07.22.09
recreation complex
First off, my husband and I want to express our appreciation to all of our friends for their support during our recent tragedy… and always for that matter. You all mean more to me than you will ever know. Thank you.
We were due for some fun and some sun and fortunately for our sanity this weekend provided both. My husband got off work at 6 AM on Thursday morning so I got up at 5:30 to start getting things loaded and my gardens watered. He showered and got ready and we hit the road.
My girlfriend Jack was coming out to spend the weekend which lit a fire under our (his) butt to get the cabin sleepable. We moved our bed in and while my husband slept I puttered around our site watering plants, painting an old bedside table and prepping veggies for the stir-fry he requested for dinner. I just have to say here that I don’t like cooking at the lake, I am happy with sandwiches and salads but somebody prefers “real” food so once in a while I must appease his stomach and make an effort that does not involve the lips and arseholes of cows and pigs stuffed into tubular casings.
By about noon I had all of my chores done so I took the dog for a stroll. She had been bugging me all morning to take her swimming which involves her dancing around me and heading for the water every time I move. I am not sure why she won’t go by herself, she always waits for one of us, maybe it’s a security thing… or she just wants to show off her mad diving skillz. We walked down to the dock and I dangled my feet. It’s been hot out so the water was lovely. I thought I might like to take a dip but didn’t feel like making the trek back to camp and didn’t want to wake my husband in order to put my suit on. I could just strip down and go in my skivvies, I thought. There was nobody around. The water was so inviting I was about to shed some clothing when I glanced up the hill and saw my husband staring down at me. He laughed, it was like he read my mind. “Go ahead.” he said as he walked down toward me. “There is nobody else out here.”
I didn’t need a lot of encouragement. I slipped out of my garments and dove into the water. It felt fantastic. My happy place is in that water (as cold as it can be) and add to that the freedom of nudity and I am a joyful, carefree girl. My elation however was short lived. I heard a quad. Someone was heading in our direction. FUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!!
It was a young couple from the other side of the causeway, they were touring around just across the small harbor from where I was fluffydipping (because when I do it there is nothing “skinny” about it). I imagined the view they’d get if I did have to scramble from the water. Without a ladder on the dock I would have to drag my fluffy white arse up onto the wooden structure like some sort of seal begging a fish from the trainer… lovely. Before I had a chance to panic and send my husband for a towel to at least shield me from the mortification of getting caught naked, the quad turned around and headed in the other direction. I wasted no time getting out of the water, in fact I exited so quickly I ended up with a couple of slivers in some not so comfortable places. I threw my clothes back on and just as we began to walk back to the cabin my aunt came around the corner in her Jeep. Apparently the days of frequent island nudity are over… and with that goes the picnic table sex. *sigh*
That first night in the cabin was heavenly after a year in the Bluebird Hilton. The bus was stinky, cramped and the temperature was too hot on warm days and too cold at night. Our new bedroom has a lovely cross breeze and it’s well insulated so it stays relatively cool during the day and a little heat goes a long way. It’ll need little more than a candle to keep it warm even on cold days.
On Friday we did the flooring and wainscoting and moved a futon in for Jack. By the time she arrived we were beat so we all went to bed early. Jack has been having a rough time lately too, she and her husband are splitting up and their house goes on the market tomorrow. She needed a weekend of fun and relaxation as badly (or more) than we did. There has been nothing but basic civility between her and her husband for a very long time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she flicked a bug off my boob and told me that was the most action she’s had in years.
We hung out all day on Saturday, mostly in the water, and got in some real visiting time (and some sunburns). Jack only lives a few hours away and we do talk on the phone regularly, but nothing is like real face to face conversation. I always forget how much I miss her until I spend time with her again. She is as close to a sister as I have.
On Sunday Trix and her family arrived, they had spent the majority of the weekend out of town but since we all love Jack we all took Monday off in her honor to spend that extra day with her. Trixie had had a rough weekend and was looking forward to a few paralyzers. A bottle of Kahlua, a bottle of vodka later we ran out of milk so we completely freaked out my cousin Dee when we asked her if we could have some of hers… we tried to convince her that we needed it more than the baby did. She left shortly after that, I hope she didn’t really think we’d milk her.
It got a little drunk out after that. My husband has a pair of shorts with little white skulls on them. When the shorts get wet the skulls turn blue. I took great joy in splashing him at every opportunity and excusing my behavior as “Look at the skulls turning blue!” It wasn’t long before Jack and ten year old John got into it and the water fight was on. John switched teams from Jack to His Highness depending on who was winning at the time and it was after a short chase down to the dock that all of the skulls turned blue when my husband got pushed in. When he got back to camp he chased John with a lighter threatening to torch him (nice!) and swatted Jack’s ass with a fly swatter. She did admit that it was almost as exciting as touching my breast.
As Trix and I stumbled back from one of our many trips to the outhouse that night we discovered a can of yellow spray paint at her brother’s place. She picked it up and proceeded to “paint” my toe nails. We doubled over laughing as I reciprocated by painting hers. .. Though technically I got more of her feet than her toes. Then, giggling like the drunken fools we were, we raced back to the outhouse to ambush Jack’s toes too. There we were all three of us with fluorescent yellow spray painted feet. Somehow I doubt our pedicure clients would have appreciated the artistry.
I was surprised to wake up without a hangover yesterday morning and my day started with more giggling when I got out of bed and saw my glow-in-the-dark piggies. Sadly Jack didn’t fare as well. She got up, threw up and went back to bed three times before she managed to keep some Gatorade and some Advil down long enough to feel better. “Never again!” she wailed, “I am too old for this! And how the hell do I get this shit off my feet?!”
The panacea for our collective woes was a weekend of fun and frivolity and limited responsibilities.
The remedy for said weekend was some Gatorade, Advil and paint thinner.
07.15.09
rest in peace
To say it has been a rough couple of weeks would be a grave understatement… pun intended.
My husband’s brother Karl returned to Ontario on Saturday July 4th leaving us alone with their dying mother. We spent all day every day by her bedside, leaving only to grab a quick meal and to sleep when Sal came in to spend the night shift with her. The nurses brought in a cozy recliner for him to nap as he was able and he often awoke covered with a blanket that they had placed on him in the night. They offered him a cot but he wanted to be able to get to her quickly if she woke or needed anything so he refused the bed. It was sweet to see him so devoted. He was able to get a little sleep during the day knowing we were with his beloved Katy.
My mother does therapeutic touch. We have always referred to it as “voodoo” and I’ve never been much of a believer. I prefer to mock that which I do not understand. My MIL believed in it however and often when she was unwell or recovering from something or another my mom would stop in and give her a treatment… which consists of a transfer of healing energy without actual physical touch. Yes it’s odd but I look at it the same as I see chicken soup for a cold, it might not help but it can’t hurt.
Saturday evening my parents came to the hospital to see Katy, mom did a little voodoo and left the room crying. I went outside to see if she was ok and she told me that my MIL was ready to die but someone was holding her back. “Sal?” I assumed.
“I’m not sure but I think it might be Ken.” she said.
When I returned to the room I sat next to my husband and took his hand and said “Honey, are you ready to let her go?”
“No.” his voice was small and pained.
“You know she is not coming back from this right? You know that there is no miracle and no chance that she will survive this?”
“I know.”
“Then tell her it’s ok to go. Promise her that we will take care of Sal and each other. Let her know that she will find peace where she is going and that her god is waiting for her. There is nothing left for her in this world and it is unfair of us to keep her. I don’t want to lose her either but it is not about us, letting her go is the kindest thing you can do for her.”
I left the room to let him take some time with her.
When I returned he was kissing her goodbye. I did the same and told her I loved her, knowing at that point that it would be for the last time.
The phone rang at 6:00 the next morning. She was gone.
Two minutes later the phone rang again, it was Karl letting us know he was home. My husband had to tell him not to bother unpacking.
We got to the hospital by 6:30, Sal was by her side, still holding her hand. We spent a few minutes with her before they took her body downstairs and then we all went over to their house to start making phone calls.
Monday we met with the funeral director and since my husband and Sal were both pretty out of it most of the decision making was left to me. We kept everything fairly simple, cremation (her ashes will eventually be buried with Sal), a service at her church and a tea courtesy of the Legion Ladies Auxiliary (she was a member). Still there was a lot to do, paperwork, choosing a guestbook and an urn, deciding on the little funeral flier thing… I spent hours going through photos to find just the right ones and I happened to know who her favorite poet was so I had to find something suitable from her too. We spent the entire day on the details and I even borrowed a large electronic photo frame from my aunt and I scanned and loaded tons of pictures of Katy on it for the tea. It turned out to be a really nice touch. We also placed bread, salt and water on the table with her ashes and the flowers. The trio is a Doukhobor tradition (custom?) that signifies “Toil and peaceful life.” I think she would have appreciated that.
Tuesday we cleaned our house from top to bottom and I cooked the world’s largest lasagna. It is imperative that I am the consummate hostess even in stressful times.
Wednesday night my Boy, Karl, his wife May and their son and Earl all arrived together from Onterrible.
Thursday was the funeral. It was also our (uncelebrated) 21st anniversary. The service was lovely albeit a bit churchy (imagine that!). I laughed when the pastor said that Katy wanted him to talk about Jesus during her funeral. The brothers rolled their eyes thinking it was just the clergyman’s way of throwing a little religion into things. I told them I wouldn’t be surprised at all if their mother had actually said that just so her boys would be force fed a dose of God since they were a captive audience.
There were so many tears. I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the church and I couldn’t look at her photo. And then my mother started singing. Not just her, that would have been really weird. My MIL’s favorite hymn was Just a Closer Walk With Thee and as the congregation began to sing I immediately distinguished my mom’s larger than life voice. I leaned over to my son and whispered “Can you hear grandma?” He started to giggle. I started to giggle. Fortunately we were in the front row so everyone else thought we were sobbing. I think Katy would have gotten a kick out of it too so I can’t feel too bad about it, besides, it felt good to break the tension.
Friday was family day, we hung out here, visited and looked at old pictures. My husband had the biggest glasses in the world when he was a teenager, Karl had a perm that made him look like Alex Trebek and Earl had the shortest short shorts ever… with his mullet. Whenever I need a laugh I now know where to look. I even scanned their nightmare fashions onto my computer so that even if they destroyed the originals I still had a copy. Fun is fun ’til we’re looking at photos of me!
On Saturday the clan went home leaving us with a too-quiet house and more flower arrangements than we know what to do with… and no leftover lasagna, obviously it was a hit.
I was going to write a tribute to Katy but I can’t, at least not yet. I wrote her obituary and it took all I had just to do that. I think I did right by her, and her sons. I hope I made her proud and showed her what she meant to me. She is in my living room, between Buddha and the gargoyles. It’s still hard to believe that in such a short time this woman, this mother, this true Christian, this kind, generous, honest, gentle, charitable, reliable, humble person has been reduced to eight pounds of ash in a cherry wood box. I hope there is a god and that she is with him, she deserves that much at least.
As for us, we’re alright. We miss her but they tell us it gets easier. Beyond that we are simply exhausted. Drained. Sad.
07.03.09
devastated
She’s not going to make it. I want to stay positive and when I am with her or Sal or my husband I work hard to keep my chin and their spirits up. Inside though I know that this is progressing way too swiftly to be anything but bad.
It was supposed to be a simple laparoscopic ‘kidneyectomy’. Katy (my mother-in-law) just had a small lump and it was to be a quick and easy surgery, the doc didn’t even think she’d need more than a day or two in the hospital. That was just six weeks ago and now everything has changed.
Two weeks after that first visit to the surgeon Katy returned for some more tests which showed that the single tumor was now three. In two weeks it tripled. My warning bells went off, why didn’t the doctor’s? It’s going to be very easy for us to be angry with the docs at this point, to us it feels like they dragged their heels but realistically it has only been six weeks. We only have one patient to worry about and sadly they have so many more. We get it, we’re just not happy about it.
It took some time for the surgeon to talk to the oncologist about what treatment route would be best and last Wednesday they finally got their shit together and she was scheduled for her pre-op assessment. She collapsed in the waiting room.
She was admitted to the hospital immediately and every day the news gets worse. Her heart is all fucky so they have her on something for that as well as blood thinners. Surgery at this point would kill her so they have to get her strong enough and her heart rate under control first. She was taken off her pain meds and went into withdrawal… if it wasn’t so sad it would have been funny to hear the doctor tell my husband that his mother had the DT’s.
When we got to her room for the first time I sat down beside her, she grabbed my hands and started sobbing, “Brenda, I am so scared.” I choked back my own tears and assured her that everything would be ok (I even believed it then) and that we just had to be patient but it would all be just fine. My husband had to leave the room several times. He is her baby and they’ve always kinda stuck together. It’s killing him to see her this way. Katy is a shell of herself, she has lost a lot of weight, she is pale and her usually bright and smiley eyes have become vacant.
We were still hoping for the best but the news this afternoon didn’t come with a side of hope. They did a chest X-ray to find out why her breathing is so laboured and they found more spots. The doc said she couldn’t say anything for certain until radiology filed their report but she is quite certain what those spots mean. A death sentence.
I wrote the first part of this post on Monday. On Tuesday they sent her for a CT scan and they discovered that the cancer has invaded a bloodstream and is now into her lungs and beyond and they have told us she only has a matter of days, to give her a week or two would be overly optimistic.
Now we wait for her to die.
My husband’s brother Karl flew out from Ontario, he’s a lawyer and thinks everyone is beneath him and he’s more than a little bit of a douche but I think it helps my husband to have him here. It relieves a bit of the burden and pressure that he’s been under to be able to share it. I am relieved that The Boy is not here. As much as we would love to have him home right now, I am glad he won’t see his Baba this way. She would not want him to remember her in a hospital bed. If he can’t come home for the funeral, we’ll do a private family memorial when he does come home in August.
I want to do right by her. I want to make sure everyone else does right by her too, she deserves so much more and nothing less. All we can do is keep her as comfortable as possible. She doesn’t seem to be in any real pain but they have her on a slow morphine drip to keep her calm. She hasn’t spoken (coherently) in two days but she is restless and agitated and she is developing some nasty bedsores.
I am dealing with all of my fears of death, dying and hospitals. I do my best to keep her mouth from drying out by swabbing it with lemon sticks and giving her sips of water or juice when she can take it. I hold her hand and talk or read to her even though I am sure she doesn’t hear me, I keep a cool cloth on her brow and repeatedly put vaseline on her parched lips. There was a time not too long ago when doing these things was not only foreign but also unimaginable and frightening to me. I don’t normally deal well with any of this, it freaks me out, but she means so much to me that my own hangups have ceased to matter.
My husband sits beside her bed, his arms folded on the bars and his chin resting on them, he watches her intently looking like a little boy, forlorn, waiting for his mommy to wake up.
It kills me.
I hate this.
