Dealing with cancer, CHF, and impending loss ...

Don't get me wrong ... I'd like nothing more than for this blog to be all happy happy joy joy, but show me a perfect life and I'll show you a fairy tale! My aim isn't to be a wordsmith, or to push aside the sad to make room only for the happy. I've learned things along the way that you may or may not already know. I just share. And today, for some reason, this subject seems important. Perhaps because I know that many have no idea what they're in for or going through. I wish I had.

I've had plenty of time over the years to think and rethink this chapter in my life, of losing two major people so close together. Not a bad thing, mind you. It's just human nature ... the age old question of "if you had it to do over again, what would you change". Since I had simultaneous events going on, they may intermingle in this post ... a husband and a mother. What could be more insurmountable? I don't know. But at least I had anticipatory grief, not sudden.

When Ben was first diagnosed with colon cancer, I had no idea what was involved physically or mentally. He did not enter the ER expecting this outcome. So, when the tests were all done, our doctor said, "A large tumor was found in your colon about the size of an orange". All of a sudden there was a flurry of opinions and plans of attack being made. The magnitude of this wasn't reality to me. I was still in that realm of "it'll be okay, it can be fixed". We were given a choice of two Oncology practices in the Prescott area. In hind sight, and knowing what I know now, I would have been more than happy to drive Ben to Phoenix every single day if that's what it took. Sometimes I felt as if I knew more than the Oncologist that we chose, but Ben went forward with the chemotherapy, which would prove to be worse than the disease, extremely hard on a man of 76. When he seemed to be somewhat recovered from that, he found a small lump near the surgery incision, and it was determined that he should have radiation treatments ... again, hard on a man of his age. Then he developed Acsites (uh-sigh-teez), the build-up of fluids. I asked so many times what was happening until finally one doctor told me it was the last stage of cancer. An MRI was done confirming that. He had only a few months to live, which turned into 10 days. The battle was about 2 years, 9 months beginning to end.

After the MRI, I brought him home under hospice, and this is the time in the process that I question so often. By this time, Ben knew where he was going and said he was okay with it. I somehow got into a mindset that I shouldn't disturb his journey. But there are now things I wish I had said or done, yet I know one can never go back. What I'm saying to anyone who is going through this is not to be afraid ... talk, play music, read to them, be hands on. I can testify that life is all of sudden shorter than you have any control over. This isn't to say you'll have no regrets. We can always come up with those. But you can try not to let it happen. Let the reality set in. In all fairness to myself, I guess I finally did, but still ...

Simultaneously, my dad was beginning the end with my mom, but I stayed the course with Ben. I sat & held his hand until the very end, still wondering if I should disturb his journey. It was hard for me to know what to say, and if he'd understand. But I will always believe he felt the warmth of my hand in his.

Then it came time for dad to seek more help for mom. We had to take her to a skilled nursing facility. My hindsights with this one are wishing I hadn't still been working and would have spent more time with her. She, too, was fading, to the point where she couldn't speak well. But the look on her face told me she was tired, and would just like to go. I didn't understand congestive heart failure as well as I should have, but this I know ... I do not want to go that way. I know she hated where she was, but also believe she knew it was inevitable. I think dad was in the same place I was with Ben ... is this real? When Hospice told him she had 12 days, I looked at her, took him aside and said she had one. Sadly, I was right. It's not easy to grieve for two people at the same time, but we got through it.

The loss of my dad was both anticipatory, yet sudden. The outcome was not what I expected. Even though I wanted to keep him forever, I was proud that he had the strength to make his own choice. When he did that, he got on the mission train. There was little time to talk with him. He was more interested in knowing how long it would take. I couldn't answer that with him. He was in charge of his destiny, and it didn't take long. I miss his fun, and life loving ways. Mom always told me that I was my dad's child, right down to the blue eyes, and I'm very happy with that moniker!  

This blog was very therapeutic for me as was having dad nearby to travel through it together. Don't ever let anyone tell you that what you're going through is normal or not. Everyone's journey is different, at least in some little way. Think and do what's right for you. I will always question what I should or shouldn't have done, but at least it no longer drags me down. My camera, my kayak, my books, & my cats are my saving grace. Oh, and my dad's sense of humor!