Category: blog Page 41 of 53

A year ago today, my husband, Gary, checked into Hospice House for the second time. Never to return home.

Not too long after, I was running errands and came upon this billboard, which I’ve seen numerous times. But still it caused my heart to flutter. Because these were the women who lovingly cared for Hubby in his final days.

And if I had to put a name to the heart flutter, I’d say it was a mixture of gratefulness and sorrow and gladness. Which sounds a bit oxymoronic, but those last days were sweetly sorrowful, and my heart was grateful for Hospice House and its compassionate team of doctors and nurses.

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I just finished reading a really great story. The Boys in the Boat by Daniel James Brown. About the University of Washington’s eight-oar crew that competed for gold at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. With Hitler in the audience.

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I watched the patient don her graduation cap and gown and, with her arm linked through her husband’s, walk triumphantly out of the cancer center having finished her last radiation treatment.

Celebrations. They come in all shapes and sizes. Parties. Ceremonies. Fireworks. Single grads leaving cancer centers.

Why is it important to commemorate events? Because it acknowledges that something critical happened here. On this date. To someone you love. Birth. Graduation. Engagement. Wedding. Promotion. Retirement. Yes, even death.

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We braved Space Mountain, Splash Mountain, Thunder Mountain and Seven Dwarf’s Mine Train this sunny week in a land called Florida.

Oh, and Aladdin’s Magic Carpet. And probably at least 47 other rides. Fearlessly.

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A year ago this month, Hubby came home from his first stay in Hospice House. On oxygen. Packing a morphine pump. Only one nephrostomy tube draining.

With his filters down, he is childlike in an endearing way. He scolds me, rolls his eyes, stalls when he doesn’t want to take his meds. I pull a favorite-yellow-garage-sale-find child’s chair close to him.

His voice is weak and I don’t want to miss a word.

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Hubby and I were cancer students together. In AP courses. The lessons were too hard and we failed too many tests. Eventually, we started retaining what we were supposed to be learning. Some of us are slower than others.

Photo credit:  Pixabay

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What inspires me are true life David-and-Goliath stories. As in, the movie Miracle about the American ice hockey team that beat the Soviets during the 1980 Olympic Games in Lake Placid..

I’m also inspired by stories of people who have made some incredible accomplishments with their one, simple life. I’ve always enjoyed reading biographies. Abraham Lincoln. Steve Jobs. Howard Schulz.

Photo credit: Pixabay

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About the time Hubby’s cancer was taking a sharp left turn, I was scheduled for head surgery — as in, remove portion of skull, push brain aside, untangle some things.

Up until that time, I had won our household’s “Caregiver of the Year” award eight years in a row. But now there was a new contender on the scene.

The 2013 nominee accompanied The Patient (that would be me) to physician appointments, picked up prescriptions and made sure The Patient took her meds. He did laundry, cooked and washed dishes.

He ran errands, fetched Chai tea and allowed The Patient to lounge around in pajamas as long as she wanted. All this while undergoing chemotherapy himself, some days worse than others.

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I belong to a few unofficial support groups. One is my cancer-kicking hike group. Another is my Monday evening knitting posse. And then there’s the dog-petting, picture-taking, leaf-throwing, coffee-drinking Saturday morning walking group. Also cancer-kicking.

I first walked with this group as part of my cancer center job (back then it might have been to keep them in line). But I now attend because they’re part of my fabulous support system. Lifetime membership. Whether I want it or not.

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It’s amazing how quickly a year roars past. A year ago—as Hubby was slipping away from me—buckets of love were pouring into our lives. Rivers. Waterfalls of love.

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