What will I do without you?

The last two months have been difficult. Mom's journey is nearing its end, and all we can do is sit and wait.

I read somewhere that dying is not passive, it is an active process. One by one the organs shut down, and the workload increases on all the others until those too shut down.

Its been almost six months since my last post, and her quality of life was pretty good. She was able to get around on her own, did daily tasks without much trouble.

Her sister came to visit, stayed a few weeks, that was the highlight of her year. 

But then it all took a downward turn. Last Thursday, she was taken to the emergency room.  She felt a sharp pain in her chest, and then couldn't breathe. A few days later, she was still having trouble breathing, so they put a window in her chest to help drain fluid that had built up around her heart, causing pain and respiratory distress.

Prognosis is not good. She has a life expectancy of two months, but that means it could end at any given moment.

Even after draining the fluid out of her chest, she still struggles to breathe, so much so that she breaks a sweat.

My mother, 78 years young, will probably never leave this hospital.

I think back to just one month ago, when I would rub her back, draw angel wings with my fingers to ease her aches and pains. After I was done, she would hug me and whisper in my ear "what am I going to do without you?", knowing I would have to leave soon. Now sitting here with her in the dark, watching for her final breath but hoping that never happens, I can almost see the wings taking shape on her tiny little body. And all I can think is "what am I going to do without you, Mom?"

I love my mother. I just wish this wasn't a struggle, that there was no pain.

Conversations

I have phone dates with a couple of people. I talk to Linda May every Thursday, and I talk to Mom every day.

My last post was about how alone Mom is. Despite living with two people, she is by herself in the house and in her fight against cancer.

I feel like I can't talk to anyone about that because one of the people I would normally share this with is one of the people that is inside the situation. She can't see it from my point of view.

I was starting to feel like maybe I'm crazy, that I'm jumping to conclusions, but while talking to Linda May last night, she brought up the same observation after spending a few days in San Diego.

You really can't miss it. Once upon a time, Dad would hold Mom's hand and they would walk together. Not so anymore. He spends as much the away from her as he can. He leaves for hours on end, doesn't tell her where he's going our how long he will be gone. At home, he is irritable with her, makes passive aggressive comments like "oh, now the cancer patient is displeased" if she should happen to show frustration with him.

And my sister also takes off for hours on end, will say she'll be home but only makes it home on time about half the time. My Mom will say things like "I'm just glad she's found a way to keep her mind occupied so she isn't stressing out and then breaking out on her lips", but you can tell she'd really love to have some company.

So I call her, ask her about her day, try and offer her comfort etc. But it just isn't the same a getting that from someone in person.

Mom may not last the year. It is a shame that those two who are at home with her aren't enjoying her now, while she is asymptomatic.  I wonder how they will feel when it is too late to laugh with her, too late to offer her comfort, too late to connect with her? I hope they don't ignore her while she can still feel neglected. There is nothing worse than feeling alone when you're surrounded by people who supposedly love you.

Oh Mom

Mom flew home today, but before she left I took her to mass at Our Lady of Guadalupe here in Sacramento. As we sat in the pews between masses, each lost in our own prayers, I saw her crying. She wouldn't tell me what her tears were for, I can only imagine.

As we were driving to the airport, it occurred to me how alone in this fight she must feel. Her husband is caught up in his own head, is barely able to understand what is going on when he sits in on her appointments.
Her daughter lives at home, but hardly has time for her.

This is a pivotal time in her disease. She has seen three doctors, and only one of them wants to proceed with a new CT scan or if she can get it covered by insurance, a PET scan. The other two doctors want to wait, but waiting would mean letting the cancer spread even further before attempting to treat it.

I am so worried for her. If she can't get support from the people she lives with, can she generate enough hope and support on her own to carry her through? I can only do so much from a distance, can only see so much from way up here, but from her demeanor while she was here with me, I gathered that being at home was lonely and depressing. Those are the things that will speed up her decline, but I can't force anyone to stop putting themselves ahead of her when she needs them the most.

sky watching

over the past four years, i've been shooting the moon, casting my eyes upwards, trying to connect with universal events that i can see with my naked eyes.

tonight, a galactic alignment is about to happen, something that hasn't happened in 26000 years.  my tiny insignificant point of view in this spinning cloud of suns won't allow me the ability to see it, photograph it, or experience the grand scale of it, but at least i know it's happening.

the world is not going to end, it is instead a beginning, a new 26000 year journey.  humans like me can't grasp such an event without first somehow connecting to the sky and stars, getting our feet and heads out of the sandbox.  the Mayans and almost all other ancient cultures were connected in a way that modern day people can never hope to be because we are all too distracted with our gadgets and petty little hangups.

sigh, it would almost be better if the world did end.  or if stupid people would stop reproducing. lol

on another note, John Boehner's so called "Plan B" was shot down by his own party.  if that isn't a sign of the end times, may it at least be the turning of the tide.

fevered dream

there is a belief that when you sleep, you are closest to death itself.  and when you are sick or close to dying, the veil that separates life from death becomes even more transparent.

who knows if any of that is real, wouldn't it be great if death is just the continuation of a dream of life?  then the only real goal in life should be to learn to control your dreams so that when dreaming becomes the reality you will have the confidence to be in control of your death that you didn't have in life.  Neato.

anyway, about the dream i had while i was sick.

Frank makes pretty regular appearances in my dreams, usually some young version of him full of life and vitality, running along gravel paths, snuffling in grass, carrying his leash in his mouth.  But while I was sick, when my temperature spiked to 103, I dreamed of Frank quite differently.

I dreamed of him in a waiting place.  It was like a waiting room, but one so expansive that walls were only ideas, as in "there should be a wall there, and yes, there it is", but they only existed for the person who imagined them to be there.  People, animals, thoughts could pass through my imagined walls, it was pretty crazy.  It finally dawned on me that putting up walls was pointless, so the waiting place expanded out to infinity, the way it should be.

I saw him waiting among other dogs.  I saw George and Bernie too, but curiously no Nuke or Niko.  They all seemed happy to see me, though Bernie seemed a bit distracted.  I noticed he had a scar around his neck.  When I was petting him, he pulled away if I got close to it.  George was every single one of his 13 years, wobbly on his hind legs and white where he used to be tan.  He still had that rope we made into a collar/leash around his neck. And Frank carried all signs of his 14 years, also wobbly on his legs, and stiff.  He still wore the kitty bandanna he got from Bath and Biscuits, his breath smelled of pineapple, and that bald spot on his side was growing soft, woolly Frank fur. All three were at rest, all of them smiled doggy smiles, but each of them were exactly as they were the day they died.  

And this was strange for me, because dreams of dead pets have always been sort of positive, like they're ok and healthy, and happy.  In this dream, they were still suffering from their various ailments and tragedies, still carrying scars and scar tissue from their lives.  

flu shot vs the flu

and Flu for the win!

he made promises.   promised it wouldn't hurt, and it did.  promised the welt would go away in a couple of days, it didn't.  promised that i wouldn't get sick, and i did.  promised that in two weeks i would be protected against the flu, i am not.  in fact, two weeks to the day from the day i got the flu shot, i started having symptoms.

i told myself, "it's just a cold."  it was clear it wasn't just a cold when my skin and joints started to hurt.  and then the 24 hour sinus headache that nothing could fix.  today, i vomited up everything...pills, toast, water too.  orange juice shooting through your nostrils at high speeds feels sting-y and burn-y.

i figured the first two days were going to be bad, and that by today i would feel well enough to pull my ass out of bed and maybe shower.  i DID get out of bed, but it took every ounce of will power.  9am, i was getting the nerve up to walk to the thermostat which is about 20 yards away to turn it up to 80 (James is going to kill me when he sees the heating bill).  feet over the side of the bed and into fuzzy slippers, and that's when the trouble started.  ran right past the thermostat and vomited water at first, then bile.  OK, maybe i had a little too much from the water bottle i have on the nightstand, i should try to replace the fluid.  pump up the thermostat, giveYeti a high five on my way to the kitchen, down a bit of water and an Aleve D, my go to for sinus headaches.

i decide to clean up the mess from the night before.  i felt somewhat better last night, so i made a pumpkin pie from scratch.  it's time consuming, having to gut and bake a small pumpkin, then make pie crust dough, and then make pumpkin pie filling.  the whole process took a little less than 4 hours, but i took naps in between and left the mess for this morning.  standing there in the kitchen looking at pumpkin guts and smeared sweetened condensed milk, my stomach started to heave again, so off to the bathroom to release bile into the wild, and with it my precious Aleve D.  Looks like I'll have to go without relief for a bit longer until my stomach settles.

i didn't get very far with the cleaning, and our cleaning lady is off duty this week while i'm sick, so it has to be me to clean up this crap.  i put it off til later, climbed back into bed.  the moment i'm covered by comforter, Willy jumps right between my legs and begins to clean himself.  that's right, a black self cleaning pussy.  lol

I kick him off the bed and settle into a position that he can't somehow take advantage of.  he tries anyway, and finally settles himself behind my butt.  good; for all the trouble you've caused me, black cat, the next fart is specially made by me for you.

fast forward three hours (because i sleep in either three, six or nine hour increments), i wake up to find Willy camped out between my legs again.  don't get me wrong,  i love my cat, but not when he pins the blankets between my legs, making it difficult to move.  i'm already having trouble moving, and him being in that particular spot forces me to exert more energy, of which i am already in short supply.  i take the easiest way out, which is throwing one leg over to the opposite side of the bed, effectively wrapping him in blankets and freeing both my legs for swift exit.

i return to my messy kitchen to take another stab at getting some relief from this headache, so i make a piece of toast, smear it with butter and blueberry preserves, eat that with a glass of water and swallow the pill.  i take a seat in the living room, waiting to see if i vomit or if i get some relief.  twenty minutes pass, and i start thinking, okay, maybe.....i'll throw up now.  down the toilet i see pieces of blueberries, lots of water, little chunks of what i assume are toast, and the distinct shape of my pill.  shit.  that was my last one.

my whole day was like this, and when James got home from his trip to Chicago, he came bearing gifts of Vicks VapoRub and more AleveD.  but, he was a bit mad at me for asking him to stop and get them for me, because "i just spent 4 hours in the middle seat of a packed airplane, two hours in a dental chair, and one hour hunting this crap down for you".  he softened up the moment he saw my face, which was screwed up in pain, the twisted up kleenex in my nostril, and the "get out of the way, i gotta puke" being shouted at him through dry cracked lips.

and now it's almost midnight on possibly the worst day of this sickness.  I haven't been able to keep anything down all day, so I'm hungry but afraid that i'll throw up whatever i put down. James made a small pot of coffee, and i drank a cup, and that seems to be alright.  at least no stomach drama yet.

i have an appointment to see my doctor tomorrow, but I don't know what she can do.  it's troubling that nothing will stay down, maybe she has some suggestion about what to do, or at the very least can give me a doctors note excusing me from work.

i hope tomorrow feels better than today did.

Common sensical

So I'm on a packed flight to Phoenix, and as usual I picked a window seat. Because it's a cheap seat, I'm in the back with the riff raff. When I got to my row, there was a girl sitting in the middle seat. I stood there, waiting for her to get up, but she didn't. Finally she looked me in the eye and said, "what, you want me to get up?".  Well, yes. Unless you want me to climb over your lap. It's not a popular choice.
Thank God she got up. Looking forward to an awkward flight.