Still Complaining

Hello again, my bloggy friends.

One of the things I have been learning about grief is that it does not follow a neat path to recovery.

I'd read about that, and thought it made sense, but I hadn't really understood it. I still thought I'd progress in a relatively orderly way from feeling terrible to feeling like I was ready to live again.

Instead, it's been a meandering path, sometimes forging ahead, sometimes looping back to find myself repeating part of the path over and over, sometimes returning to the early days of numbness and disbelief, or the later days of feeling physically weighed down with sadness and emptiness.

Some days I feel like writing here of normal things, and just as quickly I am back under a cloud again.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't think there will ever be a good time to start posting again, because my mood is so variable. So I'm just going to post anyway, with the hope that you will understand if my writing goes back and forth between okay and not okay.

*****

My husband and I did a lot of jigsaw puzzles in 2020 after everything shut down because of Covid. It was a comforting distraction from the world's problems in general and our problems in particular.

Usually the process started with him doing the outside frame, then both of us doing segments of the interior, until we were completely done. I'd then take a photo of the finished puzzle, break it up into the box, wipe down the table, and set out a new puzzle for him to start. As my husband became more and more ill, he was less and less able to concentrate on anything for long. He had a lot of back pain which was caused - although we didn't know it at the time - from a metastasized tumour in his liver which was pressing on a nerve in his back. Still, between us we managed to finish a large stack of puzzles.

The last one we did started out the same. My husband picked out the pieces of the frame and started to put them together. And then, just like that, he stopped. I finished the rest, hoping every day that he would be able to do a few pieces, but he couldn't. I was glad when it was done and broken down and put away. I still have two uncompleted puzzles in the closet and cannot bear to start them. I saw one at the store yesterday and thought, maybe - just maybe - a new puzzle wouldn't have the same emotions attached as the ones I chose when my husband was still alive. I picked it up. And was flooded by sadness and regret and all the other difficult feelings and had to set it back down.

Maybe some day. But not yet.

*****

The reason I was in that store was to buy a sink plug. I had carefully measured the old plug and written it down in both inches and millimeters, because we are still using both systems in Canada and I wanted to be prepared for anything. I bought one with the same measurement and took it home. Imagine my dismay when the new plug was much larger than the old one. It turns out, for those of you who are as unknowledgable about these things as I am, that you have to measure the bottom of the plug, not the top. Why, people, why? Is life not already complicated enough that you cannot measure a simple plug in the most logical way and require only one trip to the store to replace it? (Note: I realize now that my idea of logical is obviously wrong. The bottom of the plug, not the top, goes in the sink drain. You don't want the width when you're looking down at the plug; you want the width you'd see if you were in the sink drain and were looking up. Of course.)

The day I bought the plug, the cashier had to swipe it on a machine to deactivate the anti-theft mechanism in the package. Which didn't work - it still beeped as I went out through the anti-theft gates - but she waved me on my way. Who steals a $1.99 sink plug? It must be an actual issue for the store if they've gone to that much trouble to thwart all the plug-thieves out there. I just hope when I take this one back that it doesn't beep when I'm going in to return it. I should probably just put it in the donation box but now I kind of wonder what will happen.

*****

I am back to collecting lolcat pictures, so I will leave you with a few that I hope are new to you.

 

How I felt about the sink plug fiasco.

*****

Have a good week if at all possible, and tell me ... have you ever bought the wrong size sink plug using the same reasoning I did???

Still Trudging

Hello, my friends.

There has been so much going on here. I feel like I've been wading through a wave of thick sludge, uphill, as it threatens to push me over or pull me under. 

I am still finding it hard to process my husband's illness and death. Every day I cry over something. Sometimes it's from loneliness, sometimes it's something little like having to change the name of my next of kin entered in the hospital lab records. Sometimes it's special dates. Valentine's Day, my birthday, his birthday, Father's Day -- all have passed with sadness. Our anniversary is in a few days' time. It would have been our 41st. I keep remembering this time last year, and what we knew and didn't know about the path ahead.

I'm trying to take care of lingering decisions on assets, and everyday maintenance of home and vehicles. And I've been doing my regular job. The job is more of a refuge than a hardship, luckily.

But both grieving and meeting work deadlines has been complicated by a recent health issue my mother has developed. For the last month we have been in and out of hospital Emergency, and although there is finally a deeper investigation happening, it has meant extended periods of time convincing her to take medication, taking her to appointments, booking appointments, etc. I've also taken her to get both of her Covid-19 shots, and I'm relieved she has had them, but it still involved so much time.

Mom is scheduled for a geriatric assessment in mid-July, due to her cognitive issues which were noted by the Emergency physician at one of her trips there. Mom is not at all happy about getting old (she's 91), or maybe I should say she's unhappy about developing health issues. She's always been pretty healthy, and I do understand the fear that lies beneath her anger. Still, the anger is what comes out and it's often what I get to deal with. For example, she was very rude to the Emerg doctor who looked after her earlier this week. This is not related to the dementia, although perhaps it's worse now. I can remember when I was younger that she would buy something, not be able to figure out how to use it, and blame it on the product, the company, and the poor employee in the returns department when she took it back. Things that don't work or go wrong are never her fault, and she uses sharp words as her tool to make sure others understand this.

There is also a problem with driving that has come to a head. Her car has been pronounced unroadworthy without extensive repairs - so extensive that the garage recommended she get a new or used car instead. Her reaction was to blame the garage for not pointing it out last year. Turns out she hadn't had it to the garage for quite a bit longer than that. My brother and I are not sure she should be driving at all, given her memory issues, and the suggestion that she could use some other means of transportation (eg., me, a friend, hiring a driver) was met with actual threats of self-harm. (Mind you, if I call her and offer to take her out, she never says no.)

Blackmail: not cool, Mom. Not cool.

I'm in better shape than I was two weeks ago. There was a point when I felt completely defeated, exhausted, and invaded. No sooner would I arrive home from taking her out or visiting with her then she would call me and ask the same questions about medication, appointments, or outing times that we had gone over and over while we were face to face. Given her health, I felt compelled to answer that phone. It is mentally exhausting to repeat myself over and over while staying calm.

But eventually I made a new rule for myself. If I'd just seen her, and it was still daytime, I would not answer the phone. I might get back to her later, but it would be at a time of my choosing. Of course, I still answered the phone when she called during the night. She is a sound sleeper, so if she wakes up with a problem, she does need assistance.

It's been a rough month, but I'm hopeful that with further tests and specialists we can control her health condition. She won't accept home care for pills, cleaning, laundry, or meals, but that's her choice and that's okay, as she is still able to do them for the most part. I'm not sure what's going to happen with the driving. I'm trying to keep her occupied and get her out of the house daily until her geriatric assessment. Perhaps when an outside party sees her cognitive problems they will have to act. I do not have full faith in this, however, because they've already told me they support seniors being able to drive as long as they can, to maintain their independence. I understand her desire to be able to get out at her whim, not someone else's. I am worried about who she might hurt, though (or worse).

In the meantime, reading your blogs has helped me keep my sanity, so thank you for all your posts. I'm also going through quite a few books, all light reading that is easy to get lost in. One of these days I will get around to updating my reading list here.

In the meantime, here is what I've seen through my camera lens lately.

 

New life in my back yard:

Fawn and mama deer

 

Last year's (or the year before's) new life, now growing up:

See the horns? two prongs on him. Prong is not the right term; maybe a reader can set me straight. I know the tips of the antlers on older bucks are called points, but what are they called when they're still stubby?

One prong on each side for this younger male. I think the number of prongs indicate the number of years old they are. Again, can anyone tell me?

 

On one of the rare walks I've had time or energy to take, this guy kept me company until his family happened to drive by and I helped get him into their vehicle. He was not impressed by that.

His name is Jingle, according to the little girl who was trying to nab him, and when he gets out of their house, he stays away for weeks. Jingle, I sympathize, but you're safer with your family.

 

And some lupins that grow everywhere beside our highways - they are a feast for the eyes and I only wish the photo was clearer:

The colour is true, even if it's blurry.

 

And my beautiful Meredith cat: (the other girl, Lucy, wasn't feeling like a photo shoot that day)

Meredith was telling me to stop taking pictures of the deer and sit with her instead.

 

That's it for now. I had my second Covid-19 shot today, and my arm is aching through to my armpit and out to my fingers. Hopefully it will feel better tomorrow. For now, I'm going to lie down and hope the phone doesn't ring.

Take care, everyone.

Still Standing

Hello, friends.

Thank you for your kind comments and for continuing to check in here.

I also want you to know that I read many of your blog posts and am thankful for both the distraction and the chance to keep up with your lives.

I want to tell you more about my husband's illness and death, and how things have been since then. There is a purpose to this beyond bringing you up to date. You will see what it is by the end of the post.

For a few weeks after my husband's death, I ran on adrenaline. I had deadlines at work, I had bills to pay, and I had a lot of paperwork to do. The paperwork was overwhelming and I was fortunate to have my brother's help in prioritizing it and making a plan to get it done. Everything that seemed like it should be straightforward, wasn't. Everything that seemed like it should happen quickly, didn't. It was exhausting thinking about it and then it was exhausting making the phone calls and writing the emails and mailing forms and documents away. Finally, it was exhausting not knowing how long it would take to hear if problems had been resolved.

After that initial frenzy of work and paperwork came a lull. Suddenly it felt like all the energy had been sucked out of me. I continued to work because the concentration my job requires gave me some daily mental relief from the sadness and grief. Many days I felt like I could barely take the steps it required to get out the door. And when I left work to come home, I wouldn't get more than a few steps out that door before reality, and the accompanying pain, came into full focus again. I felt broken, and I wondered if I would ever feel any different. Even with the support of my family, friends, and neighbours, it felt like I couldn't get rid of the massive boulder that seemed to sit on my chest. I was never far from tears, and I was lousy company. The scenes from the past year, and especially that last month, played over and over in my head when I had time to think and nothing to distract me. The grief over how he suffered and died was as bad as the grief over losing him.

Cancer is a horrible disease. Esophageal cancer may be one of the worse forms. I don't know - I haven't had much experience with other ones. What I do know is that my husband wasted away from a robust person to a skeleton in a matter of months. His last month was horrifying beyond anything I had expected. With the help of the local palliative care team, I was able to look after him at home. It was what he and I both wanted, and I am thankful I could do that for him, because there was nothing else I could do.

He went through so much pain before he was even diagnosed. He didn't get the pain treatment he needed until he was admitted to the palliative care program three months before his death. For the last month, I was shown how to give him injections of powerful medications through a subcutaneous line, but as quickly as his dosages were increased his pain and breathlessness increased too. It felt like we were always chasing the symptoms and rarely catching up. For his last couple of weeks he required medications every sixty to ninety minutes, day and night. Fortunately, palliative care also provided some respite time for me to sleep. They also tried to assure me that I was doing as much for him at home as would have been done if he had gone into the palliative care unit in the hospital. But that didn't help his suffering or my desperation and guilt.

If you're not familiar with esophageal cancer, you may be wondering why it wasn't caught sooner. The problem is that it doesn't produce clear symptoms until it reaches an advanced stage.

Fatigue is an early symptom, but there are so many causes of fatigue. My husband had bloodwork done a year before his other symptoms started, because he had been feeling so tired. But nothing was found.

Indeed, even after his swallowing issues began, he was sent for more bloodwork and again nothing was found. Finally a CT scan was ordered, which took six weeks to happen, despite several followups and pleas by us. By then he could only tolerate liquids and had lost a lot of weight. He had a stent put in his esophagus to help him swallow, and started chemo, the mildest course available because he was so frail. Neither surgery nor radiation were options because of the advanced stage of the disease.

We were told by the chemo doctor that finding the cancer six weeks or six months or even six years earlier wouldn't have made a difference. I wonder about that that last part, and eventually I may ask my doctor if that's true or if the chemo doctor got carried away with his sixes. However, the fact that my husband was fatigued for so long prior to developing other symptoms leads me to believe that finding the cancer even two years earlier would probably not have changed the outcome. And I have spoken with folks who knew other people with the same kind of cancer. Even those whose cancer was found early enough that they could have surgery or radiation never went back to being healthy; instead, their treatment seemed to only prolong their discomfort and pain.

My husband was a long-time smoker, and we were told that's what caused his esophageal cancer. He had tried to quit a number of times, and succeeded a number of times. But he always went back to it as a way of dealing with stress. Some people would say, or at least think, that he deserved what happened. But I can tell you this: as much as I hated everything about the smoking, nobody deserves the kind of death he had.   

Smoking is just one of the risk factors for esophageal cancer. Obesity and long-term heartburn are the others. Smokers are often ostracized these days, but how many folks with obesity and heartburn do you know? Quite a few, I bet. You know one, at least - me. My heartburn is well-controlled but I've been taking strong medication for thirty years.And I tend to be a stress eater, which is no better than stress smoking.

The reason I have explained all of this is to try to encourage people to listen to their bodies and to be aware of the risk factors. My husband would have needed to really push his doctor to investigate his fatigue further when the initial blood tests came back negative, but that wasn't him. Many people are like him - unwilling to make a fuss or question the medical results. He was also a very stoic person. People, do not be stoic. If you feel something is wrong, keep pushing to find out what it could be. You know your body best; after all, you have lived in it your entire life.

This has been a long post. If you are still reading, thank you.

I hope to be back soon. Until then, take care of yourselves.

 

 

 

To Let You Know

My husband passed away just after midnight, January 7.

You have all been so supportive through his illness, and I wanted to let you know.

There is so much I could say, especially about the last six weeks, but the words seem to be stuck inside me.

Maybe later I will be able to get them out.

For now, please know I am okay ... sort of. I have already grieved so much in the last nine months.

I have plenty of support from family, friends and neighbours.

I can still hardly believe he is gone forever. 

He was a good and kind and smart and funny man. I miss him so.

 

 

 

 

Happy Holidays :) ... Santa's Elves - Dogs and Cats with Human Hands Making Toys - Freshpet

Health Update 4

Hello, my bloggy friends.

Holidays are a hard time of year to be sick, or to have a loved one be sick.

When I go to the stores to pick up medications or to get other things my husband needs, it is hard to see the Christmas lights and hear the music.

We have spent many happy Christmas seasons while other families we didn't know have been suffering. We didn't truly understand the black cloud that hovers over a family in pain. Now we are that family, and now I understand. 

I don't begrudge anybody else their happy season, especially in this difficult year of the plague.

I am just so sad, people.

It's not about missing Christmas.

It's that my husband has deteriorated so much in such a short time. I am afraid he is losing the fight. His chemo is shrinking some of the tumours, but he has developed other serious health issues.

I'm sorry to be so vague, but I want to respect my husband's privacy as much as possible.

*****

If you feel like sharing, would you let me know in the comments how each of you is doing? 

I really want to hear it, whether it's good or bad.

I could use some good stories, but I'm here to listen if you have the other kind, too.

And here is a picture for you.

 Take care, my friends.

 

2020

If you recall, I recently listed some links that brighten up my days.

Today I just have to re-link to bluebird of bitterness.

If anything describes 2020, it's her post today!

How To Stay Humble

Hello, friends.

It's the day after US voting day, with final results still to be determined, and I know that many people around the world are biting their nails in solidarity with our American friends.

So I thought a diversion - even a small one - might be welcome.

Last Saturday it was that time of the year - the time when we set our clocks back an hour so that we can finally catch up on the hour of sleep we lost last spring when we set them ahead.

Hold that thought for a minute.

It's been awhile since I've mentioned my mom, but you may remember that she is ninety years old now and having increasing problems with her memory. 

Hold that thought, too. 

My mom has resisted getting a flu shot for many years now. She always says she should get one, but when I offer to take her she backs out. But this year, with covid-19 on the go, she finally agreed to let me make an appointment for her and even agreed to let me drive her there.

Now we have three thoughts lined up. Here's how they connect.

On Monday, I called my mom a few hours prior to her appointment, to remind her of the scheduled time. I also asked if she had managed to get her clocks turned back on the weekend.

No, she said. Did the time change?

Yes, I said. Yes it did. What time is on your clock right now, Mom?

It's ... let's see ... um ... it's one o'clock ... she said.

Okay then, I said (reading our kitchen clock); your clocks are still on the old time, Mom. It's actually 12 noon right now. So I'll pick you up in an hour and a half for your appointment, and if you want help setting any of your clocks I can do that too.

After a few more repetitions of what time it was and when I'd be picking her up, we ended our call.

Her flu shot went very smoothly, and I took her home and set all her clocks by my watch. Feeling like I had done my good deed for the day, I said good-bye and drove off to do some errands.

... And realized, to my horror, that I hadn't actually changed my watch to the proper time. (I don't wear it around the house, and I hadn't gone out since the time change.)

I did my errands while I contemplated the nature of memory, and good intentions, and bad follow-through, and then I returned to my mom's house where I had to admit my stupidity and set all her clocks - which she had originally set to the proper time and I had "fixed" - to the correct time.

Talk about humble pie. I was stuffed with it. Whew. Couldn't manage another bite. Because it's not all that tasty.

The only good thing is that she won't remember it by the next time I talk to her.

But I will.

Sigh.

We now return you to your regular programming. Good luck with those election results, America.

In case you're still not ready for that, here are some animals in sweaters. Enjoy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Have a good day, people :)