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.
Friday, April 16, 2010
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.
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