job. When Florinda started in 1993, she basically saved our marriage. Up until then I had done some house cleaning every day, and I was tired of it, especially since it only mattered to me, and if it didn't matter to you, you weren't going to participate in it.
I had also gone to the grocery, and then Laura and boyfriend returned, much to my surprise and joy.
Today you went shopping by yourself. You found clothes on sale, for great prices, and you had really needed them. After losing 48 pounds over the last seven months (the last 30 being more or less involuntary), you didn't own one thing that really fit you. You got two new pairs of pants and five shirts. I don't know if shopping is something I want you to do, but seeing you have the energy to shop is heartening.
Laura, Kyle and I went to the cell phone store to activate a new phone. It occurred to me that a motivating factor in their returning here was the new cell phone that had arrived yesterday. Hers had been acting up and Kyle, with his powers of persuasion, had arranged for the company to send out the newer model. She was really anxious to get it. The cell phone store wasn't much help; that particular store never is. They always seem to refer me to 'corporate' stores. The kids dropped me back at the house so we could go on a bike ride while they went on to one of the corporate stores. You tried your bike for the first time since early October. I took off ahead of you and you rode for 13 minutes. When I came back after 35 minutes, you were resting in the van. Your energy level tomorrow will let us know whether or not that had been a good decision.
The kids returned with Tito's tacos, I showered and washed my hair so Laura could blow it out for me, you showed Kyle how to use his new camera, and then I finally got to the hospital to see Dad. It's funny how a day off can get so short on time!
I had tried to clean the house but my cell phone kept ringing. I got very little done. Tomorrow I will finally clean those counter tops, and then maybe I'll feel it's sufficient. You could care less about cleaning. When we met, you thought the brush attachment on the vacuum cleaner was for dusting. Your apartment was layered in dust and there were spots on the kitchen ceiling from you turning on the blender without the lid. You had worked hard to clean your place before I first saw it, so your normal clutter and dirt had been cleaned up. Since then, any cleaning has been my job. When Florinda started in 1993, she basically saved our marriage. Up until then I had done some house cleaning every day, and I was tired of it, especially since it only mattered to me, and if it didn't matter to you, you weren't going to participate in it.
I had also gone to the grocery, and then Laura and boyfriend returned, much to my surprise and joy.
Today you went shopping by yourself. You found clothes on sale, for great prices, and you had really needed them. After losing 48 pounds over the last seven months (the last 30 being more or less involuntary), you didn't own one thing that really fit you. You got two new pairs of pants and five shirts. I don't know if shopping is something I want you to do, but seeing you have the energy to shop is heartening.
Laura, Kyle and I went to the cell phone store to activate a new phone. It occurred to me that a motivating factor in their returning here was the new cell phone that had arrived yesterday. Hers had been acting up and Kyle, with his powers of persuasion, had arranged for the company to send out the newer model. She was really anxious to get it. The cell phone store wasn't much help; that particular store never is. They always seem to refer me to 'corporate' stores. The kids dropped me back at the house so we could go on a bike ride while they went on to one of the corporate stores. You tried your bike for the first time since early October. I took off ahead of you and you rode for 13 minutes. When I came back after 35 minutes, you were resting in the van. Your energy level tomorrow will let us know whether or not that had been a good decision.
The kids returned with Tito's tacos, I showered and washed my hair so Laura could blow it out for me, you showed Kyle how to use his new camera, and then I finally got to the hospital to see Dad. It's funny how a day off can get so short on time!
Turkey at Last!
I would be lying if I said I wasn't upset about our cancelled Thanksgiving plans. The highlights of recent years have included every time we've been with my siblings and their families. I see them far more than you because I have that 'chick thing' I do during the summers and those 'runaway weekends' when I just drive up north to see them. You have only joined me on the holidays, and Thanksgiving is your favorite. After a fabulous meal, we play games. We play Balderdash and Scattergories and Pictionary. There are other games too. Once my siblings discovered that Trivial Pursuit was the only game I could kill them playing, they were willing to play with me again. I don't win those other games, so I think they have lowered my status from 'most brilliant person in the world' to something more akin to 'kind of smart person'. I knew they would be doing fantastically wonderful things together and laughing so hard they would cry. I knew the conversations would be fun and interesting and the day would have been filled with love, comfort and laughter. Sitting in the hospital with Dad and having a highly salacious turkey pot pie by myself at 7:00 p.m. was not the way I had wanted to spend the day but I wasn't having a pity party. Here's where my faith comes in. I believe God loves me and has a plan for me. I believe He will stay with me and, if I am lucky, two things will happen: 1)I will be strong enough to withstand what is happening to you and Dad and, 2), this will be the most difficult trial He ever puts me through. If #2 is true, I will feel far more blessed that I do already. And I do feel blessed, extremely blessed.
Sometime during the day today (Friday) you mentioned that David had invited us to dinner. Then you said it was his Thanksgiving dinner. His children had spent Thursday with their respective mothers, and they were having Friday turkey dinner at his house. I called and asked if I could bring corn pudding, the dish I had planned to make for our own Thanksgiving dinner. I cleaned a bit, rode my bike, visited Dad in the hospital, and baked the corn pudding. I had to make a mayday call to Suzin to find out if I was supposed to cook it covered but the dish turned out to be delicious. Katy, Laurie, Nancy and David's more fun friends turned out to be there. We had a great time. The decor was 'hangloose' as always but it was fun and relaxed. David's cousin was there, and she works for a medical marijuana collective. She was quite an interesting person and filled me in on more medical marijuana information than I knew existed. She said that both my 'boys' qualified for it. You wouldn't get 'highs' from it; you'd both get pain relief, and you would also get some tumor shrinkage. When I left, she gave me her card. On it was a picture of the facility. It's beautiful. There's a lounge for people who want to use their 'medication' onsite instead of taking it home. I wonder if you'll go for the idea.
You went home ahead of me, not really saying your goodbyes when you left, as is your style. I stayed until almost nine. I was so glad to have finally had a Thanksgiving dinner and people with whom to share it.
Sometime during the day today (Friday) you mentioned that David had invited us to dinner. Then you said it was his Thanksgiving dinner. His children had spent Thursday with their respective mothers, and they were having Friday turkey dinner at his house. I called and asked if I could bring corn pudding, the dish I had planned to make for our own Thanksgiving dinner. I cleaned a bit, rode my bike, visited Dad in the hospital, and baked the corn pudding. I had to make a mayday call to Suzin to find out if I was supposed to cook it covered but the dish turned out to be delicious. Katy, Laurie, Nancy and David's more fun friends turned out to be there. We had a great time. The decor was 'hangloose' as always but it was fun and relaxed. David's cousin was there, and she works for a medical marijuana collective. She was quite an interesting person and filled me in on more medical marijuana information than I knew existed. She said that both my 'boys' qualified for it. You wouldn't get 'highs' from it; you'd both get pain relief, and you would also get some tumor shrinkage. When I left, she gave me her card. On it was a picture of the facility. It's beautiful. There's a lounge for people who want to use their 'medication' onsite instead of taking it home. I wonder if you'll go for the idea.
You went home ahead of me, not really saying your goodbyes when you left, as is your style. I stayed until almost nine. I was so glad to have finally had a Thanksgiving dinner and people with whom to share it.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Turkey Day
I woke to you saying, "Your dad wants you to take him to the emergency room." I looked at the clock; it was 6:00 a.m. "Why?" I asked. "He thinks he has pneumonia." Dad has had pneumonia at least five times, and his mother died of it when he was ten. We don't mess around with pneumonia in our family; we're all afraid of it. "He's ready to go. He and Carmi are having coffee now." Hmmmmm, I guess my Thanksgiving could get worse. It was shot anyway, so I wasn't going to stress over one more crisis. We got to the ER a little after 7:00 and he was in and out of lucidity. He would be docile and cooperative, then he would lie about his medical history ("I had a little stroke." No, you didn't!), then he would become agitated and start yelling for someone to take care of him, then he got off the gurney and dressed himself only to pee on his pants while trying to relieve himself in the wastebasket. Yikes! What a head trip. The PA came out to speak to me. She had run several tests and really couldn't find anything wrong with him. I explained that he had a cough for which he had been given codeinated cough syrup but he had refused to take it because it would constipate him. Then the relief caregiver had thought it was the antibiotics he was refusing to take, and didn't give him his antibiotics last weekend, so the cold and cough were back and keeping him awake all night----and he was on antibiotics again but still drinking a glass of chardonnay every evening. I said that in addition to the delusions, his balance had become increasing poor, that he has been wobbly and has to lean against the wall. She didn't know a reason for the crazy behavior but thought it might be something called 'sundowning', a type of confusion and agitation sometimes seen in the elderly that comes on at night. Then I told her my husband had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and had just had a duodenal bypass. Her eyes widened, and she 'got' it. She said she'd call the doctor and see if Dad could be admitted.
Dad was admitted. As soon as I found out, I called David to let him know so he wouldn't come over for Thanksgiving. I got his machine. My cell phone was dying and I told you that David might be showing up. He did, and you sent him on over to the hospital. By that time Dad was in his room in the new wing, and Carmi and I were worn out.
I came home. I made us some hamburgers and I fell asleep while you stayed out in the family room. When I woke up you came in to rest and I took the van to go (finally) for a bike ride. Thirty minutes was a good workout for me, and I will get used to riding by myself. Thanksgiving Dinner didn't happen this year but I believe I will have many more Thanksgivings in my future.
Dad might be in the hospital for three days but I hope they will move him over to the health facility again for some time in physical therapy and recuperation before sending him back home. That would give me time to be alone with you, and you privacy and time to heal. He's in and out of lucidity now.
Dad was admitted. As soon as I found out, I called David to let him know so he wouldn't come over for Thanksgiving. I got his machine. My cell phone was dying and I told you that David might be showing up. He did, and you sent him on over to the hospital. By that time Dad was in his room in the new wing, and Carmi and I were worn out.
I came home. I made us some hamburgers and I fell asleep while you stayed out in the family room. When I woke up you came in to rest and I took the van to go (finally) for a bike ride. Thirty minutes was a good workout for me, and I will get used to riding by myself. Thanksgiving Dinner didn't happen this year but I believe I will have many more Thanksgivings in my future.
Dad might be in the hospital for three days but I hope they will move him over to the health facility again for some time in physical therapy and recuperation before sending him back home. That would give me time to be alone with you, and you privacy and time to heal. He's in and out of lucidity now.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
T Day Minus One
For as difficult as my students were yesterday, they were angelic and cooperative today. They listened, they followed directions. What had been like swimming against a riptide yesterday was like taking a lap in a short pool today. Three students were absent but they weren't conspicuous, not the usual suspects. We had a minimum day. At lunch Laura and boyfriend came to visit, hoping to catch my students before they went home. She is such an astute observer of children. She can capture their little personalities in a matter of minutes. She gives valuable input. But there wasn't any classtime left, so she headed off to get some sandwiches. I left school shortly after the children only to notice that someone had scraped the car in the staff parking lot. Darn!
I got home right after 1:00. You were sitting in the family room waiting for Laura, not knowing where she had gone. I said she had gone to get the best sandwiches in the world. She came home shortly after that bringing me a roast beef, my favorite, which I tried not to eat too fast. You asked for a few bites and I gave you the last of it, but then your stomach started hurting. You wanted to go to the tee short store to buy some long-sleeved tees and then pick up some pain medication. First you needed to rest a while. When you lie down on your left side the pain will diminish. One of the three Roses in my life came by with some Ensure she had. We chatted and you were then ready to go. I guess Rosie stayed too long. As I was walking her out, another Rose drove up to see how you were doing. She had been ill and didn't know you were home from the hospital. As she was looking at you in shock, you went into the house to get some water. When you came out, one of the little teacups tried to follow you, and the security screen door slammed on her. She screamed like she was dying. Oh, it was horrible! The shrieking was unnerving and we were all worried she had a broken bone. At that point you became livid. You took off in the car, with me in the passenger seat, speeding down the street, rocking wildly over the speed bumps. and cursing. Cursing again. Blaming the dogs, blaming Laura for not watching them closely enough, blaming me for not perceiving your desire to leave when Rosie was here but never blaming yourself for not being careful, not accepting your pain and the how it makes you feel weak, frail, out-of-control, tired, and unable to concentrate. You railed that you shouldn't have counted on anyone (??). I guess that was to make me feel bad for not reading your mind. "Didn't you know I wanted to leave when Rosie was there? Why did you sit down and talk with her? And she was talking about hibachis! I didn't want to hear about hibachis!"
"Okay," I said. "You want to blame me because I didn't realize you wanted to leave then. But I didn't know it. I'm sorry but I know that won't be enough for you. You want to rail on me. So have at it. Go to town. Knock yourself out." I guess that deflated you. You couldn't do it. You were remarkably quiet for the rest of the ride. You need to watch your temper.
You didn't acknowledge me at the tee shirt store. It's your small attempt at being in control, at hurting me. That won't work anymore but you keep trying, probably because it used to work years ago. You bought a couple of shirts. When we left the store, I offered to drive. You declined. Then you started down Sepulveda. Turning left onto Slauson you ran the light. FLASH! Smile, you're on Culver City Camera. Those were a couple of expensive tee shirts you said. Yea, really expensive tee shirts, and I'll probably end up paying for your ticket. You better be taking your meds because I'm not signing on for another manic episode. This cancer is enough.
The evening was wacky. I told Laura and boyfriend they were my Thanksgiving celebration, and Laura was doing her best to rise to the occasion. They went with me to the store, bought me an ice cream at Rite-Aid, and even put the groceries away. Then Laura spent three hours recoloring my hair and adding highlights and lowlights. It came out beautifully, and she was exhausted by the time it was all over. Boyfriend took a picture of the two of us with my phone when we were done. Laura made it my screensaver, and I'm sure there's some way I can send it out to people now that I have photos and internet on this new phone. We didn't go to bed until almost 1:00.
Dad seemed to be hallucinating this evening. It was identical to when he was septic a year ago August. He kept clutching in the air for objects that weren't there, grabbing as if catching fireflies. Then he would close his eyes and we'd think he was asleep, then open them again and start talking in a string of non-sequitors. "We had to pay someone under the table to get Norbert in. A guy named Dave. We gave him a thousand dollars. No one in Spokane knows about it. They're not coming down for this anyway. That Carmi; she's great. Does she want to be cremated? Do you know what kind of arrangements she's made? What's that noise on the second floor? Mr. Moon is here. He's right in the room." And on and on it went. Norbert wasn't from Spokane, Carmi's very much alive, Mr. Moon has been dead for many years, and we don't have a second floor. At midnight he had Carmi get him up and bring him out to the kitchen where Laura was finishing my hair. He thought it was time for breakfast. He was still sitting in the front room awake, asleep, awake, asleep, talking nonsense when I went to bed.
It had been a very strange day.
I got home right after 1:00. You were sitting in the family room waiting for Laura, not knowing where she had gone. I said she had gone to get the best sandwiches in the world. She came home shortly after that bringing me a roast beef, my favorite, which I tried not to eat too fast. You asked for a few bites and I gave you the last of it, but then your stomach started hurting. You wanted to go to the tee short store to buy some long-sleeved tees and then pick up some pain medication. First you needed to rest a while. When you lie down on your left side the pain will diminish. One of the three Roses in my life came by with some Ensure she had. We chatted and you were then ready to go. I guess Rosie stayed too long. As I was walking her out, another Rose drove up to see how you were doing. She had been ill and didn't know you were home from the hospital. As she was looking at you in shock, you went into the house to get some water. When you came out, one of the little teacups tried to follow you, and the security screen door slammed on her. She screamed like she was dying. Oh, it was horrible! The shrieking was unnerving and we were all worried she had a broken bone. At that point you became livid. You took off in the car, with me in the passenger seat, speeding down the street, rocking wildly over the speed bumps. and cursing. Cursing again. Blaming the dogs, blaming Laura for not watching them closely enough, blaming me for not perceiving your desire to leave when Rosie was here but never blaming yourself for not being careful, not accepting your pain and the how it makes you feel weak, frail, out-of-control, tired, and unable to concentrate. You railed that you shouldn't have counted on anyone (??). I guess that was to make me feel bad for not reading your mind. "Didn't you know I wanted to leave when Rosie was there? Why did you sit down and talk with her? And she was talking about hibachis! I didn't want to hear about hibachis!"
"Okay," I said. "You want to blame me because I didn't realize you wanted to leave then. But I didn't know it. I'm sorry but I know that won't be enough for you. You want to rail on me. So have at it. Go to town. Knock yourself out." I guess that deflated you. You couldn't do it. You were remarkably quiet for the rest of the ride. You need to watch your temper.
You didn't acknowledge me at the tee shirt store. It's your small attempt at being in control, at hurting me. That won't work anymore but you keep trying, probably because it used to work years ago. You bought a couple of shirts. When we left the store, I offered to drive. You declined. Then you started down Sepulveda. Turning left onto Slauson you ran the light. FLASH! Smile, you're on Culver City Camera. Those were a couple of expensive tee shirts you said. Yea, really expensive tee shirts, and I'll probably end up paying for your ticket. You better be taking your meds because I'm not signing on for another manic episode. This cancer is enough.
The evening was wacky. I told Laura and boyfriend they were my Thanksgiving celebration, and Laura was doing her best to rise to the occasion. They went with me to the store, bought me an ice cream at Rite-Aid, and even put the groceries away. Then Laura spent three hours recoloring my hair and adding highlights and lowlights. It came out beautifully, and she was exhausted by the time it was all over. Boyfriend took a picture of the two of us with my phone when we were done. Laura made it my screensaver, and I'm sure there's some way I can send it out to people now that I have photos and internet on this new phone. We didn't go to bed until almost 1:00.
Dad seemed to be hallucinating this evening. It was identical to when he was septic a year ago August. He kept clutching in the air for objects that weren't there, grabbing as if catching fireflies. Then he would close his eyes and we'd think he was asleep, then open them again and start talking in a string of non-sequitors. "We had to pay someone under the table to get Norbert in. A guy named Dave. We gave him a thousand dollars. No one in Spokane knows about it. They're not coming down for this anyway. That Carmi; she's great. Does she want to be cremated? Do you know what kind of arrangements she's made? What's that noise on the second floor? Mr. Moon is here. He's right in the room." And on and on it went. Norbert wasn't from Spokane, Carmi's very much alive, Mr. Moon has been dead for many years, and we don't have a second floor. At midnight he had Carmi get him up and bring him out to the kitchen where Laura was finishing my hair. He thought it was time for breakfast. He was still sitting in the front room awake, asleep, awake, asleep, talking nonsense when I went to bed.
It had been a very strange day.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Shattered Plans
What a tough and disappointing day this was! At work I felt I was swimming against a riptide. You know how when you get in one, you remember there's a way to get out of it but it takes a while for the memory to clear itself so you can do it? Don't swim right to the shore, swim diagonally. That's the way it is with kids. Don't come right at them about their crappy behavior, maneuver your way around it by praising the ones doing the right thing, bring them into your activities by engaging them and ignoring the inappropriate behavior. Today that was difficult for me. The principal came into the room and asked me to start a paper trail on one of my little guys. He popped up on their radar yesterday when he was hitting and slapping on the playground and wouldn't cooperate with the yard duty aides. Then principal J went out to get him and he refused to come with him. Principal J and the Assistant Principal told me my little guy was going to have to be in the office at lunch for the rest of the week. Today Principal P was in at lunch. She told my little one to come in to her office and he refused. She came in and told me she wants me documenting his behavior. The first grade teacher who has his brother is having a similar experience. Mom hasn't returned the consent for help for our onsite counseling to work with him. I am sending another one home with my little guy. My new, homeless child, is demonstrating the same oppositional defiant behavior. And the twins were at the top of their game with whining and tattling today. Is it the holiday? I really hope so because I won't be here as consistently as I'd like to this year and, if they're a group that needs babysitting all the time, it's going to be hell when I'm gone.
You had the woman come by who will be taking Matt. You were with her for two and a half hours. When you were done, you were so tired you couldn't even eat. By the time I got home at 4:00, you had been in bed for almost five hours and you were still weak. I called the hotel in Sonoma to verify our reservations and to tell them we were going to have dogs in one of our rooms. Fifteen minutes later you called me into the room, turned off the tv, and said we needed to talk. You said you couldn't go up north for Thanksgiving. You were so totally exhausted by the two hours with L that there was no way you would be able to travel several hours by car, stay in a hotel room with me, and be at my sister's with so many other people. You said your first priority now is to get strength back. You said you can't do anything that will get you off-track, anything that could confuse the issue, put obstacles in the way of you regaining strength and putting some weight back on. You told me you have continued to lose weight. You now weigh 156 lbs. You had been able to maintain 158 for a few days but you have started losing weight again. You said you can't go on the trip. You need to stay at home, rest, eat when you can, sleep when you can, and do whatever it is your body needs. Now you have to change your goal. Your goal is now to get yourself in a position to go to Idaho for Christmas. That's what you really want to do. You wanted me to go up north for Thanksgiving anyway; there was no reason why your health should keep me from enjoying Thanksgiving with my family. But this year Thanksgiving wasn't going to be about the food and the family. This year Thanksgiving was going to be for you, a time when we all gathered together and were there for you. This year we had set aside our own personal wishes to be supportive of you and your battle with cancer. There is no way I am going away at Thanksgiving and leaving you here. Yes, we've done that in the past. We've even had Christmases apart. But this time we need to be together. This time we don't have an unknown number of Christmases or Thanksgivings ahead of us. It is likely that this will be our last Thanksgiving with you on this earth. The number feels so finite, and I am not willing to waste it.
I called my sister, the hostess, and she understood. Being a paramedic, she has a tremendous grasp of health issues, and tuned into yours immediately. She was most gracious about your realization that you can't go. She seemed to accept it more easily than I. My brother and other sister also understood, and all expressed having had a concern that this might happen. Laura, on the other hand, forgot that this wasn't about her. She forgot that your health had been the reason for making the plans in the first place. She cried, she raged, she called you on your cell phone, and haranged you about this sudden, unexpected change in plans. She talked to boyfriend, called again, talked some more, called back. This is where she is still nineteen and can't get out of her own needs. How could we do this to her after she had made so many changes in her plans? Were we also going to do this to her at Christmas? I said it might happen then too. Your health isn't what anyone wants it to be. It's out of our control.
We will stay here and take things slowly. You will stay in bed. We will have a little dinner with Dad and David. Laura and boyfriend will go to his grandmother's in the desert after they spend a couple of days with us. We'll adjust. Cancer will bring many more disappointments, I'm sure.
You had the woman come by who will be taking Matt. You were with her for two and a half hours. When you were done, you were so tired you couldn't even eat. By the time I got home at 4:00, you had been in bed for almost five hours and you were still weak. I called the hotel in Sonoma to verify our reservations and to tell them we were going to have dogs in one of our rooms. Fifteen minutes later you called me into the room, turned off the tv, and said we needed to talk. You said you couldn't go up north for Thanksgiving. You were so totally exhausted by the two hours with L that there was no way you would be able to travel several hours by car, stay in a hotel room with me, and be at my sister's with so many other people. You said your first priority now is to get strength back. You said you can't do anything that will get you off-track, anything that could confuse the issue, put obstacles in the way of you regaining strength and putting some weight back on. You told me you have continued to lose weight. You now weigh 156 lbs. You had been able to maintain 158 for a few days but you have started losing weight again. You said you can't go on the trip. You need to stay at home, rest, eat when you can, sleep when you can, and do whatever it is your body needs. Now you have to change your goal. Your goal is now to get yourself in a position to go to Idaho for Christmas. That's what you really want to do. You wanted me to go up north for Thanksgiving anyway; there was no reason why your health should keep me from enjoying Thanksgiving with my family. But this year Thanksgiving wasn't going to be about the food and the family. This year Thanksgiving was going to be for you, a time when we all gathered together and were there for you. This year we had set aside our own personal wishes to be supportive of you and your battle with cancer. There is no way I am going away at Thanksgiving and leaving you here. Yes, we've done that in the past. We've even had Christmases apart. But this time we need to be together. This time we don't have an unknown number of Christmases or Thanksgivings ahead of us. It is likely that this will be our last Thanksgiving with you on this earth. The number feels so finite, and I am not willing to waste it.
I called my sister, the hostess, and she understood. Being a paramedic, she has a tremendous grasp of health issues, and tuned into yours immediately. She was most gracious about your realization that you can't go. She seemed to accept it more easily than I. My brother and other sister also understood, and all expressed having had a concern that this might happen. Laura, on the other hand, forgot that this wasn't about her. She forgot that your health had been the reason for making the plans in the first place. She cried, she raged, she called you on your cell phone, and haranged you about this sudden, unexpected change in plans. She talked to boyfriend, called again, talked some more, called back. This is where she is still nineteen and can't get out of her own needs. How could we do this to her after she had made so many changes in her plans? Were we also going to do this to her at Christmas? I said it might happen then too. Your health isn't what anyone wants it to be. It's out of our control.
We will stay here and take things slowly. You will stay in bed. We will have a little dinner with Dad and David. Laura and boyfriend will go to his grandmother's in the desert after they spend a couple of days with us. We'll adjust. Cancer will bring many more disappointments, I'm sure.
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