The week before Christmas, a support group friend said, "I just want it to be over." I didn't feel that way, nor did I feel dread as Christmas approached. I just felt a deep sadness because Christmas was always a big deal to us. I mostly was anxious for Ed's kids to have the gift I made them--a family tree that reflected all the research he had done, representing seven generations from his grandkids back through the ancestors from Germany. I designed it and had it printed, then I framed it, making one for each of the six kids and one for myself. I so wanted to give them something that would feel like it came from him.
The Giesman gathering at Becky and Tim's house on Sunday, December 23, seemed to go so fast with hardly a chance to catch up with everybody. Then on Monday morning, I flew to Cedar Rapids. There, too, it felt like a whirlwind of things to do to get ready for Santa's arrival and for the Christmas buffet (all appetizer foods) on Christmas Day, a tradition that we started when Melissa was little. Will was the cute baby you'd expect a three-month-old to be; he was very good in church Christmas Eve, captivating the people around us with his smiles. Santa was very good to us all, and having Mark's family join us for the buffet capped off a very nice Christmas Day.
Melissa and Mark both worked on Thursday, so Grammy and Will spent the day together. Will is now almost 14 1/2 pounds, and carrying him around and especially stooping while holding him reminded me that my knees don't like to do such things too often. We both did just fine, however, and Melissa really didn't need to call every few hours to check on us. The week went quickly, probably because I was so occupied the whole time doing things with Melissa and Mark and Will and Mark's family.
Overall, this Christmas included familiar things and traditions--though I never did put up the Christmas tree--as well as some new wrinkles. Ed and I always said Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were supposed to be for the kids being with their own families, and he and I would gather them at another time during the holiday season. I felt so guilty for having "violated" our guideline by going to Melissa's for Christmas Eve. My support group friends' response to that guilt was that because Melissa invited me and wanted me there, I had permission to disregard our guideline and it wasn't any kind of betrayal. That didn't stop the feeling I had, however. But now, as I think back on past years, I realize that in 2005 we had the Giesman gathering here on December 24, and I remember people staying until pretty late. So I guess I needn't feel guilty about the timing of my trip.
Today I went to the Columbus Museum of Art to see the special Monet exhibit. I don't claim to be schooled in art, but I have always appreciated paintings from the era of Impressionism. It was the only kind of art exhibit Ed could get interested in seeing, probably because he knew how much I liked that. A couple of Christmases ago, Ed got me a print of one of Monet's most famous paintings, and the following Christmas, I had it beautifully framed and gave it to him. So it seemed fitting to close out this Christmas week looking at some art that stirs my soul and reminds me of some things we shared.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Another memorial service
This evening I attended a memorial service held at the chapel at Sunset Cemetery, where Ed is buried. It was brief but beautiful. This was the first time the cemetery offered this event, and the response was far beyond their expectations. There must have been 200 people there. It was standing room only inside the chapel. It was a dark and dreary night because we are having several days of rain, especially dark because there is no illumination along the cemetery roads; but the entrance to the cemetery and the driveway to the chapel were lined with luminaries, and it was beautiful and kind of comforting for me. Staff were located strategically to guide the traffic and get everyone parked near the chapel. They had golf carts to ferry people from their cars to the chapel if they did not want to walk. Inside, there was a Christmas tree simply decorated with gold ribbon and ornaments, and a very large candle, which some children in attendance helped light. A minister from Potters House of God in Columbus spoke informally but meaningfully, and a couple of times his words brought tears to my eyes. The ornament I received as a remembrance is silverplate, a flat circular style, with the center being a candle at whose base are holly berries and leaves. The bottom is inscribed
In Loving Memory
Ed Giesman
7/3/1935 - 6/16/2007
At one point, the minister asked us all to join in singing one verse of Amazing Grace, which everyone did. I never would have thought that an assembly of people who never saw or heard of each other before would sing out in 4-part harmony, but we did. It was touching and beautiful, so much so that the minister asked us to do it again--and we did. He closed with a prayer, having us hold hands with the people on each side of us; that too was comforting to me.
It's really rough trying to share in the joy of the holiday. I still have not put up any Christmas decorations. The only thing I did do was put out the PEACE sign we always put out as part of our outdoor Christmas decorations for the past 10 years. But wouldn't you know it, now it won't light up. So I have brought it back inside, and I plan to sit with it as Ed did so many times with strings of lights, testing each bulb until I find the culprit that is keeping it from lighting. I hope I have as much patience with it as he did. Perhaps this new ornament will be the impetus to get out some Christmas decor. As much as we both loved Christmas decorating and music and shopping (me more than Ed on that one) and gathering with family and friends, I really do need to honor that.
In Loving Memory
Ed Giesman
7/3/1935 - 6/16/2007
At one point, the minister asked us all to join in singing one verse of Amazing Grace, which everyone did. I never would have thought that an assembly of people who never saw or heard of each other before would sing out in 4-part harmony, but we did. It was touching and beautiful, so much so that the minister asked us to do it again--and we did. He closed with a prayer, having us hold hands with the people on each side of us; that too was comforting to me.
It's really rough trying to share in the joy of the holiday. I still have not put up any Christmas decorations. The only thing I did do was put out the PEACE sign we always put out as part of our outdoor Christmas decorations for the past 10 years. But wouldn't you know it, now it won't light up. So I have brought it back inside, and I plan to sit with it as Ed did so many times with strings of lights, testing each bulb until I find the culprit that is keeping it from lighting. I hope I have as much patience with it as he did. Perhaps this new ornament will be the impetus to get out some Christmas decor. As much as we both loved Christmas decorating and music and shopping (me more than Ed on that one) and gathering with family and friends, I really do need to honor that.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Bob Giesman's Memorial Service
Yesterday afternoon, Bob's memorial service was held at Norwood Presbyterian Church, just down the street from Bob and Maryellen's home. It included tributes that really captured who Bob was. A long-time work friend, a 30+ years' poker buddy, the minister, and Maryellen all spoke about his sense of humor, quick wit, love of pulling pranks, his love for his family and commitment to provide for them, and his devotion to his work. His daughter Pat wrote a fitting poem about laughter. Pat's emotion seeped through a little as she read her poem, but she reined it in and made it through just fine. Who truly amazed me was Maryellen. She related some anecdotes about Bob's pranks and humor and kept her composure throughout. I don't know where she found the strength to do that so eloquently although she told me before the service that she was determined to try. After 44 years of marriage, she knew Bob better than anyone, so maybe that gave her the courage. What makes this amazing is that Maryellen has always had a difficult time being around people and socializing, much preferring to keep to herself. Speaking in public is not something people would expect of her, and certainly not under these circumstances. But she did it, and I'm proud of her and Pat. I didn't look around at the crowd in church, but afterwards in the fellowship hall, there seemed to be so many people. I couldn't estimate the size of the group (Ed was much better at that than I am), but I think we pretty much filled the small church. Pat said they ordered food for 100 people; there must have been that many or more.
There was only one part of the service when I sort of broke down. I anticipated that Ed would be mentioned at some point and thought I had prepared myself for that, but these details were not what I expected to hear and so they got to me: The minister, Rev. Chris White, related how for years and years Ed and Bob sent each other the same birthday card back and forth each year. What she didn't say was that each year the sender would add some humorous, sometimes slightly insulting comment about the difference in their ages. (Ed was 7 years and 8 months older than Bob.) Every centimeter of that card--front, back, inside--was covered with comments. Part of the fun they had in recent years was finding where the new comment was "hiding." Bob relished pointing out that Ed was now 8 years older as of his latest birthday, and Ed always reminded Bob that they were back to 7 1/2 years when Bob's birthday approached. Each of the guys had one year when they couldn't find the card. For Ed, it was after we moved from Norwalk, IA, to Bartlett, IL, and Bob's March 29 birthday had come. Ed searched and searched but couldn't find the card. So he bought a new card and re-started this "tradition" with profuse apologies. By chance (typical that you find what you're looking for when you're not looking for it), Ed found the card and mailed it belatedly. The same happened with Bob--finally finding it and sending it belatedly. At Ed's viewing, Bob placed the card in Ed's casket. He told me it was his turn to receive it. (This was on June 19 and Ed's birthday was July 3.) I didn't ask Bob if he added this year's comment to the card nor did I disturb it once he placed it beside Ed. I think I remember there was more than just the card there, but whatever it was, I know it represented the bond between the Giesman brothers.
As I had the opportunity yesterday, I tried to be a comfort to Maryellen, Brenda, Pat and Kirk, Lisa, Bobby and Dawn (I still am not used to calling him Robert or Bob), Amy, and Steven--most especially to Maryellen. Besides being at Bob's memorial service with Ed's 6 "kids," being with the extended family gave me such a feeling of comfort. I'm so grateful to still be welcomed and thought about by such wonderful people. I know there's a danger in naming names because, at a time when you're a little distraught, you may not remember everyone you talked with, but here goes. Aunt Jinny Runk, cousins Fred and Sandy, Karen and Stan, Jim and Vivian, and Tommy, plus Ed's long-time friends Larry and Tom, were all so warm towards me that it helped me hold myself together when all during the week I had been pretty much falling apart at any time of day. I didn't want to draw attention to myself at this gathering by breaking down. My support group, who had been asking me each week how Bob was doing, told me that my setback was obvious on Wednesday evening. I knew it because I was back to not sleeping well as well as crying so much. They offered their support and hugs that night, and I confess I really needed that. Melissa had been bearing the brunt of supporting me through this sorrow over Bob and the re-awakening of the loss of Ed, and once again I felt guilty about burdening her so much. The support group reminded me, however, that although I feel as though I've lost a lot of the progress I had made in learning to live with grief, I have had the experience of getting better and I will get back to that place, maybe more quickly this time than before.
It's heartening to find out that people are still checking this blog for updates and look forward to reading what I write. The phrase "makes me feel connected" came up a couple of times yesterday in my conversations with the cousins. Guess I should have warned you all that this entry would be a long, tear-filled one.
There was only one part of the service when I sort of broke down. I anticipated that Ed would be mentioned at some point and thought I had prepared myself for that, but these details were not what I expected to hear and so they got to me: The minister, Rev. Chris White, related how for years and years Ed and Bob sent each other the same birthday card back and forth each year. What she didn't say was that each year the sender would add some humorous, sometimes slightly insulting comment about the difference in their ages. (Ed was 7 years and 8 months older than Bob.) Every centimeter of that card--front, back, inside--was covered with comments. Part of the fun they had in recent years was finding where the new comment was "hiding." Bob relished pointing out that Ed was now 8 years older as of his latest birthday, and Ed always reminded Bob that they were back to 7 1/2 years when Bob's birthday approached. Each of the guys had one year when they couldn't find the card. For Ed, it was after we moved from Norwalk, IA, to Bartlett, IL, and Bob's March 29 birthday had come. Ed searched and searched but couldn't find the card. So he bought a new card and re-started this "tradition" with profuse apologies. By chance (typical that you find what you're looking for when you're not looking for it), Ed found the card and mailed it belatedly. The same happened with Bob--finally finding it and sending it belatedly. At Ed's viewing, Bob placed the card in Ed's casket. He told me it was his turn to receive it. (This was on June 19 and Ed's birthday was July 3.) I didn't ask Bob if he added this year's comment to the card nor did I disturb it once he placed it beside Ed. I think I remember there was more than just the card there, but whatever it was, I know it represented the bond between the Giesman brothers.
As I had the opportunity yesterday, I tried to be a comfort to Maryellen, Brenda, Pat and Kirk, Lisa, Bobby and Dawn (I still am not used to calling him Robert or Bob), Amy, and Steven--most especially to Maryellen. Besides being at Bob's memorial service with Ed's 6 "kids," being with the extended family gave me such a feeling of comfort. I'm so grateful to still be welcomed and thought about by such wonderful people. I know there's a danger in naming names because, at a time when you're a little distraught, you may not remember everyone you talked with, but here goes. Aunt Jinny Runk, cousins Fred and Sandy, Karen and Stan, Jim and Vivian, and Tommy, plus Ed's long-time friends Larry and Tom, were all so warm towards me that it helped me hold myself together when all during the week I had been pretty much falling apart at any time of day. I didn't want to draw attention to myself at this gathering by breaking down. My support group, who had been asking me each week how Bob was doing, told me that my setback was obvious on Wednesday evening. I knew it because I was back to not sleeping well as well as crying so much. They offered their support and hugs that night, and I confess I really needed that. Melissa had been bearing the brunt of supporting me through this sorrow over Bob and the re-awakening of the loss of Ed, and once again I felt guilty about burdening her so much. The support group reminded me, however, that although I feel as though I've lost a lot of the progress I had made in learning to live with grief, I have had the experience of getting better and I will get back to that place, maybe more quickly this time than before.
It's heartening to find out that people are still checking this blog for updates and look forward to reading what I write. The phrase "makes me feel connected" came up a couple of times yesterday in my conversations with the cousins. Guess I should have warned you all that this entry would be a long, tear-filled one.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Bob's passing
To all you who read this blog, I ask you to say a prayer for the repose of the soul of Bob Giesman, who died peacefully tonight at home, and for strength and peace for his family.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Thanksgiving and not-good news about Bob
I drove to Virginia on Wednesday to spend Thanksgiving with my mother and sister and her family. I wasn't sure this would be the right thing for me to do and spent a lot of time beforehand thinking about how to handle this holiday. Coming up with a plan was actually an assignment from my support group, and last Wednesday when I still hadn't decided on my plan I was chided a little by one of the group facilitators. I made it through the holiday by not thinking of this as a Thanksgiving trip so much as another trip to give Marie a little break and do some things for my Mom. Still, standing at my mother's kitchen sink washing lunch dishes reminded me that a year ago, on the day after Thanksgiving, Ed stood at that very sink washing dishes. I even have a photo of him at the sink and Mark with the drying towel in hand. I remember that I was working on the plugged-up vacuum hose at the time and Marie, Joey and Jeffrey (my nephews), and Melissa were putting up Grandma's Christmas tree. We put the tree up again this year on the day after Thanksgiving. Despite the memories going through my head, I held it together. I drove back today (Saturday, November 24).
The new memory being created this weekend is not a good one. Ed's brother, Bob, is losing his battle with pancreatic cancer. Last Friday, he participated in making the arrangements for hospice care at his home, the plan being that a hospice nurse would come once a week. But his condition has deteriorated rapidly since mid-week. He is currently under 24-hour hospice care at home. The description of his condition is painfully familiar. I wish there was something I could do for him and for his family, but I don't have any magic words or deeds to help them through this. I often ask Ed to please be with me somehow when I make these long drives or when I have to face something that scares me or concerns me; but today, all day, I have told Ed to be with his brother, to help Bob in whatever way he can.
The new memory being created this weekend is not a good one. Ed's brother, Bob, is losing his battle with pancreatic cancer. Last Friday, he participated in making the arrangements for hospice care at his home, the plan being that a hospice nurse would come once a week. But his condition has deteriorated rapidly since mid-week. He is currently under 24-hour hospice care at home. The description of his condition is painfully familiar. I wish there was something I could do for him and for his family, but I don't have any magic words or deeds to help them through this. I often ask Ed to please be with me somehow when I make these long drives or when I have to face something that scares me or concerns me; but today, all day, I have told Ed to be with his brother, to help Bob in whatever way he can.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Memorial Christmas Lights
Last night at the support group session, I found another way to remember Ed during the holidays. I have made a donation to HomeReach Hospice to help light the Hospice Holiday Tree at the Franklin County Government Center. Fittingly, the program is called "Light Up a Life." Christmas has always been our favorite holiday, so to do this is meaningful for me. I have arranged for 8 lights on the tree in Ed's memory with the idea that they are from the 8 of us: Sherry, Debbie, Eddie, Judi, Dave, Becky, Melissa, and me. Despite my indecision about decorating the house for Christmas, putting up a tree--every time I think about it I can't decide how I feel about all that--I knew in an instant that I wanted to do this.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Memorial Services
November has brought about two memorial services and another will come in December. On November 2, All Souls Day, a special evening Mass was said at our church to remember church members who died in the past year. There were 13 names written in calligraphy in a special book displayed before the altar and, of course, Ed's name was included. I anticipated this would be one time that I wouldn't feel embarrassed to cry in church--at Sunday Mass I never know what might set me off. I shed tears, especially during the Prayer of the Faithful when each name was solemnly read, but not nearly as much as I thought I would. As so often happens, "Giesman" was mispronounced; the pastor Father Eilerman said Mass, not Father Brosmer who knew us well, so I wasn't surprised. Nevertheless, I appreciated being invited to attend this Mass. Afterwards there was a dessert and drinks reception. I sat at a table with a retired couple who came just because they have been parishioners for a very long time and know practically everybody. As we chatted, I learned that their son was a financial planner, and I let them know I was looking for such a resource. She immediately called her son and gave him my name and number so that was nice, and I will contact him to see if he's someone I'm interested in working with. However, even as she introduced me to other people at the reception, the woman kept emphasizing that I was all alone. I actually went into this Mass in a pretty good frame of mind thanks to having a very pleasant dinner beforehand with Ed's cousin Fred and Sandy Runk. So while it was nice to meet some people that evening, I could have done without that "alone" label stuck to me.
This afternoon, I attended a memorial service sponsored by the Hospice that helped take care of Ed. Joining me were David, Debbie, and Becky. It was a simple service with soft music, brief but meaningful readings, and a focus on reading the names of the deceased and presenting a carnation to a family member (in our case, to me). Only those represented by family had their names read, but the program had the names of all the people Hospice helped who died in June through September. The length of that list was overwhelming. This was another service where I thought I might go to pieces, but I stayed calm and shed only a tear or two. I was glad to discover that the woman who assists at my support group was assigned to read Ed's name--I knew she would pronounce Giesman correctly, and for good measure, she showed me that someone had typed the phonetic spelling on her notes to make sure the name was pronounced correctly. I also spoke with several people from the support group before the service began, and it felt good to go somewhere in Columbus and actually know some people, even if it was our sad circumstances that got us acquainted.
Before I left for my latest Iowa trip (more on that in a bit), I got an invitation from Sunset Cemetery to attend a memorial service December 10 at their chapel. I will go to that one, too. As a remembrance, the cemetery will provide an ornament that says "In remembrance of Ed Giesman." I might have passed up going to this service because I get too keyed up anticipating these events, but Ed and I always bought Christmas ornaments as mementos of every place we visited and so I'm drawn to the idea of having this ornament.
I flew to Iowa Saturday, November 3, for a quick visit, flew back November 7. Melissa's workmates held a shower for her and Will on Sunday, and on Monday we three went shopping. Will is now 12 pounds, responding with smiles, and looking a little more like Melissa did as a baby around the eyes, I think. I enjoyed a little time out with Mark's parents after church on Sunday, too, so my few days there were busy. Next trip--December 24.
I'm still deciding what to do about Thanksgiving. My sister has invited me as has Debbie. I'm currently doing the rounds of doctors for my 6-month follow-ups of my own health issues. I'm back to work on the November SAT essays until the 20th (unless they get finished early). I'm ignoring my paperwork stacks on the kitchen counter because of these other things going on, so I feel a little guilty about that. I'm very concerned about Ed's brother Bob's deteriorating health. Part of me just wants to stay home alone on Thanksgiving and not think about or do anything. I had hoped that the "Dealing with the Holidays" workshop we did Wednesday evening at the support group session would give me some insight, but the only thing I got out of the session was to recognize the conflict created by the emotions and reactions that grief causes versus the expected holiday-time emotions and attitudes. So much of the counseling stresses doing what you think is best for yourself when making any decision, but I don't see how I can ignore other people's feelings about or reactions to the decisions I make. How to handle the holidays is just one dilemma out of a long list.
This afternoon, I attended a memorial service sponsored by the Hospice that helped take care of Ed. Joining me were David, Debbie, and Becky. It was a simple service with soft music, brief but meaningful readings, and a focus on reading the names of the deceased and presenting a carnation to a family member (in our case, to me). Only those represented by family had their names read, but the program had the names of all the people Hospice helped who died in June through September. The length of that list was overwhelming. This was another service where I thought I might go to pieces, but I stayed calm and shed only a tear or two. I was glad to discover that the woman who assists at my support group was assigned to read Ed's name--I knew she would pronounce Giesman correctly, and for good measure, she showed me that someone had typed the phonetic spelling on her notes to make sure the name was pronounced correctly. I also spoke with several people from the support group before the service began, and it felt good to go somewhere in Columbus and actually know some people, even if it was our sad circumstances that got us acquainted.
Before I left for my latest Iowa trip (more on that in a bit), I got an invitation from Sunset Cemetery to attend a memorial service December 10 at their chapel. I will go to that one, too. As a remembrance, the cemetery will provide an ornament that says "In remembrance of Ed Giesman." I might have passed up going to this service because I get too keyed up anticipating these events, but Ed and I always bought Christmas ornaments as mementos of every place we visited and so I'm drawn to the idea of having this ornament.
I flew to Iowa Saturday, November 3, for a quick visit, flew back November 7. Melissa's workmates held a shower for her and Will on Sunday, and on Monday we three went shopping. Will is now 12 pounds, responding with smiles, and looking a little more like Melissa did as a baby around the eyes, I think. I enjoyed a little time out with Mark's parents after church on Sunday, too, so my few days there were busy. Next trip--December 24.
I'm still deciding what to do about Thanksgiving. My sister has invited me as has Debbie. I'm currently doing the rounds of doctors for my 6-month follow-ups of my own health issues. I'm back to work on the November SAT essays until the 20th (unless they get finished early). I'm ignoring my paperwork stacks on the kitchen counter because of these other things going on, so I feel a little guilty about that. I'm very concerned about Ed's brother Bob's deteriorating health. Part of me just wants to stay home alone on Thanksgiving and not think about or do anything. I had hoped that the "Dealing with the Holidays" workshop we did Wednesday evening at the support group session would give me some insight, but the only thing I got out of the session was to recognize the conflict created by the emotions and reactions that grief causes versus the expected holiday-time emotions and attitudes. So much of the counseling stresses doing what you think is best for yourself when making any decision, but I don't see how I can ignore other people's feelings about or reactions to the decisions I make. How to handle the holidays is just one dilemma out of a long list.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Marker in place
On Thursday, October 18, Ed's grave marker from the Veterans Administration was installed. The cemetery called me Friday at noon to tell me, and I immediately went to the cemetery to see it. I had been dreading this day but upon seeing it, instead of feeling dread and becoming hysterical as I thought might happen, I felt a sense of peace and calmness. I shed only a few tears at the sight. It was just as I had ordered it, simple and dignified, showing his name, rank and branch of service, birth and death dates, and a cross. It's a dark brown bronze with a simple raised design around the edges lightly brushed with a dark gold coloring, the same coloring that is used for the raised lettering. The marker sits on a light gray granite slab that is more than double the width of the marker, which sits on the left side of the granite. In the center of the granite is a dark bronze flower holder, which also has a cross on it. It just so happened that there were two red roses blooming on our garden rose bush that has hardly produced anything all summer following the harsh spring we had, and I clipped them before I left and put them in the flower holder. The right side of the granite has nothing on it, at my request. Normally, people buy both plaques at the same time when they buy two cemetery lots and have all the information put on the survivor's plaque as well, leaving only the date of death to be added; I chose not to do that. At the time I was ordering the marker, I recognized that it could be many years until my death (after all my father lived to be 80, my mother is 82, and I have aunts who lived into their 90s), and who knows what or where I'll be then. So I told the kids that if something happens to me within the next few years, my burial place is set; but if, God forbid, something happens to one of them and their family wants it, the space can be available to them.
I first left for the cemetery immediately after getting the phone call, literally grabbed my purse and jumped into the car and took off. I got about a half mile from the house when I remembered that there would be a flower holder to fill, so I turned around and came back--not as quickly as getting that far because I had to wait for a train to pass. That gave me time to get my head straight. I thought about asking someone to go with me, about taking a small flag and how to secure it in the holder. But when I pulled back into the driveway, those two red roses caught my eye. Then as I scurried around getting the roses cut and into stem holders and gathered some options for keeping them secured in the bronze holder since it has been so windy, I decided that this was something I wanted to do alone. Wednesday evening at the support group (another set of weekly sessions is in progress, this time right up until Christmas), the guy who bought my car told the group that his wife's headstone had been installed that day and he was ecstatic when he saw it. I didn't understand how he could feel ecstatic, but I thought maybe by going alone to the cemetery, I could just let myself feel whatever feeling came over me. As I said, I felt peaceful. Then, typical of me I suppose, I started to clean off the plaque because it had some dust spots on it. As windy as it was, it may be that the rose petals were blown off before the day was over, but I'm glad the first roses in the holder were from our garden.
I've been having a rough week emotion-wise, actually since Thursday of last week. My support group reminded me that the ups and downs of grieving can go on for a long time and it's only been 4 months, that this is one of those down times. One other thing that happened during the group session was more of a revelation to me. A new participant sitting next to me talked about how she was trying to find her identity after being caretaker and best friend to her 29-year-old daughter, who died after a long illness. That word "identity" jolted me. That is the subject of the SAT essays I'm working on. I started back to grading essays Thursday of last week. Frequently I've been bursting into tears in the middle of reading an essay but haven't found any particular idea I'm reading to be a trigger. After her comment it hit me--I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner--that, like anyone else who lost a spouse or someone close to them, I am re-defining my identity as I have to take care of things that Ed used to do and as I think about what my future holds. The future is not something I face easily. As the group re-convened after a break, another member wanted to continue to talk about re-defining yourself. After a few comments, I told the group about my revelation, that these identity essays must be getting to my subconscious mind, reminding me that I have a lot to figure out for myself. The two facilitators were nodding their heads so vigorously that they looked like bobble-head dolls. That must have been some kind of breakthrough for me because on Thursday of this week when I sat down to work on essays, I didn't cry but for one moment, and I didn't cry at all on Friday as I worked on them.
You might notice what time it is that I am writing this. I've been up since 3:30 a.m. with thoughts of Ed jumbling up in my mind. Usually I just talk out loud to him to get myself "unjumbled." This time I thought if I wrote this blog, maybe I could get back to sleep more easily. By the way, in my last blog I couldn't remember what Melissa's old car was. It just came to me, a 1999 Grand Prix. What turns the mind takes!
I first left for the cemetery immediately after getting the phone call, literally grabbed my purse and jumped into the car and took off. I got about a half mile from the house when I remembered that there would be a flower holder to fill, so I turned around and came back--not as quickly as getting that far because I had to wait for a train to pass. That gave me time to get my head straight. I thought about asking someone to go with me, about taking a small flag and how to secure it in the holder. But when I pulled back into the driveway, those two red roses caught my eye. Then as I scurried around getting the roses cut and into stem holders and gathered some options for keeping them secured in the bronze holder since it has been so windy, I decided that this was something I wanted to do alone. Wednesday evening at the support group (another set of weekly sessions is in progress, this time right up until Christmas), the guy who bought my car told the group that his wife's headstone had been installed that day and he was ecstatic when he saw it. I didn't understand how he could feel ecstatic, but I thought maybe by going alone to the cemetery, I could just let myself feel whatever feeling came over me. As I said, I felt peaceful. Then, typical of me I suppose, I started to clean off the plaque because it had some dust spots on it. As windy as it was, it may be that the rose petals were blown off before the day was over, but I'm glad the first roses in the holder were from our garden.
I've been having a rough week emotion-wise, actually since Thursday of last week. My support group reminded me that the ups and downs of grieving can go on for a long time and it's only been 4 months, that this is one of those down times. One other thing that happened during the group session was more of a revelation to me. A new participant sitting next to me talked about how she was trying to find her identity after being caretaker and best friend to her 29-year-old daughter, who died after a long illness. That word "identity" jolted me. That is the subject of the SAT essays I'm working on. I started back to grading essays Thursday of last week. Frequently I've been bursting into tears in the middle of reading an essay but haven't found any particular idea I'm reading to be a trigger. After her comment it hit me--I can't believe I didn't realize this sooner--that, like anyone else who lost a spouse or someone close to them, I am re-defining my identity as I have to take care of things that Ed used to do and as I think about what my future holds. The future is not something I face easily. As the group re-convened after a break, another member wanted to continue to talk about re-defining yourself. After a few comments, I told the group about my revelation, that these identity essays must be getting to my subconscious mind, reminding me that I have a lot to figure out for myself. The two facilitators were nodding their heads so vigorously that they looked like bobble-head dolls. That must have been some kind of breakthrough for me because on Thursday of this week when I sat down to work on essays, I didn't cry but for one moment, and I didn't cry at all on Friday as I worked on them.
You might notice what time it is that I am writing this. I've been up since 3:30 a.m. with thoughts of Ed jumbling up in my mind. Usually I just talk out loud to him to get myself "unjumbled." This time I thought if I wrote this blog, maybe I could get back to sleep more easily. By the way, in my last blog I couldn't remember what Melissa's old car was. It just came to me, a 1999 Grand Prix. What turns the mind takes!
Friday, October 12, 2007
Back from trip, back to work, and baby update
Driving to Iowa on Sept. 26 and back on Oct. 9 turned out to be no problem for me. Once again I surprised myself with how easily I handled it with few breaks and no naps along the way. My days at Melissa and Mark's were filled with doing things around their house so that they could concentrate on the baby. I had my turns with Will, of course. A few people have asked me how it feels to be a grandmother, and I have honestly answered that it hasn't really sunk in yet. Perhaps because Will is such a good baby and his parents are doing so well with him, I find myself thinking--and worrying--about Melissa's recovery more than about the baby. Her blood sugars have been all over the place, and she has experienced some really high blood sugars that plummet so low so quickly that she breaks out into a sweat and feels ill. That scares her and me.
Because of that and because I kept finding more things I could do around the house, I never did drive over to Des Moines to see friends. I didn't make it to tailgating with friends in Iowa City either before the football game on Sept. 29. That was because I was up until 2 a.m. after Will's birth, so getting up early and driving with the football crowd to Iowa City and finding parking and walking to the tailgate spot just didn't happen. I did, however, take a drive Sunday afternoon by myself to see North Liberty and to find the Pearson building in Coralville, which is where I call into when I have a work question. Melissa has been suggesting that the fast-growing North Liberty would be a good place for me to move to--not so close to her that I'd just drop in but close enough to be there quickly if need be. I also drove around the west side of Cedar Rapids after church on Sunday to see how it's grown since I lived there back in 1976-77. Both places have spread out and are continuing to grow, but neither gave me the feeling that I "belong" there. I have thought that if a full-time job at Pearson were available to me, I'd have a reason to move back to Iowa and locate in the Iowa City-Cedar Rapids area. Everyone who talks to me about moving assumes I will move back to Iowa to be closer to Melissa. She wants me to move somewhere closer, but at this point I don't have the energy to start all over someplace where I don't know anyone, and it really bothers me to depend on Melissa when she has so much to cope with herself. On the drive back, I listened to all the Chicagoland radio stations and thought about how much I liked working at Elgin Community College, singing with the Elgin Choral Union, and taking advantage of all Chicago offers (despite the high cost of living). In short, I'm not ready to make a decision about moving, mainly because even just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm abandoning Ed and our last home. Wow, that's some pretty heavy thinking I just shared!
Planning my travel around Pearson's work requirements worked out fine. I did the new software download and computer check before I left; did my training on Oct. 10, the last available day for it; and started grading SAT essays yesterday. I'll be working every day for 12 or 13 days. I considered going back to Iowa after that and before the next scoring session begins, especially if Melissa could use some help. But for right now I have no concrete plans about when I will next make the trip (except I do know I will fly, not drive).
Will had his first doctor checkup yesterday; he is doing well. He now weighs 9 pounds 14 ounces, is 22 inches long. Before I left, he developed more than the usual "eye gunk" around his left eye that also started to appear around his right eye. The doctor suspects a very minor eye infection, not unusual in newborns, which is being treated with some sort of oil that Melissa puts on his lids and eyelashes 3 times a day, which then works its way to the eye as he opens and closes. Last night she reported his eyes already were looking better. They have the go-ahead to introduce a bottle (she started pumping several days ago). Will seems to want to feed off and on for hours, alternating with a little sleep (called cluster feeding), and letting you know with his wailing that he's ready to eat again (hence, I call him our own William, Prince of Wails). Unfortunately, his favorite time to do that is around 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., not good for Mark getting enough sleep to function well at work. So they will try to get him to move that cluster feeding to earlier in the evening and, at the doctor's suggestion, also use some formula at night so he feels fuller for a longer time.
The other news is that yesterday Melissa and Mark bought a 2008 Toyota RAV 4. A friend who works at the dealership got them a good deal. It's silver with gray interior. What a difference in roominess and ride compared with Melissa's 1999--I just blanked on what car she had, and Ed and I even bought it for her in Elgin, IL.
Ending this blog with a fact I can't bring to mind does not bode well for focusing on essays today. Let's hope some coffee and breakfast gets my mind working better.
Because of that and because I kept finding more things I could do around the house, I never did drive over to Des Moines to see friends. I didn't make it to tailgating with friends in Iowa City either before the football game on Sept. 29. That was because I was up until 2 a.m. after Will's birth, so getting up early and driving with the football crowd to Iowa City and finding parking and walking to the tailgate spot just didn't happen. I did, however, take a drive Sunday afternoon by myself to see North Liberty and to find the Pearson building in Coralville, which is where I call into when I have a work question. Melissa has been suggesting that the fast-growing North Liberty would be a good place for me to move to--not so close to her that I'd just drop in but close enough to be there quickly if need be. I also drove around the west side of Cedar Rapids after church on Sunday to see how it's grown since I lived there back in 1976-77. Both places have spread out and are continuing to grow, but neither gave me the feeling that I "belong" there. I have thought that if a full-time job at Pearson were available to me, I'd have a reason to move back to Iowa and locate in the Iowa City-Cedar Rapids area. Everyone who talks to me about moving assumes I will move back to Iowa to be closer to Melissa. She wants me to move somewhere closer, but at this point I don't have the energy to start all over someplace where I don't know anyone, and it really bothers me to depend on Melissa when she has so much to cope with herself. On the drive back, I listened to all the Chicagoland radio stations and thought about how much I liked working at Elgin Community College, singing with the Elgin Choral Union, and taking advantage of all Chicago offers (despite the high cost of living). In short, I'm not ready to make a decision about moving, mainly because even just thinking about it makes me feel like I'm abandoning Ed and our last home. Wow, that's some pretty heavy thinking I just shared!
Planning my travel around Pearson's work requirements worked out fine. I did the new software download and computer check before I left; did my training on Oct. 10, the last available day for it; and started grading SAT essays yesterday. I'll be working every day for 12 or 13 days. I considered going back to Iowa after that and before the next scoring session begins, especially if Melissa could use some help. But for right now I have no concrete plans about when I will next make the trip (except I do know I will fly, not drive).
Will had his first doctor checkup yesterday; he is doing well. He now weighs 9 pounds 14 ounces, is 22 inches long. Before I left, he developed more than the usual "eye gunk" around his left eye that also started to appear around his right eye. The doctor suspects a very minor eye infection, not unusual in newborns, which is being treated with some sort of oil that Melissa puts on his lids and eyelashes 3 times a day, which then works its way to the eye as he opens and closes. Last night she reported his eyes already were looking better. They have the go-ahead to introduce a bottle (she started pumping several days ago). Will seems to want to feed off and on for hours, alternating with a little sleep (called cluster feeding), and letting you know with his wailing that he's ready to eat again (hence, I call him our own William, Prince of Wails). Unfortunately, his favorite time to do that is around 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., not good for Mark getting enough sleep to function well at work. So they will try to get him to move that cluster feeding to earlier in the evening and, at the doctor's suggestion, also use some formula at night so he feels fuller for a longer time.
The other news is that yesterday Melissa and Mark bought a 2008 Toyota RAV 4. A friend who works at the dealership got them a good deal. It's silver with gray interior. What a difference in roominess and ride compared with Melissa's 1999--I just blanked on what car she had, and Ed and I even bought it for her in Elgin, IL.
Ending this blog with a fact I can't bring to mind does not bode well for focusing on essays today. Let's hope some coffee and breakfast gets my mind working better.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
It's a boy!
William James Wehr--to be known as Will
Born 10:36 p.m. Central time, Friday, September 28, 2007
9 pounds, 8 ounces, 21 inches long
lots of hair the color of Melissa's
Melissa was admitted to Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids at 7:30 a.m. on Friday, Sept. 28, as planned. A nurse was with her practically non-stop from the time she was admitted. By 8:30 she was settled in a large birthing room, with IV drips of fluids, insulin, and an antibiotic (she tested positive for Group B strep, not uncommon in pregnant women). At 9:00 the oxytocin drip was started. She was almost at 3 cm dilated and she actually was already having contractions when she got to the hospital, but she never felt them; the monitors picked them up immediately. Once the oxytocin was on board, the pain increased and she began to realize she had more than a backache. Up until around 2 p.m., she had contractions but handled them well with her breathing technique and was laughing and talking in between them. Her Dad and Peggy and I were with her and Mark all morning, Mark's sister Michelle came around 11, Mark's mother Marna came around 1.
At 2:15 p.m. Melissa had a much stronger, more intense contraction. Then her eyes got really wide and she thought she had gone to the bathroom and was embarrassed. I said, "Are you sure it isn't something else like your water breaking?" and at that moment the gush came, and the nurse confirmed it at 2:17. Then 1 1/2 minutes later the doctor walked in, ready to break her water--too late, doc! Things picked up after that and at 4 p.m. Melissa said, "I'm going to start getting crabby now, so everybody has to leave." The waiting area was right by her room and the nurse's station, so we could easily see who was going in and out of her room with what additional bags of fluid or whatever. At 6:50 p.m., Mark came out and said Melissa was fully dilated and was going to start pushing, but the doctor had warned it could take 3 hours. We were all sure it wouldn't take that long, but after 3 hours, her nurse came out to the nurse's station and said, "We're calling it. We're going C-section." During the 3 hours of pushing, the baby had not made much progress.
Within 15 minutes, we saw the arrival of the anesthesiologist (Michelle, who works in Mercy's cath lab, said he was one of the best and frequently specifically requested), and the neonatologist (again, Michelle said he was the best, so she was very confident). A neonatologist is always called in for C-sections, and this doctor came all dressed up and had obviously not been in the hospital when he got the call. Within minutes of their arrival, Melissa was wheeled in her birthing bed into the nearby operating room, so she saw us all standing there and we waved to each other. At about 10:40 we saw the neonatologist leave the area and presumed from that that the baby was born and was fine. At 10:45, because the other parties with us in the waiting area happened to not be speaking at that moment, I could hear the intercom-like communication to the nurses station that said, "We have a little boy at 22:36." Then within seconds, the lullaby chimed throughout the floor, the signal that a baby had been born. I told everybody that was the confirmation and I was sure I heard that it was a boy. We all sat there tensely waiting for official word. A nurse came out to us with a big smile on her face and apologized for not being able to tell us anything because of HIPPA, but she would send Mark out. He came out 5 minutes later with the announcement. Earlier in the evening, we all speculated about how Mark would look and what he would say at that moment. He had a slight smile on his face but was obviously exhausted himself, and as soon as I heard his voice I heard mostly concern and only a little relief. It took a minute for the happiness to come through.
In the operating room, Melissa opted not to be totally knocked out for the C-section but only have a spinal that would leave her alert, basically numbing only her lower half. However, that went slightly abnormally. The epidural she had had worked completely on her left side and only partially on her right side. She had been given a bolus epidural, but that didn't take on the right either, and then the spinal on top of that "traveled" too far up her spine so that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She panicked. They tried first the nasal canula to get her some oxygen, but she was really "freaking out" that she couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist tried to talk her down but had to go to the hand-pumped oxygen because she said she couldn't feel any air in her lungs. Mark was very worried about her. As soon as they got the baby out and she saw him and held him for a second, the anesthesiologist sedated her so that she slept for about 20 minutes. He told her when she woke up she wouldn't have that feeling of not being able to breathe--and that's how it worked out. The baby was given a bottle and breast fed a little while still in the operating room. His first blood sugar reading was good enough that he could stay with Melissa and Mark rather than go to the NICU as was originally expected. At midnight, the new family finally got to go back to the birthing room and we finally got to get a glance at them. At 12:15 a.m., we were allowed in the room for a few minutes.
Mark held the baby with confidence and pride. Melissa looked totally exhausted but was smiling. The baby is BIG! At 9 pounds, 8 ounces, he has almost already outgrown the newborn diaper size. Because he is so long, he doesn't look like a pudgy baby. Melissa was surprised he has so much hair. Mark is glad it's her color and not his. We had all speculated earlier in the day that this baby would have to be a redhead because so much red hair runs through both families.
Melissa just called at 9 this morning. She didn't sleep well after we left because she kept waking up and looking to make sure Will was breathing. He has had several more blood sugar readings and they have been going up and down pretty much parallelling his feeding cycle. A pediatrician from the practice they'll be going to examined him this morning and said all is fine. Melissa and Mark are both very tired. Her blood sugar is running high, so a doctor from her internist's practice will be seeing her this morning to work out what to do for her insulin--either keep her on a drip or put her back on her pump are the two most likely choices. The anesthesiologist came to see them at 7 this morning. Melissa thanked him for all he did because he really worked at keeping her calm and reassured, but she thinks he is upset at the way things went last night. He told them her breathing panic was not normal, that that effect of the spinal was never supposed to happen. He gave them great detail about what happened within her body and reassured her there will be no aftereffects. She is only just now beginning to feel pain from the C-section incision, but she's been told she will get pain medication, she just doesn't know when that will start. She and Mark are going to try to get some more sleep this morning, so I hope they'll get the chance. There are a lot of people who want to hear all the news and talk with them, and of course there will be a steady parade of friends wanting to visit.
I was calm throughout the morning and afternoon in Melissa's birthing room and in the waiting area and took frequent walks around the hospital to give them some space. Once she started pushing, I got more tense. As those 3 hours wore on, I got more and more scared for them. During the C-section, I was constantly having to hold back tears and was totally wound up with fright. Overhearing that nurse's communication from the operating room was when I could finally breathe more normally again. Then with Mark's quick summary of what happened in the operating room, I tensed up all over again until I could see Melissa for myself. During the entire day yesterday, Ed's wedding ring, which I wear on my right hand, never before got such a workout of squeezing and twisting and rubbing.
Because of how late it was in the Eastern time zone when we finally had concrete word about Will, I called only my sister and Ed's daughter Judi (who had called several times during the evening for updates). Before I went to bed at 2 a.m., I e-mailed neice Pat, cousins Carole and Dot, and neighbor Bill Morgan. So that should start the word spreading. Now this morning I have the happy chore of calling and e-mailing more people with the news. I called my mother already--though I'm not sure she really absorbed all the details I gave her--and already got a call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was sure that baby had to be here by now. As a flight attendant, she sometimes is assigned a flight to Cedar Rapids and sometimes is here even overnight. From her comments about already having a baby gift for Will, I'm guessing this new baby is getting something Iowa Hawkeyes from her, and she says she may even try to visit when she has an overnight in Cedar Rapids. Even though sometimes I yell at God for what happened to this family this year, I also thank Him for such good neighbors and friends and for the blessings of family.
Born 10:36 p.m. Central time, Friday, September 28, 2007
9 pounds, 8 ounces, 21 inches long
lots of hair the color of Melissa's
Melissa was admitted to Mercy Hospital in Cedar Rapids at 7:30 a.m. on Friday, Sept. 28, as planned. A nurse was with her practically non-stop from the time she was admitted. By 8:30 she was settled in a large birthing room, with IV drips of fluids, insulin, and an antibiotic (she tested positive for Group B strep, not uncommon in pregnant women). At 9:00 the oxytocin drip was started. She was almost at 3 cm dilated and she actually was already having contractions when she got to the hospital, but she never felt them; the monitors picked them up immediately. Once the oxytocin was on board, the pain increased and she began to realize she had more than a backache. Up until around 2 p.m., she had contractions but handled them well with her breathing technique and was laughing and talking in between them. Her Dad and Peggy and I were with her and Mark all morning, Mark's sister Michelle came around 11, Mark's mother Marna came around 1.
At 2:15 p.m. Melissa had a much stronger, more intense contraction. Then her eyes got really wide and she thought she had gone to the bathroom and was embarrassed. I said, "Are you sure it isn't something else like your water breaking?" and at that moment the gush came, and the nurse confirmed it at 2:17. Then 1 1/2 minutes later the doctor walked in, ready to break her water--too late, doc! Things picked up after that and at 4 p.m. Melissa said, "I'm going to start getting crabby now, so everybody has to leave." The waiting area was right by her room and the nurse's station, so we could easily see who was going in and out of her room with what additional bags of fluid or whatever. At 6:50 p.m., Mark came out and said Melissa was fully dilated and was going to start pushing, but the doctor had warned it could take 3 hours. We were all sure it wouldn't take that long, but after 3 hours, her nurse came out to the nurse's station and said, "We're calling it. We're going C-section." During the 3 hours of pushing, the baby had not made much progress.
Within 15 minutes, we saw the arrival of the anesthesiologist (Michelle, who works in Mercy's cath lab, said he was one of the best and frequently specifically requested), and the neonatologist (again, Michelle said he was the best, so she was very confident). A neonatologist is always called in for C-sections, and this doctor came all dressed up and had obviously not been in the hospital when he got the call. Within minutes of their arrival, Melissa was wheeled in her birthing bed into the nearby operating room, so she saw us all standing there and we waved to each other. At about 10:40 we saw the neonatologist leave the area and presumed from that that the baby was born and was fine. At 10:45, because the other parties with us in the waiting area happened to not be speaking at that moment, I could hear the intercom-like communication to the nurses station that said, "We have a little boy at 22:36." Then within seconds, the lullaby chimed throughout the floor, the signal that a baby had been born. I told everybody that was the confirmation and I was sure I heard that it was a boy. We all sat there tensely waiting for official word. A nurse came out to us with a big smile on her face and apologized for not being able to tell us anything because of HIPPA, but she would send Mark out. He came out 5 minutes later with the announcement. Earlier in the evening, we all speculated about how Mark would look and what he would say at that moment. He had a slight smile on his face but was obviously exhausted himself, and as soon as I heard his voice I heard mostly concern and only a little relief. It took a minute for the happiness to come through.
In the operating room, Melissa opted not to be totally knocked out for the C-section but only have a spinal that would leave her alert, basically numbing only her lower half. However, that went slightly abnormally. The epidural she had had worked completely on her left side and only partially on her right side. She had been given a bolus epidural, but that didn't take on the right either, and then the spinal on top of that "traveled" too far up her spine so that she felt like she couldn't breathe. She panicked. They tried first the nasal canula to get her some oxygen, but she was really "freaking out" that she couldn't breathe. The anesthesiologist tried to talk her down but had to go to the hand-pumped oxygen because she said she couldn't feel any air in her lungs. Mark was very worried about her. As soon as they got the baby out and she saw him and held him for a second, the anesthesiologist sedated her so that she slept for about 20 minutes. He told her when she woke up she wouldn't have that feeling of not being able to breathe--and that's how it worked out. The baby was given a bottle and breast fed a little while still in the operating room. His first blood sugar reading was good enough that he could stay with Melissa and Mark rather than go to the NICU as was originally expected. At midnight, the new family finally got to go back to the birthing room and we finally got to get a glance at them. At 12:15 a.m., we were allowed in the room for a few minutes.
Mark held the baby with confidence and pride. Melissa looked totally exhausted but was smiling. The baby is BIG! At 9 pounds, 8 ounces, he has almost already outgrown the newborn diaper size. Because he is so long, he doesn't look like a pudgy baby. Melissa was surprised he has so much hair. Mark is glad it's her color and not his. We had all speculated earlier in the day that this baby would have to be a redhead because so much red hair runs through both families.
Melissa just called at 9 this morning. She didn't sleep well after we left because she kept waking up and looking to make sure Will was breathing. He has had several more blood sugar readings and they have been going up and down pretty much parallelling his feeding cycle. A pediatrician from the practice they'll be going to examined him this morning and said all is fine. Melissa and Mark are both very tired. Her blood sugar is running high, so a doctor from her internist's practice will be seeing her this morning to work out what to do for her insulin--either keep her on a drip or put her back on her pump are the two most likely choices. The anesthesiologist came to see them at 7 this morning. Melissa thanked him for all he did because he really worked at keeping her calm and reassured, but she thinks he is upset at the way things went last night. He told them her breathing panic was not normal, that that effect of the spinal was never supposed to happen. He gave them great detail about what happened within her body and reassured her there will be no aftereffects. She is only just now beginning to feel pain from the C-section incision, but she's been told she will get pain medication, she just doesn't know when that will start. She and Mark are going to try to get some more sleep this morning, so I hope they'll get the chance. There are a lot of people who want to hear all the news and talk with them, and of course there will be a steady parade of friends wanting to visit.
I was calm throughout the morning and afternoon in Melissa's birthing room and in the waiting area and took frequent walks around the hospital to give them some space. Once she started pushing, I got more tense. As those 3 hours wore on, I got more and more scared for them. During the C-section, I was constantly having to hold back tears and was totally wound up with fright. Overhearing that nurse's communication from the operating room was when I could finally breathe more normally again. Then with Mark's quick summary of what happened in the operating room, I tensed up all over again until I could see Melissa for myself. During the entire day yesterday, Ed's wedding ring, which I wear on my right hand, never before got such a workout of squeezing and twisting and rubbing.
Because of how late it was in the Eastern time zone when we finally had concrete word about Will, I called only my sister and Ed's daughter Judi (who had called several times during the evening for updates). Before I went to bed at 2 a.m., I e-mailed neice Pat, cousins Carole and Dot, and neighbor Bill Morgan. So that should start the word spreading. Now this morning I have the happy chore of calling and e-mailing more people with the news. I called my mother already--though I'm not sure she really absorbed all the details I gave her--and already got a call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was sure that baby had to be here by now. As a flight attendant, she sometimes is assigned a flight to Cedar Rapids and sometimes is here even overnight. From her comments about already having a baby gift for Will, I'm guessing this new baby is getting something Iowa Hawkeyes from her, and she says she may even try to visit when she has an overnight in Cedar Rapids. Even though sometimes I yell at God for what happened to this family this year, I also thank Him for such good neighbors and friends and for the blessings of family.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The new addition will soon be here
Tomorrow is the day Melissa will be induced. Perhaps before day's end tomorrow there will be a new life in this world--and doesn't she and all of us hope this won't be two days of labor! This is supposed to be a time of excitement and anticipation, and to some degree for me, it is. But it is an unusual mix of other emotions for me as well. Mark used the phrase "lack of spontaneity" tonight when I was trying to express how different this experience seemed. There's no surprise element of going into labor, though the big surprise will be to find out the sex of this child. I suppose the list-making Ed was always doing and the organizing gene I seem to have passed on to Melissa would say that it's appropriate to have the birth planned like this, right down to the list of who is going to call whom with the news. My excitement is tempered, however. I'm worried about Melissa and the baby, how she will bear up especially if it's a long labor, how the doctors will keep her blood sugar under control during labor and afterwards, whether there will be any ill effects on the baby from having a diabetic mother, how easily and quickly she and the baby will recover. Melissa has taken such good care of herself throughout her pregnancy and has had good medical care, so I shouldn't worry so much, but I have been and am still worrying. Then I think so much about Ed not being here to share this experience with me. Sure, he had many grandchildren, most of them born after we met. So I know his elation at each one's birth. But I think the birth of this baby would have been different for us. Perhaps that is self-centered thinking, but we talked so much about this baby in the first few months of this year, not just with each other but with Melissa, and that didn't happen while we awaited the births of his grandchildren. Back in the spring, I prayed so hard that medical intervention would stem Ed's cancer long enough for him to feel good and be able to be here in Iowa for this birth and to get to know this baby. I feel like we were cheated out of this happiness, and I'm sometimes angry about that as well as so sad about it. I'm sure this mix of emotions will still be within me as this child is born, but I hope the joy will take over so I can share in Melissa and Mark's happiness.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Thinking about changes
Today I was thinking about all the changes that have occurred in my life in 2007 so far. It's rather overwhelming. Some are minor changes, but obviously others were and are major and are influencing the course of my life.
Maybe I got to thinking about such things because I sold my car today. I loved my Buick from the first time I saw it and drove it--I especially loved the sun roof. But practicality said that keeping two cars was ridiculous from an expense standpoint, and mine was a 1999 versus Ed's 2006 Buick, so mine was the one to go. It was surprisingly easy to find a buyer--it's a guy from my support group. During one recent meeting we all started talking about our frustrations with so much paperwork involved in settling an estate, not feeling up to dealing with auto service and plumbers and other household things, not knowing what to do with excess cars. I jumped in and said that I had a car that I'd probably be selling, and people started asking me about it. The group facilitator wasn't too happy with the way the discussion was going and told us to take our swap meet to the lobby during the break. I had been putting off going to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to change the titles on both cars from our two names to just my name. Then, I had motivation to get that done. The guy sitting next to me at group asked me about the car during the break. He looked at it last week before group and brought his daughter to see and drive it on Sunday. He thought my asking price was fair--I showed him the Kelly Blue Book and the NADA values for a private sale. (Undoubtedly, Ed would say I didn't ask enough since the sale went so easily, but he'd say it with a smile.) Then tonight the guy brought me the check, and his daughter drove off with a big smile on her face. So what Melissa referred to as my "old lady car" is now proudly driven by a rather young lady. Ironically, at last week's support group during the break, a woman asked me whether my car was still for sale. Her husband might be interested, she said. So I even had a backup possible sale.
Two weeks ago I had a new roof put on the house. I know some people say not to make major decisions for a year after you lose someone, but since May I have been dealing with the insurance company about probable hail damage to the roof from a storm last fall. All my surrounding neighbors had their roofs replaced, paid for by their insurance companies. In May, Ed wasn't well enough to meet with any contractors, so I did with some help from my next-door neighbor, Bill Morgan. Despite having two go-rounds with two different insurance adjusters, one in May and one in July, and having roofers try to make my case to them as well, State Farm would not budge from the opinion that yes, there was hail damage to all the window screens and the roof ridge vent and the air conditioner fins, but there was no hail damage to the roof shingles. Ed and I had talked about replacing the roof a while ago because there were actually two different shingles up there--the original on the upper roof and a newer shingle on the lower roof as a result of a leak the original owner had, except the lower shingles were a different color. So considering that all the roofers who inspected the roof said the old shingles should be replaced and that my neighbors all had roof damage, I decided to replace the roof. I looked at the whole thing as an investment in selling the house in the future. Never did I foresee that some day I would have to handle this kind of situation.
Another major change coming up is the birth of Melissa and Mark's baby. Back in January when Melissa first told me she was pretty sure she was pregnant, Ed and I talked about how much more often we would travel to Iowa once the baby was born. His wish after retiring was to get back to where most of his kids and grandkids were, and that was why we moved to Columbus. He promised I would see this grandbaby as often as I wanted despite the distance. When we got his diagnosis, we talked about his fighting the cancer so that he could see "our newest grandchild." Ed was going to be "PaPaw," the name his first grandchild bestowed on him. I never had Ed's grandchildren call me "Grandma" but rather "Joni." This new baby, however, means I can't escape being called grandmother, or "Grammy" as I told Melissa and Mark.
So many other things are different about my life now. I hate being in church alone. I tried once to eat out alone but was totally uncomfortable. I have new acquaintances from the support group, but our bond is our sorrow and loneliness--not the way I would prefer to make friends. I'm so conscious of leaning on Melissa and my neighbors, and I try not to overdo that from their perspective. I feel like I have to think in terms of backup plans all the time--for instance, what I'd do if I locked myself out of the car or the house, what I will do if I get sick. The worst change to adjust to is not having anyone to talk with spontaneously and when there is a decision to be made. A handout from a workshop I went to on loneliness asked questions about "Who is your personal team?" It was supposed to be helpful in making me figure out who I can go to for help in a variety of areas both personal and financial, but the questions mostly pointed out to me that it takes at least 10 people to replace that one person that I relied on so much, and even 10 couldn't fill all the roles Ed was to me.
Tomorrow at the support group, we are to bring something that represents what our relationship was like with our loved one. When that was announced, I knew instantly what I would bring: the Ohio State and Penn State mascots and the picture of the cake from our picnic celebrating our wedding. The cake was decorated with "OSU" in red intertwined with "PSU" in blue. It also read, "Eat your heart out. We're married!" That's what our matching T-shirts said, too. Ed always got a laugh from people by telling them we had a "mixed marriage," and I'm sure everyone tomorrow evening will get a kick out of hearing that since they are mostly Buckeyes and they know I'm a Nittany Lion.
All this deep thinking about changes probably suggests I'm pretty much down in the dumps, but really I think I have been doing better for a couple of weeks now. I still cry but not as often and not with such gut-wrenching intensity. I'm sleeping a little better at night, sometimes even straight through for 6 hours. Once in a while, I can look at a picture of Ed and smile. I still feel the loneliness intensely and I miss Ed beyond all words, but I know I'm not the only one going through stuff like this. I guess those are all good things.
Maybe I got to thinking about such things because I sold my car today. I loved my Buick from the first time I saw it and drove it--I especially loved the sun roof. But practicality said that keeping two cars was ridiculous from an expense standpoint, and mine was a 1999 versus Ed's 2006 Buick, so mine was the one to go. It was surprisingly easy to find a buyer--it's a guy from my support group. During one recent meeting we all started talking about our frustrations with so much paperwork involved in settling an estate, not feeling up to dealing with auto service and plumbers and other household things, not knowing what to do with excess cars. I jumped in and said that I had a car that I'd probably be selling, and people started asking me about it. The group facilitator wasn't too happy with the way the discussion was going and told us to take our swap meet to the lobby during the break. I had been putting off going to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles to change the titles on both cars from our two names to just my name. Then, I had motivation to get that done. The guy sitting next to me at group asked me about the car during the break. He looked at it last week before group and brought his daughter to see and drive it on Sunday. He thought my asking price was fair--I showed him the Kelly Blue Book and the NADA values for a private sale. (Undoubtedly, Ed would say I didn't ask enough since the sale went so easily, but he'd say it with a smile.) Then tonight the guy brought me the check, and his daughter drove off with a big smile on her face. So what Melissa referred to as my "old lady car" is now proudly driven by a rather young lady. Ironically, at last week's support group during the break, a woman asked me whether my car was still for sale. Her husband might be interested, she said. So I even had a backup possible sale.
Two weeks ago I had a new roof put on the house. I know some people say not to make major decisions for a year after you lose someone, but since May I have been dealing with the insurance company about probable hail damage to the roof from a storm last fall. All my surrounding neighbors had their roofs replaced, paid for by their insurance companies. In May, Ed wasn't well enough to meet with any contractors, so I did with some help from my next-door neighbor, Bill Morgan. Despite having two go-rounds with two different insurance adjusters, one in May and one in July, and having roofers try to make my case to them as well, State Farm would not budge from the opinion that yes, there was hail damage to all the window screens and the roof ridge vent and the air conditioner fins, but there was no hail damage to the roof shingles. Ed and I had talked about replacing the roof a while ago because there were actually two different shingles up there--the original on the upper roof and a newer shingle on the lower roof as a result of a leak the original owner had, except the lower shingles were a different color. So considering that all the roofers who inspected the roof said the old shingles should be replaced and that my neighbors all had roof damage, I decided to replace the roof. I looked at the whole thing as an investment in selling the house in the future. Never did I foresee that some day I would have to handle this kind of situation.
Another major change coming up is the birth of Melissa and Mark's baby. Back in January when Melissa first told me she was pretty sure she was pregnant, Ed and I talked about how much more often we would travel to Iowa once the baby was born. His wish after retiring was to get back to where most of his kids and grandkids were, and that was why we moved to Columbus. He promised I would see this grandbaby as often as I wanted despite the distance. When we got his diagnosis, we talked about his fighting the cancer so that he could see "our newest grandchild." Ed was going to be "PaPaw," the name his first grandchild bestowed on him. I never had Ed's grandchildren call me "Grandma" but rather "Joni." This new baby, however, means I can't escape being called grandmother, or "Grammy" as I told Melissa and Mark.
So many other things are different about my life now. I hate being in church alone. I tried once to eat out alone but was totally uncomfortable. I have new acquaintances from the support group, but our bond is our sorrow and loneliness--not the way I would prefer to make friends. I'm so conscious of leaning on Melissa and my neighbors, and I try not to overdo that from their perspective. I feel like I have to think in terms of backup plans all the time--for instance, what I'd do if I locked myself out of the car or the house, what I will do if I get sick. The worst change to adjust to is not having anyone to talk with spontaneously and when there is a decision to be made. A handout from a workshop I went to on loneliness asked questions about "Who is your personal team?" It was supposed to be helpful in making me figure out who I can go to for help in a variety of areas both personal and financial, but the questions mostly pointed out to me that it takes at least 10 people to replace that one person that I relied on so much, and even 10 couldn't fill all the roles Ed was to me.
Tomorrow at the support group, we are to bring something that represents what our relationship was like with our loved one. When that was announced, I knew instantly what I would bring: the Ohio State and Penn State mascots and the picture of the cake from our picnic celebrating our wedding. The cake was decorated with "OSU" in red intertwined with "PSU" in blue. It also read, "Eat your heart out. We're married!" That's what our matching T-shirts said, too. Ed always got a laugh from people by telling them we had a "mixed marriage," and I'm sure everyone tomorrow evening will get a kick out of hearing that since they are mostly Buckeyes and they know I'm a Nittany Lion.
All this deep thinking about changes probably suggests I'm pretty much down in the dumps, but really I think I have been doing better for a couple of weeks now. I still cry but not as often and not with such gut-wrenching intensity. I'm sleeping a little better at night, sometimes even straight through for 6 hours. Once in a while, I can look at a picture of Ed and smile. I still feel the loneliness intensely and I miss Ed beyond all words, but I know I'm not the only one going through stuff like this. I guess those are all good things.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
College football season
Today is the start of the Big Ten college football season. As I heard all the hype the last two weeks, I thought that I couldn't bring myself to be interested in college football now. It was such a big deal to Ed, especially Ohio State football, and we literally planned our weekends around the televised games. We made a point of seeing every Ohio State and Penn State game on TV that we could, and since we moved to Columbus, we managed to see both teams in action in person a couple of times each season, both here in Columbus and in State College. Back in Iowa, our Penn State group was like family to us, and I've thought that if I had that closeness, then I could watch and enjoy a game. But I don't have that here.
I didn't really realize how much I was dreading the college football season until it hit me while at my support group Wednesday evening. There's no way to avoid Buckeye fanaticism around here, and I have lost my buffer. Any time I was in Penn State garb, Ed would be wearing Ohio State stuff--except when even he was showing his Penn State pride. I can't bring myself to decorate the living room windows with decals the way I used to, one window Ohio State and the other Penn State. The first year we moved here, that and the Go Bucks sign in the yard caught neighbors' attention as they walked by and usually they would comment. I wonder if anyone will notice the lack of school decor this season.
Neither the Penn State nor Ohio State games are on cable TV here, and I have no desire to go to the bar where the local Penn State alums are supposed to gather to watch via satellite. The place will undoubtedly be filled with Buckeyes because their game is at the same time as Penn State's and will be on most of the TVs at the bar. I guess I will force myself to watch at least some of the games that are on TV and see how it goes. Here's an odd thought: if someone cries over football, it's usually after a big loss, not before a game has started. Guess I'm an exception.
I didn't really realize how much I was dreading the college football season until it hit me while at my support group Wednesday evening. There's no way to avoid Buckeye fanaticism around here, and I have lost my buffer. Any time I was in Penn State garb, Ed would be wearing Ohio State stuff--except when even he was showing his Penn State pride. I can't bring myself to decorate the living room windows with decals the way I used to, one window Ohio State and the other Penn State. The first year we moved here, that and the Go Bucks sign in the yard caught neighbors' attention as they walked by and usually they would comment. I wonder if anyone will notice the lack of school decor this season.
Neither the Penn State nor Ohio State games are on cable TV here, and I have no desire to go to the bar where the local Penn State alums are supposed to gather to watch via satellite. The place will undoubtedly be filled with Buckeyes because their game is at the same time as Penn State's and will be on most of the TVs at the bar. I guess I will force myself to watch at least some of the games that are on TV and see how it goes. Here's an odd thought: if someone cries over football, it's usually after a big loss, not before a game has started. Guess I'm an exception.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Our Anniversary
Today, August 9, is our 21st wedding anniversary. I am writing this from Melissa and Mark's computer because this afternoon I flew to Cedar Rapids. Melissa's baby shower is Saturday, and Friday (tomorrow) I will paint the baby's room. As I planned this trip, I deliberately chose to come to Cedar Rapids today so that I would not be alone the entire day of our anniversary. I figured I would have the morning and part of the afternoon to be alone with my thoughts and memories and tears, to visit the cemetery and take Ed's favorite flower, a red rose, and then be distracted by the travel to get through the rest of the day. All that did happen, but much more happened that caused more tears but also was very comforting.
This morning I had a phone call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was recently widowed. She is spending 10 days in Florida with a friend and I have been looking after her house while she is gone. I thought she was calling just to see how everything was at her place, but she was also calling to see how I was. She remembered today is our anniversary. I was touched by her call and her concern, and she gave me words of encouragement that meant so much to me because of her own recent loss. Then I checked my e-mail and found a message of comfort and encouragement from Ed's daughter Sherry. Of course I cried even more all the way driving to the cemetery. When I got there, I found the most thoughtful, touching gesture that I never, ever expected. There was a bouquet of 21 beautiful red roses with ferns and baby's breath and a card that read "Thinking of you and Uncle Ed always." It was from Pat, Ed's niece. She knew I would be going to the cemetery, and she hoped finding the roses would be a comfort. I was so taken by this gift that I literally stopped crying. I was just that stunned. I called Pat when I got home, and she told me to think of those roses as coming from Ed because he would want me to have roses on our anniversary. It was just the most beautiful thing anyone could have done for me today. My neighbor Ann, who used to have her own floral business, gave me some special solution to dip the cut stems of the roses in that will help preserve them so they will still be beautiful when I get back Monday.
I had cried so much in the days leading up to today, just because I knew our anniversary was coming. I feel as though I've made it through this day the best I could. I'm determined to focus on the joys of the baby shower this weekend, just as my neighbor Sherry said I should.
I have now been to two support group sessions, called Steps Toward Healing, sponsored by the hospice that helped us. We meet Wednesday evenings for 8 weeks and can attend more sessions if we like. Those meetings seem to help even though only a few of the people have lost spouses; most have lost a parent, a few have lost a sibling. The issues that come up, though, have all been pertinent to me so far. It's helpful to hear how other people are dealing with their grief and loneliness as well as all the necessary things that have to be done to keep living life. I'm hopeful that I am taking the right steps to heal and be the person Ed wants me to be.
This morning I had a phone call from my next-door neighbor Sherry who was recently widowed. She is spending 10 days in Florida with a friend and I have been looking after her house while she is gone. I thought she was calling just to see how everything was at her place, but she was also calling to see how I was. She remembered today is our anniversary. I was touched by her call and her concern, and she gave me words of encouragement that meant so much to me because of her own recent loss. Then I checked my e-mail and found a message of comfort and encouragement from Ed's daughter Sherry. Of course I cried even more all the way driving to the cemetery. When I got there, I found the most thoughtful, touching gesture that I never, ever expected. There was a bouquet of 21 beautiful red roses with ferns and baby's breath and a card that read "Thinking of you and Uncle Ed always." It was from Pat, Ed's niece. She knew I would be going to the cemetery, and she hoped finding the roses would be a comfort. I was so taken by this gift that I literally stopped crying. I was just that stunned. I called Pat when I got home, and she told me to think of those roses as coming from Ed because he would want me to have roses on our anniversary. It was just the most beautiful thing anyone could have done for me today. My neighbor Ann, who used to have her own floral business, gave me some special solution to dip the cut stems of the roses in that will help preserve them so they will still be beautiful when I get back Monday.
I had cried so much in the days leading up to today, just because I knew our anniversary was coming. I feel as though I've made it through this day the best I could. I'm determined to focus on the joys of the baby shower this weekend, just as my neighbor Sherry said I should.
I have now been to two support group sessions, called Steps Toward Healing, sponsored by the hospice that helped us. We meet Wednesday evenings for 8 weeks and can attend more sessions if we like. Those meetings seem to help even though only a few of the people have lost spouses; most have lost a parent, a few have lost a sibling. The issues that come up, though, have all been pertinent to me so far. It's helpful to hear how other people are dealing with their grief and loneliness as well as all the necessary things that have to be done to keep living life. I'm hopeful that I am taking the right steps to heal and be the person Ed wants me to be.
Friday, July 20, 2007
5 weeks tomorrow
I have tried several times since Ed's birthday to write again in the blog. Each time I gave up because I didn't want to depress anybody who might read it. I wish I could say I'm doing well, but too often it doesn't feel that way. I chat with the neighbors and smile, but as soon as I step back inside the house--and sometimes before I make it in the door--the grief becomes overwhelming again. I went to the Getcy family reunion last weekend (my mother's side) and managed not to break down in front of anybody except in the wee hours of the morning in the hotel room Melissa and I shared. Ed didn't go with me to the last Getcy reunion 6 years ago because he had his own Runk family reunion to attend in Ohio on the same day. As I looked around at everybody, I realized that some of my relatives Ed never met in person, yet we looked at pictures together and talked about everyone in both our families so much that we both felt like we knew them all. Gathering with family was his favorite thing to do--even beyond going to an Ohio State football game, and that's saying a lot! So I went to the reunion just as we had planned to go, and I was glad to see everybody. Since getting back, though, I don't have as good a rein on my emotions as I did the past few weeks. I don't like to admit it because I know friends and family who read this will end up worrying about me, and I don't want to cause that worry.
I was just interrupted by the doorbell, and frankly I wasn't going to answer because I know my eyes must look awful right now. But I did force myself to answer, and I just received a delivery of the most beautiful rose bouquet from Tim and Becky Sheehan, cousins of mine (on my Dad's side) in Elmhurst, IL--a "thinking of you" bouquet. While I wrote the paragraph above, I could barely manage to write through my tears and sobs, but these flowers and the note have helped to quiet me, so maybe there's hope for a better rest of the day.
Each day I plan to take care of at least one and sometimes two or three major tasks related to our estate and finances, etc., but every time I think I'm making some headway, something more piles on. For a break each day, I try to do some outdoor activity to take care of the lawn and gardens, but sometimes that just makes me miss Ed even more because those are things we always did together. Yesterday, I found out that an acquaintance, the wife of one of Ed's Household work friends, died on May 21. This friend is a little farther along in handling the grief and loss than I am, so having him say the grief is a little more tolerable for him now is encouraging for me, but having to send him condolences in response to his sending me condolences just does not seem fair.
I guess there is some good news to report: Finally, after all these weeks of going to the chiropractor frequently, my back is in pretty good shape and the residual numbness I have had especially in my left leg has subsided to the point where I can now go back on my once-a-month-checkup chiropractic routine. Also, I made plane reservations to go to Cedar Rapids August 9-13 to attend Melissa's baby shower on August 11, with plans to also paint the baby's room while I'm there. So that is something to look forward to. At least I am able to end this entry on a more positive note and without tears.
I was just interrupted by the doorbell, and frankly I wasn't going to answer because I know my eyes must look awful right now. But I did force myself to answer, and I just received a delivery of the most beautiful rose bouquet from Tim and Becky Sheehan, cousins of mine (on my Dad's side) in Elmhurst, IL--a "thinking of you" bouquet. While I wrote the paragraph above, I could barely manage to write through my tears and sobs, but these flowers and the note have helped to quiet me, so maybe there's hope for a better rest of the day.
Each day I plan to take care of at least one and sometimes two or three major tasks related to our estate and finances, etc., but every time I think I'm making some headway, something more piles on. For a break each day, I try to do some outdoor activity to take care of the lawn and gardens, but sometimes that just makes me miss Ed even more because those are things we always did together. Yesterday, I found out that an acquaintance, the wife of one of Ed's Household work friends, died on May 21. This friend is a little farther along in handling the grief and loss than I am, so having him say the grief is a little more tolerable for him now is encouraging for me, but having to send him condolences in response to his sending me condolences just does not seem fair.
I guess there is some good news to report: Finally, after all these weeks of going to the chiropractor frequently, my back is in pretty good shape and the residual numbness I have had especially in my left leg has subsided to the point where I can now go back on my once-a-month-checkup chiropractic routine. Also, I made plane reservations to go to Cedar Rapids August 9-13 to attend Melissa's baby shower on August 11, with plans to also paint the baby's room while I'm there. So that is something to look forward to. At least I am able to end this entry on a more positive note and without tears.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
July 3, Ed's birthday
Today is Ed's 72nd birthday. From the very first day I met him, no one ever guessed his real age; everyone always thought he was younger, probably because of his zest for life, his ready smile, and the bounce in his step. Even when we had his 70th birthday party/family reunion two years ago, people couldn't believe he was really 70. Ed always said the Independence Day fireworks that were held on July 3 were really a celebration of his birthday. So, fittingly, I'm going with Debbie and Tom tonight to see Red, White, and Boom, the Columbus fireworks. We all went together last year to see them. In fact, I always suspected that Ed put off buying his new Buick until July 6 last year so that we still had the Buick that could hold six people, so that he and I and Debbie, Tom, Tommy and Annie could all go to the fireworks in one car.
I remember Ed bringing me and Melissa to Columbus for the July 4 holiday back in 1985. That was the first time we saw fireworks here. He really wanted to impress me, so he took us to the Upper Arlington 4th of July parade--with Woody Hayes as the Parade Marshall! It became a standing joke with us that I was supposed to be really impressed by seeing Woody in person, except I wasn't really. Attending that parade whenever we could was important to Ed, a tie back to happy times with his kids, some of whom now take their own kids (and grandkids in Judi's case) to the parade each year. I don't think I can handle going to that parade tomorrow, however.
I have had a rough time, almost non-stop, since Friday of last week. Everything little thing seems to trigger tears. I thought maybe writing in the blog again would help. I don't really want to spend Ed's whole birthday crying. I went to the cemetery this morning and left Ed's favorite flower, red roses, and one of the small flags he used to put in our garden on national holidays. His veteran's grave marker won't come for several weeks yet, so I thought this was a way to commemorate his birthday and the holiday he loved and mark his gravesite the way other veterans' sites are marked. I also spent some time this morning looking at old pictures. I don't know what else I can do to feel close to him, but I feel like I have to keep trying. I guess I've moved to that next stage where the grief is all-consuming.
To anyone who is reading this, I apologize if this seems overly sentimental or excessive in any way. Hospice sent me some materials about how to live with grief, and I'm trying to follow the suggestions. The first is acknowledging that you don't get over grief but learn to live with it. Writing this journal is supposed to be helpful, as is being with family and friends. The crying they say is a normal reaction and a healthy emotional release. The loneliness and depression have become more intense, just as the booklet said it would. They warn against using alcohol or drugs to cope because they tend to mask or prolong the grieving process; I never did fill the prescriptions my doctor gave me after Ed's diagnosis and I still won't. Talking with grief counselors is another suggestion. The next grief support group sponsored by Hospice starts August 1 and goes into mid-September, and I will probably participate. There are more suggestions that I'm not quite ready for yet. I am trying to be helpful, however, to my next-door neighbor. Butch has been battling pancreatic cancer for years, and he has finally made the decision not to have chemo anymore as his body has been so worn down by his past years of treatments, complicated by the fact that having his pancreas removed 6 years ago made him a diabetic. He and Sherry arranged for the same hospice group that Ed and I had. I am trying to give them the benefit of Ed's and my experience and trying to be supportive of them. While at first I thought this would only make me sadder, instead I do feel like I'm returning the favor of Butch's support of Ed from Ed's diagnosis on. I think helping Butch and Sherry and their family is what Ed would want me to do.
When I started writing this, I didn't think I'd have so much to say. I guess it is therapeutic to write. I just noticed that the blog site automatically adds a signature of "Posted by Ed/Joan" at the end of the message. I can't see where to change this to just my name, but maybe having Ed's name still on the blog is OK, another way to remember him.
I remember Ed bringing me and Melissa to Columbus for the July 4 holiday back in 1985. That was the first time we saw fireworks here. He really wanted to impress me, so he took us to the Upper Arlington 4th of July parade--with Woody Hayes as the Parade Marshall! It became a standing joke with us that I was supposed to be really impressed by seeing Woody in person, except I wasn't really. Attending that parade whenever we could was important to Ed, a tie back to happy times with his kids, some of whom now take their own kids (and grandkids in Judi's case) to the parade each year. I don't think I can handle going to that parade tomorrow, however.
I have had a rough time, almost non-stop, since Friday of last week. Everything little thing seems to trigger tears. I thought maybe writing in the blog again would help. I don't really want to spend Ed's whole birthday crying. I went to the cemetery this morning and left Ed's favorite flower, red roses, and one of the small flags he used to put in our garden on national holidays. His veteran's grave marker won't come for several weeks yet, so I thought this was a way to commemorate his birthday and the holiday he loved and mark his gravesite the way other veterans' sites are marked. I also spent some time this morning looking at old pictures. I don't know what else I can do to feel close to him, but I feel like I have to keep trying. I guess I've moved to that next stage where the grief is all-consuming.
To anyone who is reading this, I apologize if this seems overly sentimental or excessive in any way. Hospice sent me some materials about how to live with grief, and I'm trying to follow the suggestions. The first is acknowledging that you don't get over grief but learn to live with it. Writing this journal is supposed to be helpful, as is being with family and friends. The crying they say is a normal reaction and a healthy emotional release. The loneliness and depression have become more intense, just as the booklet said it would. They warn against using alcohol or drugs to cope because they tend to mask or prolong the grieving process; I never did fill the prescriptions my doctor gave me after Ed's diagnosis and I still won't. Talking with grief counselors is another suggestion. The next grief support group sponsored by Hospice starts August 1 and goes into mid-September, and I will probably participate. There are more suggestions that I'm not quite ready for yet. I am trying to be helpful, however, to my next-door neighbor. Butch has been battling pancreatic cancer for years, and he has finally made the decision not to have chemo anymore as his body has been so worn down by his past years of treatments, complicated by the fact that having his pancreas removed 6 years ago made him a diabetic. He and Sherry arranged for the same hospice group that Ed and I had. I am trying to give them the benefit of Ed's and my experience and trying to be supportive of them. While at first I thought this would only make me sadder, instead I do feel like I'm returning the favor of Butch's support of Ed from Ed's diagnosis on. I think helping Butch and Sherry and their family is what Ed would want me to do.
When I started writing this, I didn't think I'd have so much to say. I guess it is therapeutic to write. I just noticed that the blog site automatically adds a signature of "Posted by Ed/Joan" at the end of the message. I can't see where to change this to just my name, but maybe having Ed's name still on the blog is OK, another way to remember him.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Tomorrow is one week
It's hard to believe that tomorrow will be one week since Ed died. I'm not sure everyone who would want to know of his death has even found out yet. However, cards are coming each day from all over the country, and the Dispatch.com guest book now includes messages from our Penn State friends who live far and wide. I even had a card and note today from Ed's secretary from probably more than 30 years ago; she said he was the best boss she ever had. Amazing how word does spread.
I started to write my thoughts about the viewing and funeral yesterday, but then I couldn't bring them together. So I'll give it a try now. The guest book at the funeral home has exactly 100 names in it. Ed would have liked the fact that I counted. It's something he would have done. We estimated there were 50 people at the house after the funeral, again estimating a crowd size was something he always did. I had carefully selected the music and readings for the Mass of Christian Burial, and for the most part the priest and choir followed through. The choir did a beautiful meditation, almost a Gregorian chant-like piece, after Communion that I didn't know about, but I appreciated the words and music. One thing I did not understand was the direction Father Brosmer's homily took. It started out fine in praising Ed's life and offering comfort to us, and I understood the ultimate message of encouraging us to do something good in memory of this good man, but when he launched into a litany of sorts of drastic sins and misdeeds that should be corrected, that I found out of place. My sister said maybe he has a standard funeral homily and he only adjusts the opening for each occasion. If that's true, I need to get on the Bereavement Committee at church and forewarn people! (That's an attempt at humor, meager though it is.) I asked my cousin Carole and her husband Ron Lapinsky to bring the gifts up to the altar during Mass. Besides the fact that Ed really enjoyed talking with Ron back in January at my Aunt Lou's funeral and that he knew how much I think of Carole as my big sister, Carole's frequent e-mails were comforting to both of us. I saw their participation at the Mass as a way of thanking them for their support and for traveling to be here. I'm also glad that I named honorary pall bearers. Ed decided he wanted six of his grandsons as pall bearers, and I'm very glad that Josh, Jeremy, Rob, Tommy, Kurt,and Kyle were willing, but I just knew, had we thought of it as we talked about what he wanted, that he would have wanted to show his honor and respect and love for his close friends, too: his life-long friends Larry Clements and Tom Gibbons from the Cincinnati area, and his closest friends from Norwalk, IA, Tom Greteman, Dave Hixenbaugh, Duane Frideres, and Joe Zerfas.
I really like the place at the cemetery that I chose for him, very near the tall flagpole and monument to veterans. Marie (my sister) and I went to the cemetery Thursday--she did not want me going there alone my first time. I was OK there. The gravesite was leveled out already and the flowers were still fresh-looking despite the heat of the day. We were lucky to have had a gorgeous, comfortable day for the funeral Wednesday.
Having everyone come to the house for a light lunch was exactly the kind of gathering Ed enjoyed--informal with good food. The informality at the viewing Tuesday evening was also the way he would have liked.
I read something online about the stages of grief, a different description than the Kubler Ross stages of grief that many people know. One I found seemed to fit me better: Numbness, Disorganization, Reorganization. I'm definitely in the numbness stage right now. I'm trying to go about the tasks of settling the estate in a methodical way, starting with preparing for my meeting with the estate attorney on Monday. I occasionally break down and ask no one in particular "Why" and "How do I go on." I can't stop thinking how unfair this is to Ed, to me, and to our family. The next stage is when someone completely loses herself to the grief, then the final stage is pulling yourself back together and finding your way in life. Although there are these stages, there is no timetable for when they hit or how long they take to get through.
I'm suddenly very tired--perhaps from the muscle relaxer I took 2 hours ago because my back has flared up again pretty badly. Thanks to all of you who came to the viewing and/or funeral. It means a lot to all of Ed's family to know how much you care. Thank you all for reading the blog. Even though I'm not necessarily writing about Ed now, this blog still makes me feel closer to him. I hope it does for you, too.
I started to write my thoughts about the viewing and funeral yesterday, but then I couldn't bring them together. So I'll give it a try now. The guest book at the funeral home has exactly 100 names in it. Ed would have liked the fact that I counted. It's something he would have done. We estimated there were 50 people at the house after the funeral, again estimating a crowd size was something he always did. I had carefully selected the music and readings for the Mass of Christian Burial, and for the most part the priest and choir followed through. The choir did a beautiful meditation, almost a Gregorian chant-like piece, after Communion that I didn't know about, but I appreciated the words and music. One thing I did not understand was the direction Father Brosmer's homily took. It started out fine in praising Ed's life and offering comfort to us, and I understood the ultimate message of encouraging us to do something good in memory of this good man, but when he launched into a litany of sorts of drastic sins and misdeeds that should be corrected, that I found out of place. My sister said maybe he has a standard funeral homily and he only adjusts the opening for each occasion. If that's true, I need to get on the Bereavement Committee at church and forewarn people! (That's an attempt at humor, meager though it is.) I asked my cousin Carole and her husband Ron Lapinsky to bring the gifts up to the altar during Mass. Besides the fact that Ed really enjoyed talking with Ron back in January at my Aunt Lou's funeral and that he knew how much I think of Carole as my big sister, Carole's frequent e-mails were comforting to both of us. I saw their participation at the Mass as a way of thanking them for their support and for traveling to be here. I'm also glad that I named honorary pall bearers. Ed decided he wanted six of his grandsons as pall bearers, and I'm very glad that Josh, Jeremy, Rob, Tommy, Kurt,and Kyle were willing, but I just knew, had we thought of it as we talked about what he wanted, that he would have wanted to show his honor and respect and love for his close friends, too: his life-long friends Larry Clements and Tom Gibbons from the Cincinnati area, and his closest friends from Norwalk, IA, Tom Greteman, Dave Hixenbaugh, Duane Frideres, and Joe Zerfas.
I really like the place at the cemetery that I chose for him, very near the tall flagpole and monument to veterans. Marie (my sister) and I went to the cemetery Thursday--she did not want me going there alone my first time. I was OK there. The gravesite was leveled out already and the flowers were still fresh-looking despite the heat of the day. We were lucky to have had a gorgeous, comfortable day for the funeral Wednesday.
Having everyone come to the house for a light lunch was exactly the kind of gathering Ed enjoyed--informal with good food. The informality at the viewing Tuesday evening was also the way he would have liked.
I read something online about the stages of grief, a different description than the Kubler Ross stages of grief that many people know. One I found seemed to fit me better: Numbness, Disorganization, Reorganization. I'm definitely in the numbness stage right now. I'm trying to go about the tasks of settling the estate in a methodical way, starting with preparing for my meeting with the estate attorney on Monday. I occasionally break down and ask no one in particular "Why" and "How do I go on." I can't stop thinking how unfair this is to Ed, to me, and to our family. The next stage is when someone completely loses herself to the grief, then the final stage is pulling yourself back together and finding your way in life. Although there are these stages, there is no timetable for when they hit or how long they take to get through.
I'm suddenly very tired--perhaps from the muscle relaxer I took 2 hours ago because my back has flared up again pretty badly. Thanks to all of you who came to the viewing and/or funeral. It means a lot to all of Ed's family to know how much you care. Thank you all for reading the blog. Even though I'm not necessarily writing about Ed now, this blog still makes me feel closer to him. I hope it does for you, too.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Monday thoughts
It seems odd to be writing in daylight. The hospital bed, oxygen and related equipment, suction machine, wheelchair, bedside table, linens, and shower chair will all be picked up this afternoon. I signed the final paperwork at the cemetery this morning. Yesterday afternoon I finalized the funeral home arrangements and I'll meet with Father Brosmer in a bit to choose music and readings. It all seems somewhat surreal.
When Melissa and I went to Sunday Mass, we saw that both the Norton Rd. and Sullivant Ave. accesses were open into the parking lot at church. Road construction around there is awful. Same is true by the funeral home. Norwich St., where the funeral home main address is, is closed. You have to turn from Main St. in what's called Old Hilliard onto Center St., but that's good because one block later is the parking lot for the funeral home, on the left, actually at the corner of Center and Columbia, beside and behind a white house. The main entrance to the funeral home is on Columbia St.
The obituary was in today's Columbus Dispatch. There are two minor errors (Northwest Financial instead of Norwest Financial and home instead of him), so of course I was a little disappointed about that because I regarded that obit as a genealogical resource of the kind Ed researched about his family these past few years, plus we all know how obsessive I am about editing and proofing. I didn't realize there would also be an online registry book associated with the Dispatch obit for people to express their sentiments. The Cincinnati Inquirer will run an obit Tuesday morning. I'll send a full article for the Norwalk, IA, paper later this week. (We still get that paper.)
I'm hoping for at least a little cooler temperatures for Wednesday morning; it's supposed to be 95 here today.
When Melissa and I went to Sunday Mass, we saw that both the Norton Rd. and Sullivant Ave. accesses were open into the parking lot at church. Road construction around there is awful. Same is true by the funeral home. Norwich St., where the funeral home main address is, is closed. You have to turn from Main St. in what's called Old Hilliard onto Center St., but that's good because one block later is the parking lot for the funeral home, on the left, actually at the corner of Center and Columbia, beside and behind a white house. The main entrance to the funeral home is on Columbia St.
The obituary was in today's Columbus Dispatch. There are two minor errors (Northwest Financial instead of Norwest Financial and home instead of him), so of course I was a little disappointed about that because I regarded that obit as a genealogical resource of the kind Ed researched about his family these past few years, plus we all know how obsessive I am about editing and proofing. I didn't realize there would also be an online registry book associated with the Dispatch obit for people to express their sentiments. The Cincinnati Inquirer will run an obit Tuesday morning. I'll send a full article for the Norwalk, IA, paper later this week. (We still get that paper.)
I'm hoping for at least a little cooler temperatures for Wednesday morning; it's supposed to be 95 here today.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
It's over
By now, some of you have already heard the news. Ed passed away at 2:25 p.m. today. I had gone to the pharmacy to pick up a refill on his bedtime medicine because we had only one pill left, and I had just picked it up and put it in my purse when my cell phone rang; it was Judi telling me to come home. At that point he still had a few labored breaths left in him, but before I could get home he took his last breath. Hospice nurse Amy (who had been here a few times and came to prepare him for the funeral home pickup) said she was convinced that he waited for me to be out of the house, to spare me.
Ironically, a different hospice nurse came to check on him at 11:30 a.m., and she told us that with his breathing being so strong, we were not looking at hours but maybe days. She urged us to take care of ourselves to be able to bear up a little longer, that he would go when the time was right for him. She also said he could prove her wrong--and he did. Ed got his wish. He died at home. The nurses all said he was comfortable to the end and that we had taken very good care of him.
Writing this blog that he started has been very good for me, a kind of therapy I guess. I hope I haven't "grossed out" anyone with the details, but it is also kind of my journal or memory book of all that has happened. I feel close to him every time I look at it, especially looking back at those first entries that he wrote himself. He wanted me to keep updating it.
I thank you all for your thoughts and prayers through this ordeal. You know Ed appreciated each and every one of you showing your concern. We do have some arrangements decided, so I'll list below what I think might be of interest, especially to those of you who have said you will be trying to come for the funeral.
The viewing will be Tuesday, June 19, at Tidd Funeral Home, 5265 Norwich Street, Hilliard, OH. Private family time from 5 to 6 p.m. Viewing for visitors 6 to 8 p.m.
Mass of Christian Burial Wednesday, June 20, 10 a.m. at St. Cecilia Church, 434 Norton Road, Columbus (corner of Norton and Sullivant--sorry, there's horrible road construction going on and only one lane open on Norton into the church parking lot). Burial will follow at Sunset Cemetery, 6959 W. Broad St., (technically Galloway but it's really Columbus still) in the veterans' section.
Afterwards, everyone is invited back to our house, 6344 Thorncrest Dr., just a couple of miles from the cemetery.
There are numerous hotels in the vicinity of our house. The closest are:
Best Western, 1133 Evans Way Ct. @ Hilliard-Rome Rd. (The locals refer to this street as Rome-Hilliard Road.)
Country Inn & Suites, next-door to the Best Western
Microtel, 5451 Feder Rd., behind Handel's Ice Cream store (I'm not familiar with this one but it looks fairly new)
A Hampton Inn is also close by, near the intersection of Hilliard-Rome Road and Trabue Road; several others are at Hilliard-Rome and Renner. Renner and Trabue are actually the same street, just named differently on each side of Hilliard-Rome.
Contributions in Ed's memory may be made to one of the organizations below. Please enclose a note explaining that the donation is in memory of Ed Giesman and an acknowledgement letter should be sent to Mrs. Joan Giesman, 6344 Thorncrest Dr., Galloway, OH 43119. The organizations are as follows:
Purcell Marian High School, Alumni and Development Office, 2935 Hackberry St., Cincinnati, OH 45206
OR
Xavier University Annual Fund, 3800 Victory Parkway, Cincinnati, OH 45207
OR
Home Reach Hospice, c/o OhioHealth Foundation, 180 E. Broad St., Floor 31, Columbus, OH 43215-3707. Make the check out to OhioHealth Foundation, but be sure to say in your note that the contribution is specifically for Home Reach Hospice.
I don't mean to imply that anyone should make a donation anywhere, but since I have been asked, now anyone who wants that info has it. Also, if there is some other way you prefer to remember Ed, please feel free. For us it has always been enough to know we have strong bonds with family and so many dear friends.
I don't know if I'll write more in this blog; probably I will. But not tonight. We'll see if I wake up every 4 hours still.
Love to you all,
Joni
Ironically, a different hospice nurse came to check on him at 11:30 a.m., and she told us that with his breathing being so strong, we were not looking at hours but maybe days. She urged us to take care of ourselves to be able to bear up a little longer, that he would go when the time was right for him. She also said he could prove her wrong--and he did. Ed got his wish. He died at home. The nurses all said he was comfortable to the end and that we had taken very good care of him.
Writing this blog that he started has been very good for me, a kind of therapy I guess. I hope I haven't "grossed out" anyone with the details, but it is also kind of my journal or memory book of all that has happened. I feel close to him every time I look at it, especially looking back at those first entries that he wrote himself. He wanted me to keep updating it.
I thank you all for your thoughts and prayers through this ordeal. You know Ed appreciated each and every one of you showing your concern. We do have some arrangements decided, so I'll list below what I think might be of interest, especially to those of you who have said you will be trying to come for the funeral.
The viewing will be Tuesday, June 19, at Tidd Funeral Home, 5265 Norwich Street, Hilliard, OH. Private family time from 5 to 6 p.m. Viewing for visitors 6 to 8 p.m.
Mass of Christian Burial Wednesday, June 20, 10 a.m. at St. Cecilia Church, 434 Norton Road, Columbus (corner of Norton and Sullivant--sorry, there's horrible road construction going on and only one lane open on Norton into the church parking lot). Burial will follow at Sunset Cemetery, 6959 W. Broad St., (technically Galloway but it's really Columbus still) in the veterans' section.
Afterwards, everyone is invited back to our house, 6344 Thorncrest Dr., just a couple of miles from the cemetery.
There are numerous hotels in the vicinity of our house. The closest are:
Best Western, 1133 Evans Way Ct. @ Hilliard-Rome Rd. (The locals refer to this street as Rome-Hilliard Road.)
Country Inn & Suites, next-door to the Best Western
Microtel, 5451 Feder Rd., behind Handel's Ice Cream store (I'm not familiar with this one but it looks fairly new)
A Hampton Inn is also close by, near the intersection of Hilliard-Rome Road and Trabue Road; several others are at Hilliard-Rome and Renner. Renner and Trabue are actually the same street, just named differently on each side of Hilliard-Rome.
Contributions in Ed's memory may be made to one of the organizations below. Please enclose a note explaining that the donation is in memory of Ed Giesman and an acknowledgement letter should be sent to Mrs. Joan Giesman, 6344 Thorncrest Dr., Galloway, OH 43119. The organizations are as follows:
Purcell Marian High School, Alumni and Development Office, 2935 Hackberry St., Cincinnati, OH 45206
OR
Xavier University Annual Fund, 3800 Victory Parkway, Cincinnati, OH 45207
OR
Home Reach Hospice, c/o OhioHealth Foundation, 180 E. Broad St., Floor 31, Columbus, OH 43215-3707. Make the check out to OhioHealth Foundation, but be sure to say in your note that the contribution is specifically for Home Reach Hospice.
I don't mean to imply that anyone should make a donation anywhere, but since I have been asked, now anyone who wants that info has it. Also, if there is some other way you prefer to remember Ed, please feel free. For us it has always been enough to know we have strong bonds with family and so many dear friends.
I don't know if I'll write more in this blog; probably I will. But not tonight. We'll see if I wake up every 4 hours still.
Love to you all,
Joni
Friday, June 15, 2007
Coma now
Hospice nurse Karen came today. She described Ed as being in a coma now. His blood pressure is way down, and she felt that the highly-concentrated oxygen he had at his nose is no longer necessary. He has been breathing regular room air since about 3:30 today. Karen turned off the oxygen concentrator machine, and we all were immediately struck by the quietness in the house without its noise that we had so gotten used to 24 hours a day. Within about a half-hour, his breathing became shallow again; however, this evening he is back to deeper breaths. In fact, I described it as him snoring as he always has except without the grating noise. Karen says he must still have some unfinished business inside of himself that he is still working through, and so he is still hanging on. Yet once again she told me to wait until tomorrow to refill his bedtime pill prescription even though as of right now there is only one pill left, that being for tomorrow night. I had to pause when Karen looked for my agreement with removing the oxygen, but I thought about what his living will and his health care power of attorney say, as well as our conversations, and I gave my consent.
Judi was in and out today. Caregiver Nicole came early, but Karen had said we should just leave Ed be and not bathe him today. Still, I think Nicole has become attached to Ed and us; she stayed for two hours anyway. Becky, Debbie, Melissa and I had supper together, and for a change they let me cook--didn't do much, just a quick use of the grill. Debbie's husband Tom was here briefly, too. Becky will shortly be heading home to her own family for the night, and Sherry is lodging at the Drury Hotel tonight (she works for Drury) where son Jeremy, in from St. Louis, is also staying. So tonight with me are Melissa and Debbie. I am continuing to give Ed his pain medication as a safeguard in case he can still feel pain, though Karen thinks that unlikely.
Judi was in and out today. Caregiver Nicole came early, but Karen had said we should just leave Ed be and not bathe him today. Still, I think Nicole has become attached to Ed and us; she stayed for two hours anyway. Becky, Debbie, Melissa and I had supper together, and for a change they let me cook--didn't do much, just a quick use of the grill. Debbie's husband Tom was here briefly, too. Becky will shortly be heading home to her own family for the night, and Sherry is lodging at the Drury Hotel tonight (she works for Drury) where son Jeremy, in from St. Louis, is also staying. So tonight with me are Melissa and Debbie. I am continuing to give Ed his pain medication as a safeguard in case he can still feel pain, though Karen thinks that unlikely.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Semi-comatose
Once again, the medical terminology becomes part of our vocabulary. We believe Ed is in the stage known as semi-comatose. The hospice nurse says he may be hearing our voices and may even recognize them, but he is probably not processing what we are saying. His eyelids are half-shut, and his eyes are glazed and unfocused. He looks like he is sleeping non-stop, but he does wince when we try to move him to a different position so he must still feel pain. Speaking to him now draws no response. His breathing was very shallow this morning, but this afternoon after caregiver Nicole gave him a partial bath and we re-positioned him, his breathing became deeper again. The hospice nurse is surprised that he is still with us. She described his state now as being half-way down a tunnel, and he is slowly making his way to the end of it. The hospice chaplain called today and said the team had discussed Ed and us today and agreed that this happened very fast--yet often I feel like this is dragging on needlessly, especially if there's a chance he is suffering. Nevertheless, I set my alarm to give him pain medication every 4 hours through the night, and Melissa has been good with giving me timely reminders about what I need to do for him during the day--administering the few meds, changing the water in his oxygen concentrator, even updating the blog. Judi provided another delicious supper today. We are a crew of four again tonight--me, Melissa, Sherry, and Debbie.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
A quiet day
We have all had a quiet day today. Ed is mostly sleeping; his breathing is at times very shallow and at other times something like panting. The few times his eyes have been open they look unfocused and dazed. When caregiver Nicole came to give him his bed bath, he winced as she moved him. We suspected a while ago that there may be a lesion on the back of his neck, but then it wasn't really bothering him, so nothing was done about it. Now I think it is bothering him, plus his neck has to be sore from having his head positioned to his left for so many hours to try to keep the mouth secretions out of his throat. He doesn't have the strength to lift his head on his own today.
Next door neighbors Bill and Ann Morgan stopped by this afternoon. The hospice nurse called to check on him, and we could have had the hospice home health aide come bathe him, but I chose to stick with Nicole rather than introduce another stranger into his world. Ed's brother Bob called tonight I suspect more to check on me than anything else. Debbie is staying again tonight with me, Sherry, and Melissa. I've had a rather rough time this evening--this is so unfair; Ed just did not deserve this to happen to him. Frankly, I have prayed that tonight is the end. I can't tell if Ed is suffering, but if he is, I just don't want that for him. I want him to be at peace, and if I can feel that he is, then I think I will be OK.
Next door neighbors Bill and Ann Morgan stopped by this afternoon. The hospice nurse called to check on him, and we could have had the hospice home health aide come bathe him, but I chose to stick with Nicole rather than introduce another stranger into his world. Ed's brother Bob called tonight I suspect more to check on me than anything else. Debbie is staying again tonight with me, Sherry, and Melissa. I've had a rather rough time this evening--this is so unfair; Ed just did not deserve this to happen to him. Frankly, I have prayed that tonight is the end. I can't tell if Ed is suffering, but if he is, I just don't want that for him. I want him to be at peace, and if I can feel that he is, then I think I will be OK.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Flight fright, quiet time for Ed
I mis-spoke "majorly" when I wrote last night that Melissa's flight was getting her here around midnight. She flew from Cedar Rapids to Chicago O'Hare, had to rush to board her flight to Columbus, the plane pushed away from the gate, and the next thing she knew the cabin went black and the pilot was announcing "Evacuate!" She was the second person down the shute at the back of the plane. The pilot had spotted smoke and saw ground crew running away from the plane. Turned out the smoke came from the vehicle that pushes the plane from the gate, and the crew returned with fire extinguishers, fire trucks came, the passengers were led back into the terminal. As you might guess, she was rather hysterical and called Mark immediately. Once she calmed a little, she called me. United eventually announced that the passengers could board a flight that was going to Columbus, then Dayton, but then that plan was cancelled. She re-booked on an early morning flight. Meanwhile, I called my cousin Dot who lives not far from O'Hare, and after a few phone calls among the three of us, Dot and Jack picked up Melissa, took her to their house for some food and sleep, and delivered her to O'Hare this morning. She got here around 9:30 a.m.
We think Ed heard her tell her tale to him. He wasn't passing out smiles today and slept much of the morning and into the afternoon. Caregiver Nicole got him awake, however. She bathed him and changed the bed linens, chatting away with him. Afterwards, he stayed awake and occasionally followed a voice or a face with his eyes. The coughs continued today but they are mostly feeble attempts. Father Brosmer from St. Cecilia came and anointed Ed for the final time. This was Ed's third anointing of the sick, but this time he did not participate in the prayers since he isn't speaking. A hospice nurse called to check on all of us both during the day and this evening. I have cut the "hired help" back to just Nicole from 4 to 6.
Judi cooked tonight, and grandsons Josh and Robby were here as were Debbie and Tom. Overnight tonight we have Sherry and Melissa, of course, plus Debbie.
We think Ed heard her tell her tale to him. He wasn't passing out smiles today and slept much of the morning and into the afternoon. Caregiver Nicole got him awake, however. She bathed him and changed the bed linens, chatting away with him. Afterwards, he stayed awake and occasionally followed a voice or a face with his eyes. The coughs continued today but they are mostly feeble attempts. Father Brosmer from St. Cecilia came and anointed Ed for the final time. This was Ed's third anointing of the sick, but this time he did not participate in the prayers since he isn't speaking. A hospice nurse called to check on all of us both during the day and this evening. I have cut the "hired help" back to just Nicole from 4 to 6.
Judi cooked tonight, and grandsons Josh and Robby were here as were Debbie and Tom. Overnight tonight we have Sherry and Melissa, of course, plus Debbie.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Active dying
It's odd how the hospice terminology becomes part of your vocabulary. Today we saw further signs of Ed's downhill road. His urine became red. Hospice nurse Karen says that can happen, it's not unusual. He is probably bleeding from the kidney and maybe the liver, and that blood finds its way to the catheter. His cough, while minimal and sporadic overnight, became more frequent early this morning, so I called hospice for advice. Turning him on his side only helped for a little while; he just doesn't have the strength to cough the junk out of his throat. We are now using atropine drops, which are normally eye drops, to try to dry out the secretions that are accumulating, and we now have a suction machine, but so far we haven't had any luck clearing up the congestion in his throat. Karen sat us down (Sherry, Becky, and me) to tell us we are in the final stages, otherwise called active dying. She says it could last 12 hours or 3 days; much depends on Ed's willingness to let go--and ours, because he hears and senses how we feel. The hospice chaplain spent an hour with us today; she was comforting and reassuring to him and us. Melissa was able to get a flight tonight, landing around midnight.
Despite his condition, Ed had occasions of acknowledging us, even giving me an emphatic "No" when I asked if the last suction attempt made him feel any better. He held my hand pretty strongly for a while this evening. My sister Marie called, and he listened attentively as she talked to him. Karen advised us to allow periods when just one of us is beside him and times when we all leave him alone. She says Ed will choose the situation he wants for his last breath, whether that be with us around him or him being alone. We can't know how he wants it to be, so we have to allow for times of all possibilities. Judi is here awaiting Melissa's arrival, and Debbie and Sherry are here for the night, so Ed and I have plenty of company.
Despite his condition, Ed had occasions of acknowledging us, even giving me an emphatic "No" when I asked if the last suction attempt made him feel any better. He held my hand pretty strongly for a while this evening. My sister Marie called, and he listened attentively as she talked to him. Karen advised us to allow periods when just one of us is beside him and times when we all leave him alone. She says Ed will choose the situation he wants for his last breath, whether that be with us around him or him being alone. We can't know how he wants it to be, so we have to allow for times of all possibilities. Judi is here awaiting Melissa's arrival, and Debbie and Sherry are here for the night, so Ed and I have plenty of company.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
He just amazes me
Sometimes the man just amazes me. When I gave him his pain medication at 5:45 a.m. today, he opened his eyes and smiled at me. Throughout the morning and afternoon he opened his eyes (with their morphine glaze, as I call it), seemed to try to focus, responded to health aide Nicole when she arrived, watched her as she bathed him and changed the bed linens (with him in the bed--boy, she's good). When I got home from church announcing "I'm home you lucky person," he gave me a big smile. He snoozed now and again, but I described his occasional seeming alertness between 6 a.m and 1 p.m. as being 5 times the amount of activity that we saw in Saturday's 24-hour period. He opened his eyes and gave 2 big smiles when he saw his brother Bob, and he seemed to acknowledge other visitors as well. He even answered hospice nurse Amy with an audible "yes" along with nodding his head. Several times today he gave slight nods of yes or no to me. It even looked like he was interested in a few of the golf shots on TV. We were told before that this process was a series of ups and downs on a downhill road, so today must have been one of those ups after yesterday's down. What capped the day was this evening as I tucked my index finger into a wet washcloth to bathe his mouth and he bit me--hard enough to leave teeth marks and it hurt! I yelped, and he opened his eyes wide then gave me a huge smile.
Once most of the visitors left, he was obviously exhausted, but sleep didn't come easily. I had questioned nurse Amy about a cough he developed about 2 p.m. She still doesn't hear any fluid in his lungs so she really didn't have a satisfactory explanation for the cough. I guess he just doesn't have the strength to cough out the phlegm in his throat, assuming that's what it is.
Today's parade of visitors--besides brother Bob and nephew Bobby, daughters, son, and a sprinkling of grandkids--included Frank Barone, an old friend and neighbor from his years living in Upper Arlington when his kids were growing up; our next-door neighbors Bill and Ann Morgan; and our former across-the-street neighbor John Wade. So once again it was a busy day. Sherry and Becky are splitting the night patrol tonight with me stepping in at the appropriate hour to administer the Roxanol. My alarm clock has never before gotten such a workout in a single night.
Once most of the visitors left, he was obviously exhausted, but sleep didn't come easily. I had questioned nurse Amy about a cough he developed about 2 p.m. She still doesn't hear any fluid in his lungs so she really didn't have a satisfactory explanation for the cough. I guess he just doesn't have the strength to cough out the phlegm in his throat, assuming that's what it is.
Today's parade of visitors--besides brother Bob and nephew Bobby, daughters, son, and a sprinkling of grandkids--included Frank Barone, an old friend and neighbor from his years living in Upper Arlington when his kids were growing up; our next-door neighbors Bill and Ann Morgan; and our former across-the-street neighbor John Wade. So once again it was a busy day. Sherry and Becky are splitting the night patrol tonight with me stepping in at the appropriate hour to administer the Roxanol. My alarm clock has never before gotten such a workout in a single night.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Unresponsive and sleeping
Today, Saturday, there is a noticeable decline in Ed's condition. We have not been able to rouse him. He has either been sound asleep and snoring or lying there with his eyes closed. Only a few times today did he open them, once when the aide Nicole was cleaning him up and brushing his teeth, once when I said Hi and he smiled, once when I had finished explaining that I completed our cemetery plot purchase today just as he had wanted everything to be, once when the hospice nurse spoke to him and shook him, and a few brief flickers just on his own. He did not respond to questions or touch except for twice when Sherry gave him ice chips and each time I have administered the pain medication. The overwhelming number of possible medications to give him based on signs and symptoms is now down to just 4: one to quiet him if he's restless, one to settle him if he's more agitated, one for pain that he is now getting every 4 hours on the assumption that there is pain, and one to give if the rash or itch allergic reaction returns. His body wants no food or drink now and we are not to push that on him for fear of choking. I agree with the nurse that we are seeing the effects of the cancer taking over. His blood pressure is OK, his color is good; his heart rate is fast, but he is breathing OK. Our best guess is that we have a couple more days with him.
My two 24-hour non-stop hired help periods were done at 1 p.m. today. As of 3 p.m. we were on the "regular" schedule of help from 8 a.m. to 12 noon and 3 to 7 p.m. As it turned out, there was very little to do to care for Ed today, and I couldn't come up with much in the way of cleaning or laundry chores for the aide to do. We'll proceed with the regular schedule tomorrow, then see what makes sense after that. Tonight both Sherry and Judi are staying in case Ed needs to be shifted in bed or needs attention that my back might not handle (although my back really is feeling much better).
Becky brought supper again today, and Tim brought Chelsea, Jake, and MacKenzie; he also took care of a couple of handyman chores that surfaced. Debbie and Annie and Tommy visited, and Tommy cut the grass. Tomorrow we are expecting Ed's brother Bob and son Robert (Bobby to us) to be here.
My two 24-hour non-stop hired help periods were done at 1 p.m. today. As of 3 p.m. we were on the "regular" schedule of help from 8 a.m. to 12 noon and 3 to 7 p.m. As it turned out, there was very little to do to care for Ed today, and I couldn't come up with much in the way of cleaning or laundry chores for the aide to do. We'll proceed with the regular schedule tomorrow, then see what makes sense after that. Tonight both Sherry and Judi are staying in case Ed needs to be shifted in bed or needs attention that my back might not handle (although my back really is feeling much better).
Becky brought supper again today, and Tim brought Chelsea, Jake, and MacKenzie; he also took care of a couple of handyman chores that surfaced. Debbie and Annie and Tommy visited, and Tommy cut the grass. Tomorrow we are expecting Ed's brother Bob and son Robert (Bobby to us) to be here.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Busy day
It seemed like the phone and doorbell never stopped ringing today. We met Ed's regular weekday hospice nurse and social worker, plus the supervisor from "Right at Home" came by. They each talked with us about Ed's condition and how they can best serve our needs. While I was sometimes displeased with some of the hospice hospital team, Ed's home team seems right on top of things. In particular, the nurse, Karen, had some insights into some of his behavior. She says the fingering of the bed linens and his shirt is an outward manifestation that his mind and spirit know and feel that he still has some things he wants to do, but his body is too weak to physically do them, so he gets agitated. She suggested that the hospice chaplain could help with this, even if Ed doesn't talk but just listens. The chaplain can put him at ease about letting go. I have been trying to think of the things he said during the last few good weeks that he wanted to accomplish; perhaps if I can get some of those done and tell him they're done, he'll feel better. Otherwise, the nurse identified which of his many medications to give him when he is agitated.
The stock of medications is overwhelming. We began at home with everything in pill or caplet form, but today Ed had some real trouble swallowing, so the hospice nurse re-called several of the prescriptions in to the pharmacy to get them in liquid or suppository form (and isn't Ed going to love those suppositories!). So now we have a kitchen counter area covered in medicine bottles, some of which we will probably never use again. At least the cost is all covered by hospice (i.e., Medicare's 100% coverage of hospice services).
Sherry flew in from St. Louis tonight and will stay a few days. Becky cooked for us all again tonight, and Judi and Debbie and Annie were all here, too. Ed pretty much ignored all of us most of the day but he seemed tickled by the social worker's compliments on his beautiful smile. Yes, he talks with the new people we are meeting more than with us, but Karen says that he is conserving his energy to use in just such situations as meeting everyone because he hears and understands everything we are saying to him and to each other, therefore he prepares himself for the next arriving person.
As I said above, I like Karen. She listens and questions and tries to piece things together so that things make sense to us. She trusts us to be observant and acknowledges that I know Ed better than anyone. She planned to call Dr. Mitchell, Ed's oncologist, to develop a plan for control of increasing pain that does not rely on just increasing doses of Roxanol (morphine sulfate) since she doesn't want him developing the rash again or having any of the other side effects he has had from narcotics.
It's been another exhausting day--even my chiropractor gave me more of a workout in this morning's visit. I hope for a few moments of relaxation over the weekend.
The stock of medications is overwhelming. We began at home with everything in pill or caplet form, but today Ed had some real trouble swallowing, so the hospice nurse re-called several of the prescriptions in to the pharmacy to get them in liquid or suppository form (and isn't Ed going to love those suppositories!). So now we have a kitchen counter area covered in medicine bottles, some of which we will probably never use again. At least the cost is all covered by hospice (i.e., Medicare's 100% coverage of hospice services).
Sherry flew in from St. Louis tonight and will stay a few days. Becky cooked for us all again tonight, and Judi and Debbie and Annie were all here, too. Ed pretty much ignored all of us most of the day but he seemed tickled by the social worker's compliments on his beautiful smile. Yes, he talks with the new people we are meeting more than with us, but Karen says that he is conserving his energy to use in just such situations as meeting everyone because he hears and understands everything we are saying to him and to each other, therefore he prepares himself for the next arriving person.
As I said above, I like Karen. She listens and questions and tries to piece things together so that things make sense to us. She trusts us to be observant and acknowledges that I know Ed better than anyone. She planned to call Dr. Mitchell, Ed's oncologist, to develop a plan for control of increasing pain that does not rely on just increasing doses of Roxanol (morphine sulfate) since she doesn't want him developing the rash again or having any of the other side effects he has had from narcotics.
It's been another exhausting day--even my chiropractor gave me more of a workout in this morning's visit. I hope for a few moments of relaxation over the weekend.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Home
Ed was enjoying his baked ziti & peach crisp lunch so much that we made the ambulance guys wait for him to finish before bringing him home today. We were home by 1:45 and waiting on the front porch to welcome Ed home were Judi, Becky, and Lori, his caregiver from 1 to 11 p.m. (long shift!) He settled right into his bed in the family room, smiles all the way around at how the room was arranged. He said it was good to be home. He hasn't been very responsive today either in the hospital or at home, another sign that things are going downhill, I'm afraid. However, here it is, well past his recent bedtimes, and he's still up watching the Reds baseball game. Lori is terrific. She is actually a therapeutic massage therapist so Ed and I have each had the benefit of her expertise. She has even worked on my back problem and got rid of a little of my pain. Wish she could stay!
A Hospice nurse came this evening to set up Ed's meds and give us some basic instructions on tending to him. It's up to me to give the meds. The oxygen concentrator, which takes room air and converts it to 90-some percent pure oxygen that then goes into his canula, is a little noisy, but Lori tells me it's a quieter one than some she's familiar with. Hopefully it won't keep us up during the night.
A Hospice nurse came this evening to set up Ed's meds and give us some basic instructions on tending to him. It's up to me to give the meds. The oxygen concentrator, which takes room air and converts it to 90-some percent pure oxygen that then goes into his canula, is a little noisy, but Lori tells me it's a quieter one than some she's familiar with. Hopefully it won't keep us up during the night.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
All in place
The equipment was delivered today and I got an education in operating an oxygen concentrator and oxygen tanks. An ambulance will bring Ed home tomorrow at 1 p.m. I have hired an agency to provide caregivers 24 hours a day for the first two nights (Thursday and Friday) and then go to an 8 a.m. to 12 noon and 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. schedule until we see how things are going. Ed's daughters are still insisting that somebody will be with us practically 24/7, so even when no hired caregiver is here, most likely a family member will be here or at least readily available. Since my back doesn't seem to be in any hurry to repair itself and I'm frequently in pain, I welcome the help.
Ed was not talking much today. Oddly, he responded to the hospital staff readily but not to any of us. I asked him why when we had a chance to be alone and he just shrugged his shoulders. At least that was some kind of response. When he did talk, he would start a sentence then stop in the middle of it and be unable to come up with how he wanted to finish. He had 2 doses of Roxanol today for pain and as best I could tell the only side effect was sleeping. The rash that developed after yesterday's minimal dose was gone by this morning, so I'm glad about that. Maybe he can build up a tolerance at the low dose so that if a higher dose becomes necessary, he can tolerate it better.
Ed was not talking much today. Oddly, he responded to the hospital staff readily but not to any of us. I asked him why when we had a chance to be alone and he just shrugged his shoulders. At least that was some kind of response. When he did talk, he would start a sentence then stop in the middle of it and be unable to come up with how he wanted to finish. He had 2 doses of Roxanol today for pain and as best I could tell the only side effect was sleeping. The rash that developed after yesterday's minimal dose was gone by this morning, so I'm glad about that. Maybe he can build up a tolerance at the low dose so that if a higher dose becomes necessary, he can tolerate it better.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Homebound in the works
The plan is for Ed to be discharged Thursday afternoon. I think I figured out why Hospice is pushing for discharging him then: Medicare pays for 5 days of inpatient hospice care. Thursday will be Ed's sixth day in hospice. They agree to accept Medicare's assignment, so in essence they don't want to miss a day of being paid by Medicare. Home hospice is fully covered by Medicare, so for Thursday having Ed at home continues Medicare's payments. The necessary equipment will be delivered Wednesday afternoon. This evening, Robby and Kurtis, two grandsons, came to move furniture around so that we can accommodate the hospital bed in the family room, set up so Ed will be able to watch TV, watch the backyard neighbors, see out the kitchen window to our pretty backyard tree, and look up to the sky through the skylights.
Ed did not have a good night last night--very restless and little good sleep. This morning he was confused again, thinking he was on a boat and then that we were in China. He came around at mid-morning and even told me about the China thoughts, knowing they were not realistic. I decided he should have a dose of the narcotic Roxanol while still in the hospital so that the nurses and doctor could see its effects on him. Sure enough, about 1/2 hour after taking it he was asleep but grabbing the air with his hands. He slept deeply (which was a good thing) throughout much of the afternoon, but about 2 hours after the dose I saw the rash start on his forearms. When I left for home to supervise the furniture moving, he was already scratching at it. Tonight Judi tells me his right eyelid is drooping to half-closed. No word yet on a reason for that.
I have interviewed one home health care agency tonight and will talk with another tomorrow at the hospital. I will pick one of these two and start their services to coincide with Ed's arrival at home. I plan to have 24-hour care to cover the first 2 nights, then switch to two times per day, probably 4 hours each at first, then maybe back off a little from that if I'm better and things are going OK with Ed.
Guess I don't need to sign my name to this. It's obvious who is doing the writing. (That was a very poor attempt at humor. Sorry.)
Ed did not have a good night last night--very restless and little good sleep. This morning he was confused again, thinking he was on a boat and then that we were in China. He came around at mid-morning and even told me about the China thoughts, knowing they were not realistic. I decided he should have a dose of the narcotic Roxanol while still in the hospital so that the nurses and doctor could see its effects on him. Sure enough, about 1/2 hour after taking it he was asleep but grabbing the air with his hands. He slept deeply (which was a good thing) throughout much of the afternoon, but about 2 hours after the dose I saw the rash start on his forearms. When I left for home to supervise the furniture moving, he was already scratching at it. Tonight Judi tells me his right eyelid is drooping to half-closed. No word yet on a reason for that.
I have interviewed one home health care agency tonight and will talk with another tomorrow at the hospital. I will pick one of these two and start their services to coincide with Ed's arrival at home. I plan to have 24-hour care to cover the first 2 nights, then switch to two times per day, probably 4 hours each at first, then maybe back off a little from that if I'm better and things are going OK with Ed.
Guess I don't need to sign my name to this. It's obvious who is doing the writing. (That was a very poor attempt at humor. Sorry.)
Monday, June 4, 2007
Stable vital signs
Over the past 3 days, Ed's vital signs have stabilized to the point that today, the nursing staff barely looked in on him, only checking his blood pressure, etc., once this morning and not the rest of the day. The hospice nurse did check him in the morning as well. He was mentally alert all day but very tired and got in quite a few naps. The hospice social worker talked with me at length about getting him home. She wants me to set up home caregiving quickly. It seems to me that because he has stabilized, now they aren't so concerned about keeping him in the hospital while my back still hurts. Instead they are focusing on my hiring home help to supplement the few visits hospice nurses and aides make. I wish I had more time to do research on home caregivers, but I guess I have to make quick decisions. I'm back to being convinced that a lot of the fault of Ed's mental impairment -- and some of the signs the hospice material says are signs of approaching death -- came from the narcotics he was taking for pain. He has been without narcotics since Tuesday night last week, and he has been mentally OK since Friday up to today. He has back pain, but he rang the call button to get Tylenol several times today and he says that takes the pain from a 5 to a 2 (on a scale of 10), and he doesn't mind the 2 level of pain. I'd rather he had no pain, but once again the hospice nurse is pushing the idea of a narcotic, morphine sulphate (Roxenal) to stay ahead of the pain. I haven't personally spoken to her about it (Judi was there this morning and talked with her), but it will take some real convincing on their part to get me to agree to regular doses of Roxenal. Judi is spending the night with Ed again, and Debbie has volunteered for tomorrow night. David also said he could take a night. Ed's kids obviously don't want him to ever be alone in the hospital. Judi, Becky, Debbie and Annie, and David were all there at one time or another again today.
My chiropractor is doing his best to get my back in shape. I saw him this morning and will again tomorrow morning.
Joni
My chiropractor is doing his best to get my back in shape. I saw him this morning and will again tomorrow morning.
Joni
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Sunday
Once again, Ed had lots of family around all day and a surprise visit from a friend who is our former across-the-street neighbor. He sat in a chair today for about an hour and had lunch while he was sitting there. He looked pretty good thru the morning and afternoon but by evening he was very tired. I was feeling a little better today back-wise, which made me think if I can keep improving over the next day or so and if I can find some skilled care help for at home to supplement hospice care, maybe we can bring him home soon. He would like that. I'll see what the hospice social worker has to say tomorrow.
I'm almost asleep at the computer thanks to taking the muscle relaxer earlier than bedtime. I'm hoping it gets me through the night and wears off so that I can start tomorrow driving myself.
Joni
I'm almost asleep at the computer thanks to taking the muscle relaxer earlier than bedtime. I'm hoping it gets me through the night and wears off so that I can start tomorrow driving myself.
Joni
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Good day Saturday
Today Ed was recognizing his visitors and calling them by name, had a good afternoon nap, really enjoyed having his brother and niece visit from Cincinnati. (For those of you who know about Bob, he looks wonderful; if it weren't for having to tug his oxygen around with him, you would never know that he has been battling pancreatic cancer.) Ed even talked on the phone with Melissa and with his long-time friend Larry. Last night was not quite as good in that he tried several times to get out of bed and was restless, so he had some medication to quiet him. Thankfully, it did not carry over into today so that he could be clear-headed. He didn't eat much today, but he did have a few bites of a chicken sandwich at suppertime, the first sandwich he wanted in probably over a month. He was moved into a larger, more pleasant room tonight (Room 915), complete with a built-in fish tank. It's meant to be a room for two, but he's the only patient in it and so staff brought in a mattress and boxspring for Debbie and Becky to use tonight as they stay over. Last night, Sherry and Judi spent the night in makeshift spaces in his much smaller room, and David did the same the previous night. I went into the hospital this morning planning to ask for a nicer room for him, but the staff had already beat me to it and told me they wanted to move him to a bigger room. I think they saw how many visitors he has all day long and into the night and realized he needed more space. Ed did tire today with the steady stream and did ask for an hour of no-visitors time. We both took a nap in the quiet. Except for a sore back from being in bed non-stop, he has not really complained of any pain.
Joni
Joni
Friday, June 1, 2007
In Inpatient Hospice
As of Saturday morning, Ed will officially be a hospice patient. I chose inpatient hospice at Grant Hospital, so he doesn't have to move an inch, just stay in his same hospital room. He will still have care from the floor staff, but in addition, the hospice nurses and other staff will be seeing him, reviewing his situation, revising his medication needs based on what will keep him most comfortable. In other words, he will be getting lots of attention and consideration. Today he was lucid, able to talk with us, recognize that his family was there and even called me by name and hugged me, understand what was being said to him, though not able to identify where he was. Dr. Mitchell says although that looks to us like he's better, the fact is this is typical of the last days of a kidney cancer patient--kind of like a wave of little ups followed by bigger downs, with the trend being all downhill. Ed has already shown some of the signs of being in his final days, like yesterday's constant fiddling with the bed linens. Today he kept taking off his hospital gown until we finally left it off him and eventually got him into his own undershirt once the IV fluids were removed. (They were removed because continuing them would build up fluid in his lungs.) He frequently has rattles when he breathes as he rests. These things are signs of the diminishing of oxygen to various parts of the body as it prepares to shut down. On average, patients stay in inpatient hospice care 5 to 7 days. We were able to have inpatient hospice because I am in what is called "caregiver's crisis" because of my current back problems. After a week or so, a decision must be made again based on medical condition (his and mine) to either bring him home with hospice care (which is not all that extensive, with me, the caregiver, having most of the work to care for him at home with whatever extra help I can arrange) or, if he has only a little time left, take him to Kobacker House, a hospice house where people can spend their last few days, or take him to a skilled nursing facility where his same hospice team will look after him along with the staff there. So the decision-making is not necessarily over with, but I feel I made the right choice for right now. We would have preferred having him come home, but it just isn't possible for me to do that right now. I'm sure he understands that.
Joni
Joni
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