since Mom was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, but I woke up at 3 a.m. crying in my sleep. I was having a nightmare, Mom was dying. Then I woke up and realized it wasn't a nightmare after all.
I am not dealing with this very well and can feel myself slipping back into depression. Slowly.
If I can't handle the death of our dog, how the hell am I going to manage this?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Not good
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
Day Six
She's having a tough time today. It's normal, I'm sure.
You can be at peace with it one day and you can be really sad and remorseful the next.
It's all so cliched, but it's surreal - there are moments when it feels like a really bad dream. The only reason I know it's not, is because even in my dreams I am crying now. It's a veritable nightmare, awake and asleep.
My therapist - who is a comfort and a blessing - was very helpful today. I mentioned wanting my parents to come here to Illinois for a visit, since they haven't been out for their annual trip. They usually stay three or four weeks. It's wonderful.
"I didn't know that last summer could be their last time here."
"Will having your parents visit one more time change anything? It won't change the excellent memories you've already made. We can't live our lives as a hedge against future tragedy."
A dark thought today: Maybe Mom will decide against the radiation treatment. It is inconceivable, but it's her choice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mom says "Hedy, what would I do without you?"
And I think "What will I do without YOU?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Hitch 22
I am listening to: Quiet house sounds
And I am: Not doing very well myself actually
You can be at peace with it one day and you can be really sad and remorseful the next.
It's all so cliched, but it's surreal - there are moments when it feels like a really bad dream. The only reason I know it's not, is because even in my dreams I am crying now. It's a veritable nightmare, awake and asleep.
My therapist - who is a comfort and a blessing - was very helpful today. I mentioned wanting my parents to come here to Illinois for a visit, since they haven't been out for their annual trip. They usually stay three or four weeks. It's wonderful.
"I didn't know that last summer could be their last time here."
"Will having your parents visit one more time change anything? It won't change the excellent memories you've already made. We can't live our lives as a hedge against future tragedy."
A dark thought today: Maybe Mom will decide against the radiation treatment. It is inconceivable, but it's her choice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mom says "Hedy, what would I do without you?"
And I think "What will I do without YOU?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am reading: Hitch 22
I am listening to: Quiet house sounds
And I am: Not doing very well myself actually
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Day Five
"Well, it's only in the brain stem, how bad can that be?" Mom thought.
It's the stem - something you remove from a piece of fruit - she thought.
Sure. You throw it away and would never think of eating it once the fruit is ripe, but it's pretty fucking vital to the fruit becoming ripe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday she called singing this song by John Denver. I managed to sing along for the first part but broke down too soon.
Apparently she sang it to Da and Eric as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is our wedding anniversary. Sixteen years. Jim wants normal but I can't do normal. And it's a struggle celebrating anything.
Will she be here for our anniversary next year? Will she be here for Christmas? What will that be like?
How can we make the time she has left enjoyable? She wants fun and laughing and singing and good memories.
What about a trip? What about just having them come to Illinois for a bit?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everyone says they're praying for her. Surely it helps, knowing they're praying for her, but does it really help?
Is it more helpful, than say, making sure all her appointments are lined up and asking all the right questions and thinking about her comfort and planning ahead? Because with all that, I don't have time to pray (not that I ever would.)
It might even make her feel better, knowing that her daughter is praying for her. But it would be a lie. I will not be a hypocrite and start praying because I desperately need something. That's the main issue with praying - it's mostly about your needs. And ultimately, who is it comforting? The person doing the praying or the person who needs the praying?
Let the other folks concern themselves with heaven. I'll focus on what's happening down here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's the stem - something you remove from a piece of fruit - she thought.
Sure. You throw it away and would never think of eating it once the fruit is ripe, but it's pretty fucking vital to the fruit becoming ripe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yesterday she called singing this song by John Denver. I managed to sing along for the first part but broke down too soon.
Apparently she sang it to Da and Eric as well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is our wedding anniversary. Sixteen years. Jim wants normal but I can't do normal. And it's a struggle celebrating anything.
Will she be here for our anniversary next year? Will she be here for Christmas? What will that be like?
How can we make the time she has left enjoyable? She wants fun and laughing and singing and good memories.
What about a trip? What about just having them come to Illinois for a bit?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Everyone says they're praying for her. Surely it helps, knowing they're praying for her, but does it really help?
Is it more helpful, than say, making sure all her appointments are lined up and asking all the right questions and thinking about her comfort and planning ahead? Because with all that, I don't have time to pray (not that I ever would.)
It might even make her feel better, knowing that her daughter is praying for her. But it would be a lie. I will not be a hypocrite and start praying because I desperately need something. That's the main issue with praying - it's mostly about your needs. And ultimately, who is it comforting? The person doing the praying or the person who needs the praying?
Let the other folks concern themselves with heaven. I'll focus on what's happening down here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Train sounds
I am reading: Hitch-22 - A Memoir by Christopher Hitchens
And I am: Attempting normal
Monday, August 4, 2014
Day Four
"I will be with you every step of the way."
More comforting words have never been spoken. From my good friend Suze.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Doggies pawing around the house
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Smiling
Sunday, August 3, 2014
The Third Day of the Rest of Your Life
"With this type of tumor, you have about three months without treatment and three to six months with treatment."
Da says: What? Did you say 36 months?
"No, three to six months."
You don't hear much after that. So you call the doctor the next morning, just to be sure, since he's talking about your Mom.
You said three months without treatment and three to six months with treatment. Is that right?
"Yes. Three to six months is average. It's rare to see patients last more than a year with this."
Okay. Got it. Thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fact is, I knew the night before. I knew because when you Google "Lung cancer metastatic brain stem" the answer is right there.
Three to six months.
I tell Eric. We've gotta get together on this, we've gotta figure this out because it's bad, REALLY BAD.
And he says you can't believe everything on the Internet and I say I know, you can't. And I hope hope hope he's right.
Because I'd rather be realistic and wrong, than unrealistic and wrong.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So it isn't like last time, with the lung. Zap zap zap with the radiation and it's gone.
It isn't like last time at all because her eyesight is failing and she's using a walker and a neurosurgeon carved back eight inches of her scalp to install a shunt to drain the spinal fluid that would normally flow where the tumor is.
And there's the home care nurse. And the physical therapist. And the social worker.
Words like palliative care and hospice.
And a goddamn chair in the shower.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doctors don't say three to six months if they don't mean it.
So during your stronger moments, when you're not crying, you start telling relatives and friends and neighbors. This was the worst:
"Not her. NOT HER."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then, when you realize all this crying is for yourself and how much you'll miss her and how the hell will you live without her and you're NOT crying for the unspeakable hell your Mom can expect over the next three to six months as the tumor takes away her ability to walk, swallow and breathe, well...well something shifts.
She says she wants to laugh and have fun and make some good memories. We will do that. I will make sure we do that.
I just don't know how yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Figuring it out
Da says: What? Did you say 36 months?
"No, three to six months."
You don't hear much after that. So you call the doctor the next morning, just to be sure, since he's talking about your Mom.
You said three months without treatment and three to six months with treatment. Is that right?
"Yes. Three to six months is average. It's rare to see patients last more than a year with this."
Okay. Got it. Thank you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The fact is, I knew the night before. I knew because when you Google "Lung cancer metastatic brain stem" the answer is right there.
Three to six months.
I tell Eric. We've gotta get together on this, we've gotta figure this out because it's bad, REALLY BAD.
And he says you can't believe everything on the Internet and I say I know, you can't. And I hope hope hope he's right.
Because I'd rather be realistic and wrong, than unrealistic and wrong.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So it isn't like last time, with the lung. Zap zap zap with the radiation and it's gone.
It isn't like last time at all because her eyesight is failing and she's using a walker and a neurosurgeon carved back eight inches of her scalp to install a shunt to drain the spinal fluid that would normally flow where the tumor is.
And there's the home care nurse. And the physical therapist. And the social worker.
Words like palliative care and hospice.
And a goddamn chair in the shower.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doctors don't say three to six months if they don't mean it.
So during your stronger moments, when you're not crying, you start telling relatives and friends and neighbors. This was the worst:
"Not her. NOT HER."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Then, when you realize all this crying is for yourself and how much you'll miss her and how the hell will you live without her and you're NOT crying for the unspeakable hell your Mom can expect over the next three to six months as the tumor takes away her ability to walk, swallow and breathe, well...well something shifts.
She says she wants to laugh and have fun and make some good memories. We will do that. I will make sure we do that.
I just don't know how yet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Nothing
I am reading: Nothing
And I am: Figuring it out
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