97. Ch-Ch-Changes
Cancer. Cancer. Cancer. Blah. Blah. Blah. Kinda sick of thinking about it, talking about it, and hearing about it. Surprisingly, I don’t mind writing about it. That’s because writing is the only way I know how to process this life of mine. And if ever there was a time for some deep reflection it was before and after releasing Monday’s blog.
When last I left you it was at the tailend of a snit fit. Admittedly, I was in a bad headspace but still that was a snarl fest of mammoth proportions. For months I’ve heard from nearly everyone that I don’t have to keep my emotions in, that I have the right to be angry and even snarky at times, that it’s normal to lash out, and yet I’ve sort of managed my way through without much bitchy fanfare.I appreciate the thumbs up permission and encouragement to vent my feelings, but that is easier said than done. Emoting publicly is not in my comfort zone, at all, and I consider ‘public’ as being off of 183 property. I may tear up from time to time, but I’ll stuff the emotion back where it belongs before a tear takes to its journey — except during the movies Terms of Endearment and Beaches; there was a whole lot of ugly crying going on, believe you me.After hearing about the End of Life meeting, there were a few nights of waterworks and bad dreams. I’m sure most people ‘get it’, just as I’m sure they don’t jump for joy when preparing for such a weighty event. I also think that had my reservoir been deeper, I wouldn’t have done the whole rage-writing and you never would have read the blog from Snarkville. Do I regret writing it and posting it? Absolutely not. It is a true reflection of a woman in the grips of grief.It might help you to know that I did a full work-through of what was bothering me and had inched my way back to what I said last November — I am not going kicking and screaming from this earth. I’m going to suck it up and get on with business. So, by the wee-hours of Wednesday morning, I was ready to face whatever that day had in store for me. I put on my big girl panties and waited for my End of Life gathering to begin. And from start to finish, the real Sheryll was present, the one who processes information, offers feedback if warranted, and accepts reality — no matter how unpleasant it may be.
How’s this for a change in perspective?
The meeting began at 10 AM and was chock full of thinking, talking and listening. I’m going to give you some information on all three, saving the thinking part for the end. Talking and listening: Nurse M spent most of the time talking, she should have, after all she knows what’s going to happen and has somewhat of an idea when things will be turning south.
A good amount of time was devoted to ‘in bed care’ because that’s where Yours Truly will be located. The rub-a-dub-dub talky-talk took some time because in my case, cleanliness isn’t the only issue, it’s also about repositioning a woman who has the skeletal structure of a bag of pretzels. One oops and it could be crumbs for me.An equal amount of time was spent on the Comfort Kit. I’ve made a big thing about the morphine part of the kit, but there are so many more goodies in that party bag. There’s stuff for anxiety and agitation — well, let’s hope so. There’s stuff to help with the shake rattle and roll of spit I won’t be able to spit — sounds delightful. There are other meds for this and that and God only knows what else that’s used on an unconscious woman. Given that I’ll be the unconscious woman, I tended not to lean-into those talking points; they were really intended for Tim, Hannah, and Jessica since the other two attendees, Kathy and Eileen, are nurses and they’re already ‘in the know’.
Going into the meeting my three OBs had a game plan. They were going to be part of the first shift hospice team. Lord help me.
T: Ready.
H: Yes.
T: Okay roll.
H: Which way?
T: To the right.
H: Your right?
T: I know I’m right.
H: Not you’re right. Your right?
T: Yes.
J: Neither of you are right. We need to roll left.
T: Why?
J: Because before she was flat on her back she was on her right.
T: Is that right?
H: Maybe. Who has the chart?
J: I do.
H: And it says go left not right?
J: Right.
H: So I roll right. Right?
J. Right.
T: So we’re rolling her right?
J: No!
T: But you told Hannah she was right.
J: Her right is not your right.
T: Right.
H: I’ll get the anxiety and agitation meds.
J: She’s not showing signs of anxiety or agitation.
H: They’re not for her.
J: Right.
T: Your right or my right?
H: No one’s right.
T: We should have done what your mother wanted and hired professionals to do this.
H: You’re right.
J: Yeah, he’s right.
T: Nope, your mother was right.
Right is right and so we’re hiring professionals to take care of me.That way my loved ones can practice the Hokey Pokey and learn their left from their right. I’ll lead them off: You put your right hand in, you take your right hand out …
Anyway, that pretty much covered the really important parts of the talking and listening. While no final decision was made by my beloveds during the meeting, I knew reality was setting in and they’d end up wanting to sit at my bedside being what they are to me, my significant everythings.There were times during the meeting when I already knew what Nurse M would be yakking about so I zoned out. That’s when some silent thinking took place. During one of those zoners (a new word Andria!) this thought crept in; actually I had the thought a month ago and noted it on one of my blog lists but never worked it through until now.
Here it is!
I am very fortunate that my cancer is bone cancer? “WHAT!!!!?” I imagine a lot of you are screaming right now. Hear me out on this. Being told you’re terminal sucks, and the pain of this type of cancer has been tough, and all of the emotional crap stinks, no pun intended, but I’m quite sure everyone dying of cancer deals with all of that. As for the type of cancer that darkened my doorstep, or more aptly, darkened my spinal column, it required my ass to be put in a chair for months on end.Remember how I told you way back in my earliest blogs that I spent hours upon hours perched on my desk chair, or on my regular old recliner writing, editing, proofreading and researching. Well I did, and for the past almost nine months I sort of did the same thing on a super-de-duper recliner in my living room. Granted, my mandated sit caused certain liberties to be taken from me — what I wouldn’t give for a shower — but my playing by the rules went a long way toward my not suffering a broken bone or collapse of anything important.Truth be told, my impulse on most days is to push from the chair and go for a walk. I know I can’t, so I don’t, but if I hadn’t had the 'sit your ass down’ mandate from the ortho-oncologist, I would have left the house from time to time, maybe for long periods of time which would have put distance between me and my computer. So, I guess the bottomline of sitting on my bottomline is this: if I was going to get cancer, this is the best one for me.
How’s this for a tiny change of pace and taste?
It involves danish and it pales in comparison to the overall tone of this blog, but I think it is worth a mention. I have had a change of heart, or a change of taste. For the past few weeks I’ve ditched the appetizing apricot danish for the luscious lemon danish — still from Culpeppers, of course. This is not earth shattering news, but when you wait patiently each day for an afternoon coffee and danish, flavor matters. And for those who’ve asked, Tim still offers a nightly brew that I decline, and yes we both enjoy our Figgies together. There are many times when Mr. and Mrs. Wonderful spend silent moments around sips and nibbles. The relaxed intimacy of those minutes has become somewhat burdened, but we try to just be in that moment with one another. I’m going to make it a point to have it reflect who Tim and Sheryll used to be — fun.
Ch-ch-changes are sometimes hard to believe.
Here’s another change. It is huge in comparison to just about anything we could discuss. There was no vacation this year at Wells Beach; not for my family anyway — the OBs, the Bodreaus, the McCarthys, the Sneades, and the Bucks went without Wells. Discussions had been going back and forth during the past month or so and when the discussions finally ended it left one glaring fact: no one’s heart was in it this year. Sure, everyone wanted to park their asses in sand and reune with one another, but no one wanted to leave me behind, and if I stayed behind, Tim had to stay behind. And my mother was digging in her heels far from a sandy beach about her preference not to go, and whatever Mommy does, Marchrie does. As for Don and Denise, they made their way north so they could spend a week with Denise’s family and the second week with us, so their heading this way was going to happen regardless of where we spent our week. So, for the first time in 36 years, the OBs of 183 stayed at 183.Don and Denise had a lovely time with Denise’s family at York Beach and found they really enjoyed the ‘little village’ vibe of the pocket beaches of York. A week later they headed south over the Piscataqua River Bridge toward Auburn, Massachusetts. As ‘staycations’ go, the week is shaping up nicely with day trips here and there, lots of non-beach-bonding time, visits to 183, and a party this weekend at 1 Inwood. Jabbering Jenny is on babysitting duty so that’ll be good for a few laughs.
Change can be unexpected.
So this happened. From time to time I get text videos from Tim’s sister Annie and her husband Tiger White. I mentioned in a previous blog that they are the OB family members who frolic the sand and surf of New Hampshire beaches. I’ve received lots of sight and sound videos of the ocean from lots of people (thank you all; I love them all). Most videographers hold the cell, push the red record button and let the ocean provide the sight and sound.The other day, I received another ocean video from Annie and Tiger. Before hitting the play button, I could see in the little preview square how beautiful the sky and sea were. I enthusiastically pushed the arrow and got caught in the wonderfulness of it all. The waves were moving at a good clip, and the after-rainstorm sky had a few wispy clouds and the tailend of a rainbow. The sight was beautiful, and then the sound made me cry like a baby — Tiger’s voice was caught on the video. He said only a few words, but I wasn’t expecting to ever hear his voice again and it just sounded so good and bad, if you know what I mean.
When change most likely means goodbye.
When I was a topsy-turvy mess after brain surgery twenty years ago, Marchrie arranged for her hairdresser to come to my house for a surprise snip and clip of my hair. Bailey, the hired Scissorhands, was in her early twenties at that time, had two young daughters, worked part-time at the salon (mostly weekend hours) and was a full-time nursing student. She was a lovely, kind, helpful young woman who wanted to cheer me up.
She did.
I have not needed Bailey to come to my house for some time, but we built a bond and enjoyed our get-togethers so she has been coming for the better part of two decades. We learned straight off that we could talk about anything in the privacy of my home — and we did. Age difference meant absolutely nothing when it came to our friendship. For all of my married years I have worn my hair cut short. The ease of this style is not the reason for the trimmed tresses — comfort level is what led me to the short shorn. The be all and end all is that I have very fine hair and I have a ton of it. If I let my hair grow beyond the nape of the neck, I look like Don King and my hair feels like a wool cap; a very hot wool cap in the summer. Basically, I have something I call, “Sheephead.”
It’s easy to tell when it’s time for a Scissorhands visit: one of two things happen, I baa during a blow dry, or I get the urge to Rumble in the Jungle. For the past few weeks there has been a lot of baaing going on. All I needed to do was text the married, mother of four, full-time nurse who no longer cuts hair for anyone but me, make a Don King reference, and wait for her thumbs up.Bailey Iannucci came to my house Tuesday to cut my hair. I wanted to look decent for my End of Life meeting. The forty or so minutes we spent together were about catching up and shooting the shit as we always do. The last few minutes, however, were spent awkwardly preparing for and saying ‘I hope we are wrong, but just in case we’re not, goodbye’. Bay’s hug was extra long and had the sentimental hand-sliding up and down my back that speaks volumes. When we parted, there was a tear that started its journey down my face. I couldn’t tell if it was the same for my friend because she skipped out the front door then sort of slogged to her car. Like I said before, Bailey is a lovely, kind, helpful young woman who wanted to cheer me up.
She did.
And then she may have said her final “goodbye.”
Now, back to the letter challenge.This has been very popular. I am receiving comments on social media and by text and call saying how interesting you all are. So, please keep the letters coming. Don’t stop at one!
# 24. This writing came inside a note card and it was in response to my personal request to know something about a married couple I’ve known for years — or did I?
Sheryll,
I can’t believe I am writing this letter to you but here I go. I’ll try to remember the writing tools you posted in a recent blog. I’m Kathy aka the She Devil aka Tim’s sister aka Sheryll’s sister-in-law. You asked me a question the other day that sort of took me by surprise but in a good way. You wanted to know how Tommy and I met and about our life prior to you coming into the overwhelming O’Brien clan (12 people in a one bathroom home at the time). Well here goes.
I met Tommy in the 1st grade at O.L.A. school. It was love at first sight for me. Back then we wore “the designated uniform” of our parish school. In this instance the girls wore a pine green-colored jumper, white blouse and a clip on bowtie. The boys wore dark dress pants and light tan dress shirts with clip on ties. We all looked absolutely adorable. Just an FYI, Tim would be a really good brother and occasionally draw a colorful book cover for my book reports in the 4th and 5th grades. I would always get an A when he did this. I just wanted you to know how wonderful he was even back then.
Fast forward to junior high then high school Tommy and I went to different schools from junior high through college but “hung out” at Friendly’s and up on Tessier's Hill which is now Goddard Memorial Drive with the same group of friends. We started officially “dating” the summer of our senior year in high school.
I graduated from nursing school in 1979 and Tommy from college in 1980. We were married on January 10, 1981 which was also my father’s birthday. You were not in Tim’s life yet to my knowledge.
We celebrated our 41st anniversary this year with our 2 sons, daughters-in-law, and 6 beautiful grandchildren.
When did I meet you? I remember the first time was at my parents’ house and I remember what you were wearing. It was a cream-colored dress with black buttons and a black belt as you sat in Auntie Fifi’s chair. Timmy kept smiling at you and I thought to myself she’s the one but she’s going to have to sit in a different chair.
As I read your blogs and what you write about my brother (Mr. Wonderful) I smile.
Now here we are. You are battling a horrible terminal disease with such strength, dignity and determination. How I admire you. Your blogs have helped so many people in so many different ways, some of which you may never know. I know how difficult it is getting for you as your illness progresses. I wish I could make it better for you but we both know that isn’t possible. All I can do is keep you in my prayers and hope you are comfortable. You are loved and admired by so many people. Thank you for everything. Thank you for loving my brother. Love you, ~ Kathy