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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
Change is in the air in my hometown. Even though it’s come late this year, downtown Bend is sporting new apparel that had been stashed in her autumn closet.
The idea was to leave a gift on someone’s front porch on September 22 in honor of Hubby’s birthday and our anniversary. Participants were asked to take a photo of the gift, and then post to Facebook or send via email with a blurb about who and why.
I’m pleased to report that the Porch Fairy was seen as far away as Lijiang, Yunnan Province in China.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, walking through Switzerland extended my life. I’m thinking they should have charged more for the tour.
There’s good reason for beauty — beauty in nature; in art; in the act of creating something. And believe me, the Swiss know how to do beauty. In their mountains. Their mountain lakes. Their ancient buildings.
Yesterday, we took a train to the world’s highest train station. Jungfraujoch at 11,388 feet.
At the end of the line, most of us walked even higher. Eyeball-to-eyeball with a glacier.
Copyright © 2025 Marlys Johnson
