There are four words I have come to know mean something huge is up: We need to talk.
On one of our hikes you said them. You wanted to talk about quitting the current chemo protocol you're on. I heard you out. The research says that only 20% of participants benefitted from this Gemsar and Tarceva combination, and of that 20%, their lives were extended by only 18.5%. If the average life-expectancy for a pancreatic cancer patient is eight months, how long is 18.5%? Let's see, eight months is roughly 240 days. 18.5% of 240 days is over a month, 46 days. To you that's not worth it if for the entire time you're uncomfortable. You don't like those odds when you stack them up against the side effects of fatigue, diarrhea and pimply rash. You have contacted PCAN (Pancreatic Cancer Action Network) and are interested in switching medical coverage and getting into a clinical trial. You are interested in quality of life as opposed to length of life. I always thought you would make that choice. As of March 1, you can change insurance carriers and go on Medicare. You want to take one of the supplemental policies offered by AARP. I am so happy this is coming up soon. The timing is perfect. You also said you were going to meet with your oncologist on Wednesday to ask for another CT scan. You are such a great advocate for yourself!
I told you I would support any decision you made. I was glad you weren't deciding to quit chemo altogether and understand why you don't feel this is worth using as your only form of treatment. I said I would be with you until the end, no matter what happens, but the only thing that would make it extremely difficult for me would be to see you in pain. Again, I reminded you I would be there with you if you were in pain, just that that would make it much harder for me. Do I think you won't be in pain sometime during this process? No! But let's don't draw it out.
You said you don't want to be a burden. I reminded you that I married you for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Two Weeks Have Flown By
Maybe you all thought I needed a vacation from blogging. Maybe I did. But for sure, I hit a bunch of deadlines at work and we decided to take another mini-vacation. This time we went to Palm Springs. Well, actually it was Palm Desert. I can't decide if Palm Desert is the poor man's Palm Springs or the new and improved version of Palm Springs. It's probably a little of both.
Kyle got us a furnished model apartment for the five days and he and Laura got it all ready for us. And the best part was: it was free! Wow, do I love it when things are free! The weather wasn't all that cooperative. It rained for three out of the five days, but it was good for us to get away. To thank Laura and Kyle we took them to dinner at their favorite Mexican restaurant (La Tablita) and to the Palm Springs Follies. I know people who go out to the desert just to see that show. It's all senior citizens who used to perform in Vegas and on Broadway. It was really good. It was a little expensive too. You drove in a separate car. I always know that means you're going to bail out on me. And you did. You were having extreme diarrhea and intestinal cramping. So you made it only as far as the intermission. The kids and I stayed and enjoyed the rest of the performance. I wish there was a TKTS booth in Palm Springs. The tickets were expensive and there were a fair amount of empty seats.
We took two hikes: one was only a mile long and fairly flat; the other was longer and very, very vertical. Both wore me out and you kept up with me most of the time. We went on a bike ride with the kids but I wasn't able to find any sweet bike paths that went through golf courses. The bike paths are on the streets and you have to share them with golf carts. Yes, people drive their golf carts around town, to the market, on the streets, to shop, not just to golf. So our ride was disappointing. I don't enjoy sharing the road with cars. I could probably handle just the golf carts.
We came home on Tuesday evening. I was back in the saddle again on Wednesday for our minimum day. I had been thinking that my progress reports had to be turned in to the principal by Friday but when I got back I learned they weren't due until the following Tuesday. Knowing I had a three-day weekend to crank out the comments made it easier for me to cope but I still had a pile of work -----and testing----to do.
Kyle got us a furnished model apartment for the five days and he and Laura got it all ready for us. And the best part was: it was free! Wow, do I love it when things are free! The weather wasn't all that cooperative. It rained for three out of the five days, but it was good for us to get away. To thank Laura and Kyle we took them to dinner at their favorite Mexican restaurant (La Tablita) and to the Palm Springs Follies. I know people who go out to the desert just to see that show. It's all senior citizens who used to perform in Vegas and on Broadway. It was really good. It was a little expensive too. You drove in a separate car. I always know that means you're going to bail out on me. And you did. You were having extreme diarrhea and intestinal cramping. So you made it only as far as the intermission. The kids and I stayed and enjoyed the rest of the performance. I wish there was a TKTS booth in Palm Springs. The tickets were expensive and there were a fair amount of empty seats.
We took two hikes: one was only a mile long and fairly flat; the other was longer and very, very vertical. Both wore me out and you kept up with me most of the time. We went on a bike ride with the kids but I wasn't able to find any sweet bike paths that went through golf courses. The bike paths are on the streets and you have to share them with golf carts. Yes, people drive their golf carts around town, to the market, on the streets, to shop, not just to golf. So our ride was disappointing. I don't enjoy sharing the road with cars. I could probably handle just the golf carts.
We came home on Tuesday evening. I was back in the saddle again on Wednesday for our minimum day. I had been thinking that my progress reports had to be turned in to the principal by Friday but when I got back I learned they weren't due until the following Tuesday. Knowing I had a three-day weekend to crank out the comments made it easier for me to cope but I still had a pile of work -----and testing----to do.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Groundhog Day
I woke up at 5:15 and tried not to stay awake. But that didn't work. By 6:30 I was up working around the house. I showered and was out the door by 7:45. I ran all day long, it seemed. I even had a meeting during lunch. I was released for the morning to test my students. Rosie took my class. I only got through six of them. Sigh........it takes so long to do each one. I will be released again on Thursday morning to do the same. Somehow I have to get through the whole class, which means calling the daycare kids in after school. I had a team meeting on K, complete with Mom and 17-day-old baby brother. He will improve, I'm sure. It was passed off to the assistant principal to do, and I was afraid she'd do her trick of putting out a little fire with gasoline. But she was on her very best behavior, maybe because the principals told her to take last week off. So it went well.
Someone from the Burzynski Center in Houston sent an email detailing the procedure and initial costs for going there for cancer treatment. You have to be willing and able to travel to Houston with a companion and stay for three weeks or so. They don't work with Medicare or HMO's. The costs mounted up: $500, $1000, $4500, and then $5000 -$15000 a month for the chemo. Scary. You said to forget it. I said to check and see how much a secondary policy, like Anthem would pay. Probably nothing. I think St. John's is a better bet.
I got home at 4:00. You had gone to a lecture on foods that cause inflammation and had had an appointment with the optometrist to see if your retinas are okay now that you have diabetes. They dilated your eyes. You called to see if I'd be able to pick you up if you didn't feel well enough to drive. But then you called later to tell me you were fine to drive home. I don't know exactly how well that went. It was overcast today, not too sunny, but you were driving the van, which is huge. When I came home you were fine but had all the curtains drawn.
I went to dinner with Kathleen. I hadn't seen her in so long, and I love seeing her. She is the one friend I have who understands bipolar disorder, a husband who doesn't manage money well, and she is very deep and extremely open about her faith. She is usually overly-energetic and quite a talker but tonight she was a good listener and gave good advice. She reminded me that I have neglected my spiritual growth over the past few months. I haven't been consistently in the Word and I should be. I had quit the Bible study at church when you were diagnosed in October. Kathleen reminded me that the women's Bible study is only two blocks from our house. I need to get back to it. She's right, you know.
Later in the evening I was typing in this blog and you came to talk to me. I thought I'd just keep on typing because your eyes are still dilated and you can't read this small print from any distance when suddenly you said, "What's Saying Goodbye to You"? Oh, boy! I'd forgotten how large the font is at the top of this thing. I clicked off but you kept persisting. Asking, asking, asking over and over again in your own inimitable style. I told you it was my blog. You wanted to know who gets to read it. I told you. You wanted to read it too. You felt you have a right to know what I'm saying about you. I said no. I need a place where I can say what's on my mind. The more readers I have, the more I'm going to edit out my raw feelings, and I don't want to have to do that. I also don't want you to read the little stuff that bothers me. You have enough to worry about combating your cancer. You don't need to hear about all my fears and dilemnas, not to mention the times you tick me off. I need a place to vent and I won't be able to vent if you're reading it. I'll editorialize too much. I'll take out a lot of the emotion. I don't want to do that; it defeats my purpose for the blog.
Someone from the Burzynski Center in Houston sent an email detailing the procedure and initial costs for going there for cancer treatment. You have to be willing and able to travel to Houston with a companion and stay for three weeks or so. They don't work with Medicare or HMO's. The costs mounted up: $500, $1000, $4500, and then $5000 -$15000 a month for the chemo. Scary. You said to forget it. I said to check and see how much a secondary policy, like Anthem would pay. Probably nothing. I think St. John's is a better bet.
I got home at 4:00. You had gone to a lecture on foods that cause inflammation and had had an appointment with the optometrist to see if your retinas are okay now that you have diabetes. They dilated your eyes. You called to see if I'd be able to pick you up if you didn't feel well enough to drive. But then you called later to tell me you were fine to drive home. I don't know exactly how well that went. It was overcast today, not too sunny, but you were driving the van, which is huge. When I came home you were fine but had all the curtains drawn.
I went to dinner with Kathleen. I hadn't seen her in so long, and I love seeing her. She is the one friend I have who understands bipolar disorder, a husband who doesn't manage money well, and she is very deep and extremely open about her faith. She is usually overly-energetic and quite a talker but tonight she was a good listener and gave good advice. She reminded me that I have neglected my spiritual growth over the past few months. I haven't been consistently in the Word and I should be. I had quit the Bible study at church when you were diagnosed in October. Kathleen reminded me that the women's Bible study is only two blocks from our house. I need to get back to it. She's right, you know.
Later in the evening I was typing in this blog and you came to talk to me. I thought I'd just keep on typing because your eyes are still dilated and you can't read this small print from any distance when suddenly you said, "What's Saying Goodbye to You"? Oh, boy! I'd forgotten how large the font is at the top of this thing. I clicked off but you kept persisting. Asking, asking, asking over and over again in your own inimitable style. I told you it was my blog. You wanted to know who gets to read it. I told you. You wanted to read it too. You felt you have a right to know what I'm saying about you. I said no. I need a place where I can say what's on my mind. The more readers I have, the more I'm going to edit out my raw feelings, and I don't want to have to do that. I also don't want you to read the little stuff that bothers me. You have enough to worry about combating your cancer. You don't need to hear about all my fears and dilemnas, not to mention the times you tick me off. I need a place to vent and I won't be able to vent if you're reading it. I'll editorialize too much. I'll take out a lot of the emotion. I don't want to do that; it defeats my purpose for the blog.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Monday, February 1
This morning you said you had decided we would go to Palm Springs for a little vacation. That was your choice; it's fine with me. Kyle has gotten us a two-bedroom apartment in one of the complexes where he works. We'll go out on Thursday night and stay until Tuesday night. We'll take the bicycles and ride as often as we can. It's supposed to rain a couple days. We'll find something else to do, and we will be in a place where we can just stay inside if we need to. We'll be able to spend Sunday and Monday with Laura and Kyle. I hope to get my hair colored and trimmed on Saturday. I will rush this week to get my students all assessed for progress reports. I'll miss my BTSA meeting next Monday, those things aren't important in the larger scheme of things.
You have been having some intestinal problems lately. On Saturday you said it was the Italian food, that we had just eaten too much, that all the oils and sugars were too much and caused it all to go through you very quickly. Today you were out and remembered that a store near the audiologist's carried Black Crows licorice. After a box (or two?), you were having the same problem as you did on Saturday. But here we have to pause and reflect on whether or not this might be the beginning of a pattern. I don't want to miss some new development because we're explaining away things that happen. This might possibly be signs of another tumor, or more growth in this one.
Quincy's foot has started bleeding again. It might be the same place. Our neighbor came over and looked at it again this evening. He medicated it and bandaged it. We will keep Q-ball inside until we leave for the desert. He is turning out to be, by far, the most expensive dog we've ever owned!
You have been having some intestinal problems lately. On Saturday you said it was the Italian food, that we had just eaten too much, that all the oils and sugars were too much and caused it all to go through you very quickly. Today you were out and remembered that a store near the audiologist's carried Black Crows licorice. After a box (or two?), you were having the same problem as you did on Saturday. But here we have to pause and reflect on whether or not this might be the beginning of a pattern. I don't want to miss some new development because we're explaining away things that happen. This might possibly be signs of another tumor, or more growth in this one.
Quincy's foot has started bleeding again. It might be the same place. Our neighbor came over and looked at it again this evening. He medicated it and bandaged it. We will keep Q-ball inside until we leave for the desert. He is turning out to be, by far, the most expensive dog we've ever owned!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday the 31st
The weekend has come and gone. Yesterday morning we took Stevie for a long walk. I spent a fair amount of time visiting with Dad. We went to lunch with S and L to celebrate L's birthday at an Italian restaurant in the Marina. We did our imitations of food vacuums eating too much of everything: bread, fried calamari, rice balls, potato balls, and polenta ---- and that was before the entrees arrived. We took a lot of them home but you had overdone it. It all disagreed with your digestive tract and you were very uncomfortable for the entire afternoon and evening. But we were able to take a nap. I hadn't been able to take a nap for months, and it felt good. I woke up at 4:15. We didn't eat dinner, just hung out and watched some TV. We rented a movie but haven't seen it yet. Every time you tried to eat, it went right through you.
You woke up with a tense belly but as the day wore on, you were able to feel a bit better. I got Dad up and out, dressed in navy blue and hair all parted in just the right place. He didn't use the powder when he shaved like he did three weeks ago. Thankfully. That time he got powder all over his navy blue. He's so particular about his color-coordination that I have to hold things up to the light by the window to make sure I'm putting his clothes together to his satisfaction. We have stopped staying afterwards since they have started having coffee hour outside on the sidewalk. We were home by 11:45 and the caregiver arrived by 12:20. You had cleaned up the big computer desk in the family room but most of the things had migrated only as far as the dining table. Oh, well! You were eating again and feeling well. We took a bike ride up the creek in the marina. It was cold but the rain is coming this week and we won't have many opportunities to ride after Monday.
You have been rereading Suzanne Somers's book, Knockout. There is information on doctors who are trying new and edgy to cure cancer. You are talking about going to Switzerland to some doctor who is doing new things with pancreatic cancer. This is uncomfortable for me. I don't want to buy any snake oil. I don't want to go running all over the world, spending money from we don't have, to go see some quack or some doctor whose studies haven't been replicated. I am so hesitant to put us in situations where our desperation to save your life makes us victims of swindlers. How much do you spend to buy three more weeks of life? How much do you spend if it will extend your life by two weeks? Is it worth $100,000? $50,000? What strange, awful thoughts this brings up! How do you put a price on a day, a week, a month, of life?
This is your week off chemo and you will be feeling better and better with each passing day. I told you you could choose where you'd like to go for a vacation. We have talked about New York, Santa Fe, and Palm Springs. Laura said they could get us a model apartment at Kyle's work if we wanted to spend the time in the desert. The decision is yours. I will go where you choose.
You woke up with a tense belly but as the day wore on, you were able to feel a bit better. I got Dad up and out, dressed in navy blue and hair all parted in just the right place. He didn't use the powder when he shaved like he did three weeks ago. Thankfully. That time he got powder all over his navy blue. He's so particular about his color-coordination that I have to hold things up to the light by the window to make sure I'm putting his clothes together to his satisfaction. We have stopped staying afterwards since they have started having coffee hour outside on the sidewalk. We were home by 11:45 and the caregiver arrived by 12:20. You had cleaned up the big computer desk in the family room but most of the things had migrated only as far as the dining table. Oh, well! You were eating again and feeling well. We took a bike ride up the creek in the marina. It was cold but the rain is coming this week and we won't have many opportunities to ride after Monday.
You have been rereading Suzanne Somers's book, Knockout. There is information on doctors who are trying new and edgy to cure cancer. You are talking about going to Switzerland to some doctor who is doing new things with pancreatic cancer. This is uncomfortable for me. I don't want to buy any snake oil. I don't want to go running all over the world, spending money from we don't have, to go see some quack or some doctor whose studies haven't been replicated. I am so hesitant to put us in situations where our desperation to save your life makes us victims of swindlers. How much do you spend to buy three more weeks of life? How much do you spend if it will extend your life by two weeks? Is it worth $100,000? $50,000? What strange, awful thoughts this brings up! How do you put a price on a day, a week, a month, of life?
This is your week off chemo and you will be feeling better and better with each passing day. I told you you could choose where you'd like to go for a vacation. We have talked about New York, Santa Fe, and Palm Springs. Laura said they could get us a model apartment at Kyle's work if we wanted to spend the time in the desert. The decision is yours. I will go where you choose.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Rears Its Ugly Head
To my few beloved readers:
Beware. This entry is a little edgier than others. But there are times when I have to stop thinking about who will read this, and get the focus back on the original intent of this blog: helping me through these times. Sometimes things happen and I react. It may happen more and more as time goes by.
I had a good day, a lovefest with the kids. It all was just good. Everyone was behaving. During lunch I happened to pop into the office to check the beautiful flowers on the secretary's desk only to discover that B had been brought in. He was riding the tricycle around inside our room and refused to listen to anyone---or leave. So they took him into the office. .......just as his father walked in. Perfect, perfect, perfect! Dad has a nice way of telling him to snap out of it, and he does. It's almost like magic. Maybe it broke the spell, the weirdness that has been going on with him the past two weeks. We'll see on Monday.
I stayed late after school and got all next week planned. I didn't get home until 4:20 and you called me while I was in the car. Did I want to go for a quick bike ride before it got dark.? But, sad for me, I picked up the mail on my way in the door. It's that W-2 and 1099 time of year. And there was a little goodie from Agua Caliente Casino. Just when I was beginning to enjoy life, I get a little reminder of ugly and painful times. Silly of me to think you would ever give it up. I know it happened back in March, long before you were diagnosed with cancer. Your diagnosis has been a sobering experience. But gambling has been a thorn in my side for almost the entirety of our marriage. And the reminder of it was like a thief, robbing me of the joy I had been feeling in our relationship, the joy of living in the moment with you, feeling cherished and adored as if I were the greatest love of your life. I could feel the muscles in my face descend. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad day with the kids?" you asked when I came in the bedroom. "I had a great day with the kids. I was fine until I got your 1099 from Agua Caliente Casino." Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think you would ever give up poker. Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think there would ever be a big enough loss, bad enough experience, to make you think '"This isn't very much fun. I'm going to quit this." On our way to ride I asked you if you were just going to gamble until you died. And you said you probably would. I heard sadness in your voice, not really sadness, more like defeat. We had a very quiet ride together. I don't expect anyone to sympathize. I didn't leave you early on because I didn't want Laura to grow up in a broken home the way I did. I knew she would never thank me for it but I was solid in not wanting her to have the childhood I had. I knew you loved the two of us and I always held the naive hope that you would someday realize how painful and destructive your gambling was and stop because you knew it was bad for your family. But you can't let go of this addiction. You have no bottom. I was upset. I was angry. You are dying and I am reminded of the competition that has occasionally existed, as if poker were your mistress. I rode my bike faster and longer than I had in months. I had lots of energy to burn out of me, just fueling me as I pedaled and pedaled. And still I was angry and quiet. I didn't want to say anything I would regret. Sometimes when I'm angry I want to say something to hurt. I am committed to resisting that impulse and I have done well. When we got home I sat out in the living room with Dad, I went to Costco and walked up and down the aisles. The 1099 hadn't robbed me of my joy; I had let it take the joy. There's a difference. The responsibility for my joy is mine. But I realized I had to pursue the conversation, had to have some kind of closure before your life ends, needed to be straightforward with you like I had never been. I have nothing to lose now. It had suddenly occurred to me that you have always held open the option to gamble. You're slippery that way; it's one of your 'unfine' qualities.
So I brought it up after dinner. "I am still angry and am hurting about the 1099 from the casino. It has cracked my veneer and I feel like I'm crumbling. All the strength I felt about myself is falling away. I was feeling so happy with you, and I was feeling so good about myself."
"Yeah, I can't believe how badly I've been feeling about that." Oh, yes, I know this game, Bill. You try to play the role of the remorseful gambler to throw me off track. You suddenly become the sweet little victim of his addiction. Because you got caught.
"I want you to know that what I really want is for you to throw yourself at my mercy. I have always been a good wife to you. I have never deserved the misery that gambling has brought. Your life is ending. I will be here with you through it all, and I want the gambling to go away and stay away. I want you to finally make me believe you love me enough to give up the gambling after all the pain, anger, and destruction it has caused. You have always left the door open to go out and gamble again. I want the door closed now. I want you to give it up for ME, to let ME know that in these final times together you love me enough to stop the pain this causes. That you will stop because I am asking you to stop the pain it causes ME!"
"It's not about whether or not I love you more. I love you more. It's not you against gambling."
"It has caused me more pain than anything else you've ever done. It has done the most damage of anything we have experienced. Or do you like the enormous wedge it drives between us? Do you like it when I shut off to you? Do you like the distance it creates? I don't. I never have. Do I have to watch you die and have this knife shoved in my back again?"
"Well, I don't think with my brain the way it is and considering the way you're feeling, ..."
"Don't be slippery with me, Bill!"
"You're interrupting me. Let me finish. I was going to say that considering how much pain it has caused you and how much it means to you, I will stop gambling for you."
"Thank you."
Ok, I had the conversation I have always wanted and the answer I've always wanted. I've shortened Bill's answer. But let's be real here. ... I know about addictions. I know this promise could be totally empty. Bill can do empty promises with the best of them, but this time, this time, I think he may have gotten my point. I think this time I expressed myself better than I ever had and his end-of-life mindset contributed to his promise. He also brought up how, with his chemo-brain, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on a poker game (as if impaired judgment had ever played a part in stopping him in the past). So, this conversation helped me. Me is the only person I can really be in charge of, and I wanted my joy back.
Beware. This entry is a little edgier than others. But there are times when I have to stop thinking about who will read this, and get the focus back on the original intent of this blog: helping me through these times. Sometimes things happen and I react. It may happen more and more as time goes by.
I had a good day, a lovefest with the kids. It all was just good. Everyone was behaving. During lunch I happened to pop into the office to check the beautiful flowers on the secretary's desk only to discover that B had been brought in. He was riding the tricycle around inside our room and refused to listen to anyone---or leave. So they took him into the office. .......just as his father walked in. Perfect, perfect, perfect! Dad has a nice way of telling him to snap out of it, and he does. It's almost like magic. Maybe it broke the spell, the weirdness that has been going on with him the past two weeks. We'll see on Monday.
I stayed late after school and got all next week planned. I didn't get home until 4:20 and you called me while I was in the car. Did I want to go for a quick bike ride before it got dark.? But, sad for me, I picked up the mail on my way in the door. It's that W-2 and 1099 time of year. And there was a little goodie from Agua Caliente Casino. Just when I was beginning to enjoy life, I get a little reminder of ugly and painful times. Silly of me to think you would ever give it up. I know it happened back in March, long before you were diagnosed with cancer. Your diagnosis has been a sobering experience. But gambling has been a thorn in my side for almost the entirety of our marriage. And the reminder of it was like a thief, robbing me of the joy I had been feeling in our relationship, the joy of living in the moment with you, feeling cherished and adored as if I were the greatest love of your life. I could feel the muscles in my face descend. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad day with the kids?" you asked when I came in the bedroom. "I had a great day with the kids. I was fine until I got your 1099 from Agua Caliente Casino." Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think you would ever give up poker. Stupid, stupid, stupid of me to think there would ever be a big enough loss, bad enough experience, to make you think '"This isn't very much fun. I'm going to quit this." On our way to ride I asked you if you were just going to gamble until you died. And you said you probably would. I heard sadness in your voice, not really sadness, more like defeat. We had a very quiet ride together. I don't expect anyone to sympathize. I didn't leave you early on because I didn't want Laura to grow up in a broken home the way I did. I knew she would never thank me for it but I was solid in not wanting her to have the childhood I had. I knew you loved the two of us and I always held the naive hope that you would someday realize how painful and destructive your gambling was and stop because you knew it was bad for your family. But you can't let go of this addiction. You have no bottom. I was upset. I was angry. You are dying and I am reminded of the competition that has occasionally existed, as if poker were your mistress. I rode my bike faster and longer than I had in months. I had lots of energy to burn out of me, just fueling me as I pedaled and pedaled. And still I was angry and quiet. I didn't want to say anything I would regret. Sometimes when I'm angry I want to say something to hurt. I am committed to resisting that impulse and I have done well. When we got home I sat out in the living room with Dad, I went to Costco and walked up and down the aisles. The 1099 hadn't robbed me of my joy; I had let it take the joy. There's a difference. The responsibility for my joy is mine. But I realized I had to pursue the conversation, had to have some kind of closure before your life ends, needed to be straightforward with you like I had never been. I have nothing to lose now. It had suddenly occurred to me that you have always held open the option to gamble. You're slippery that way; it's one of your 'unfine' qualities.
So I brought it up after dinner. "I am still angry and am hurting about the 1099 from the casino. It has cracked my veneer and I feel like I'm crumbling. All the strength I felt about myself is falling away. I was feeling so happy with you, and I was feeling so good about myself."
"Yeah, I can't believe how badly I've been feeling about that." Oh, yes, I know this game, Bill. You try to play the role of the remorseful gambler to throw me off track. You suddenly become the sweet little victim of his addiction. Because you got caught.
"I want you to know that what I really want is for you to throw yourself at my mercy. I have always been a good wife to you. I have never deserved the misery that gambling has brought. Your life is ending. I will be here with you through it all, and I want the gambling to go away and stay away. I want you to finally make me believe you love me enough to give up the gambling after all the pain, anger, and destruction it has caused. You have always left the door open to go out and gamble again. I want the door closed now. I want you to give it up for ME, to let ME know that in these final times together you love me enough to stop the pain this causes. That you will stop because I am asking you to stop the pain it causes ME!"
"It's not about whether or not I love you more. I love you more. It's not you against gambling."
"It has caused me more pain than anything else you've ever done. It has done the most damage of anything we have experienced. Or do you like the enormous wedge it drives between us? Do you like it when I shut off to you? Do you like the distance it creates? I don't. I never have. Do I have to watch you die and have this knife shoved in my back again?"
"Well, I don't think with my brain the way it is and considering the way you're feeling, ..."
"Don't be slippery with me, Bill!"
"You're interrupting me. Let me finish. I was going to say that considering how much pain it has caused you and how much it means to you, I will stop gambling for you."
"Thank you."
Ok, I had the conversation I have always wanted and the answer I've always wanted. I've shortened Bill's answer. But let's be real here. ... I know about addictions. I know this promise could be totally empty. Bill can do empty promises with the best of them, but this time, this time, I think he may have gotten my point. I think this time I expressed myself better than I ever had and his end-of-life mindset contributed to his promise. He also brought up how, with his chemo-brain, he wouldn't be able to concentrate on a poker game (as if impaired judgment had ever played a part in stopping him in the past). So, this conversation helped me. Me is the only person I can really be in charge of, and I wanted my joy back.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thursday, January 28
Matt broke into the house again last night, the second time in a week. It's a good thing we didn't have any food out on the counters. Or pills. Something is happening with him and he wants to exert his alpha-male prowess. So we will put eyelet clips on the gates.
Kevin was in rare form today. He was in a good mood in when he came in, almost jovial. The first hour went well. But then, when I tried to do a writing assessment, he first made angry scrawls all over the paper, then crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, and finally ripped it to shreds. I made him retrieve every little piece from the trash and hand it in to me. He is so easily angered about work. And so far behind. At lunch I met with the principal and told him I wanted to have a team meeting with everyone involved in Kevin's education. I can't give him a slot in our intervention program if he's not going to try, and he won't learn much at all until his attitude improves. He needs help psychologically, emotionally and academically.
B. has also had another difficult week---funny noises, aggressive/antisocial behavior, and a strange distance that makes me worry about his emotional stability. It's not asperger or anything on the autistic spectrum; I think it's some kind of unbalance.
Sam and another had gotten it into their heads to hide every time the recess bell rang. They'd been doing it at daycare and experiencing some degree of satisfaction, so they thought they could have the same fun in regular school. After I left the entire class lined up outside the door to look all over the yard and the classroom for them, they were found in the first grade boys' bathroom. The first day it happened I told them they were off the yard until they could assure me they would line up when the time came. Sam had a real boring lunch in the office the next day, and it seemed like he had gotten the message. But as soon as I let them back on the yard, they did it again. I had to speak to parents and will most likely have a meeting with Sam and his.
You were called in early for chemo. I had planned on going with you at 3:30 but you called at lunch and asked if I wanted to go bike riding since you were already in the 'chair'. We had a nice ride. The sky was clear, they had done a preliminary cleaning of the bike path, and it wasn't cold. My new helmet and jerseys arrived in the mail, and it was exciting to get to wear them. We rode to the beach and then doubled back to the creek riding almost to Lincoln. A woman was throwing bread crumbs on the pedestrian side of the creek bike path, and the birds were flying all around her, including some beautiful pelicans. Two fat and handsome ones had perched on the end posts on either side of the bridge. Like sentries they were, bookends, lions guarding the entrance to the castle, stone still not even watching those who passed by. We stopped right by them and marveled at their majestic stoicism before we continued back up the jetty toward the creek path. I stopped and took some pictures of a pelican on the banks. As we rode on the number of birds diminished and, as we approached Lincoln, we spotted two dead pelicans on the concrete embankment. Did they choke on trash? Did they get poisoned by the polluted run-off from the rains? It was odd. We'd never seen dead pelicans before. My new favorite animal.
We had a farewell happy hour for Lael at El Torito. It was fun. Just as I walked in they all pointed to the table to the left. There sat one of my students and her family. What's a kindergartener doing in a bar? Eating dinner, that's what. I ordered a giant peach margarita and stood the menu up in front of it. Drinking from a straw, in a darkened room, at the far end from the kid, she never knew. Shannon was there and taught me and Yano how to play a card game called 'Golf'. So, I was therefore drinking and playing golf in a bar. And that's the only kind of golf I can handle.
You went to meditation at the Wellness Community and then out to dinner with David. Your chemo seems to be having less and less effect on you. Your body is stronger than we had ever thought it could be.
Kevin was in rare form today. He was in a good mood in when he came in, almost jovial. The first hour went well. But then, when I tried to do a writing assessment, he first made angry scrawls all over the paper, then crumpled it up and threw it in the trash, and finally ripped it to shreds. I made him retrieve every little piece from the trash and hand it in to me. He is so easily angered about work. And so far behind. At lunch I met with the principal and told him I wanted to have a team meeting with everyone involved in Kevin's education. I can't give him a slot in our intervention program if he's not going to try, and he won't learn much at all until his attitude improves. He needs help psychologically, emotionally and academically.
B. has also had another difficult week---funny noises, aggressive/antisocial behavior, and a strange distance that makes me worry about his emotional stability. It's not asperger or anything on the autistic spectrum; I think it's some kind of unbalance.
Sam and another had gotten it into their heads to hide every time the recess bell rang. They'd been doing it at daycare and experiencing some degree of satisfaction, so they thought they could have the same fun in regular school. After I left the entire class lined up outside the door to look all over the yard and the classroom for them, they were found in the first grade boys' bathroom. The first day it happened I told them they were off the yard until they could assure me they would line up when the time came. Sam had a real boring lunch in the office the next day, and it seemed like he had gotten the message. But as soon as I let them back on the yard, they did it again. I had to speak to parents and will most likely have a meeting with Sam and his.
You were called in early for chemo. I had planned on going with you at 3:30 but you called at lunch and asked if I wanted to go bike riding since you were already in the 'chair'. We had a nice ride. The sky was clear, they had done a preliminary cleaning of the bike path, and it wasn't cold. My new helmet and jerseys arrived in the mail, and it was exciting to get to wear them. We rode to the beach and then doubled back to the creek riding almost to Lincoln. A woman was throwing bread crumbs on the pedestrian side of the creek bike path, and the birds were flying all around her, including some beautiful pelicans. Two fat and handsome ones had perched on the end posts on either side of the bridge. Like sentries they were, bookends, lions guarding the entrance to the castle, stone still not even watching those who passed by. We stopped right by them and marveled at their majestic stoicism before we continued back up the jetty toward the creek path. I stopped and took some pictures of a pelican on the banks. As we rode on the number of birds diminished and, as we approached Lincoln, we spotted two dead pelicans on the concrete embankment. Did they choke on trash? Did they get poisoned by the polluted run-off from the rains? It was odd. We'd never seen dead pelicans before. My new favorite animal.
We had a farewell happy hour for Lael at El Torito. It was fun. Just as I walked in they all pointed to the table to the left. There sat one of my students and her family. What's a kindergartener doing in a bar? Eating dinner, that's what. I ordered a giant peach margarita and stood the menu up in front of it. Drinking from a straw, in a darkened room, at the far end from the kid, she never knew. Shannon was there and taught me and Yano how to play a card game called 'Golf'. So, I was therefore drinking and playing golf in a bar. And that's the only kind of golf I can handle.
You went to meditation at the Wellness Community and then out to dinner with David. Your chemo seems to be having less and less effect on you. Your body is stronger than we had ever thought it could be.
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