Saying Goodbye

Mum’s memorial service was yesterday morning. It went well. Christopher and I gave the eulogy. Several people did readings. Friends had a chance to speak. I sang Another Star in the Sky, which I wrote when Nanny passed into spirit.

Here’s the eulogy and song.

I’m glad we’re moving through all the things that need to be done, checking each one off. It’s hard, though. I’ve been slowly going through the things in her apartment. We’ll keep some of it, but most of it needs to find a new home.

I sorted through her clothes and shoes and donated them to Womenspace on Friday. She had 42 pairs of shoes — most of which were high heeled sandals. Shame we aren’t the same size. I’m packing up her multitude of books which I think we’ll donate to…oh, it’s name escapes me now…but my mother-in-law-equivalent has that covered. They sell them on ebay and use the funds for the legal services they provide.

I need to post some of the larger items on craigslist: her bedroom furniture, patio furniture, couch, dining room table and chairs. And then have an estate sale, hopefully next weekend.

The kids are doing OK, although are showing signs of regression — like both Duncan and Berry peeing in their beds last night. And Emma woke up with growing pains. There seems to be more frequent breaking down into tears, too. D and B will be going to their Dad’s for two weeks soon, which I think will be a good break for them. They’re looking forward to “Daddy Camp.”

Au revoir, maman

She was diagnosed with cancer only 2 1/2 weeks ago. Yesterday morning, Mum took her last breath and passed into spirit. Figures she’d choose the summer solstice – she was always in rhythm with the Earth and its seasons.

The last two days of her life were difficult for us. She rapidly became less able to communicate and seeing her unable to make even her basic needs known was heartbreaking.

On Sunday, we brought her to my house, realizing that it was her last trip, that she wasn’t going back home again. Hospice ordered a hospital bed — which made helping her sit up to drink a lot easier. She ate breakfast that morning — some fruit and a cup of red rooibos tea, shuffled to our house, and went to bed. That turned out to be her last meal.

There are many things I’m grateful for:
Your prayers and loving thoughts.
Being with her and taking care of her with my brother, Christopher.
Sitting up through the night with her, playing reggae music and singing songs, until Christopher sent me to bed for a couple of hours.
Talking with her, letting her know we love her, that we’ll be strong for each other and letting her go.
Putting on Goddess Inside and Another Star in the Sky (my recordings). She took her last breath during Daydream Song.
Knowing that she’s no longer trapped in a dying body, that she’s free, that she has peace.

Some photos from her last couple of weeks.

After Berry and Duncan’s ballet recital on June 4.

At her apartment on June 12.

Saying goodnight to Berry after dinner on June 15.

Hugging a somewhat reluctant Duncan the same day.

Having a rest on the couch on June 18.

Leaving her house in her PJs on Sunday, June 19.

That’s the last picture I took of her.

Watching her during the night, that Sunday, she still looked beautiful. I curled up in bed with her for a while, knowing that soon I wouldn’t be able to do that anymore. She always gave good snuggles.

One day at a time

Mum fell during the night, although she seems to be all right. We barely got her over to our house today and she’s currently installed in Berry’s room where I think she’ll stay.

This photo is of Christopher dancing with her to the car.

One day at a time

Mum fell during the night, although she seems to be all right. We barely got her over to our house today and she’s currently installed in Berry’s room where I think she’ll stay.

This photo is of Christopher dancing with her to the car.

Saturday update

My brain can’t seem to think in full sentences at the moment.

Mum seems to get a bit weaker every day. She’s on medication for high blood pressure and a diuretic for swelling now. Along with a steroid to give her some energy, cough medicine for the previously unending cough, something for her liver and narcotic pain medication. The Hospice nurse brought over a medication sorter-outer, with boxes for each day, but I have yet to figure out what to put where to get it set up.

She’s having a lot of visitors. Which is nice, yet an exhausting whirlwind. Hospice comes again today and I think a bath aide starts next week at 3 times a week.

Mum’s not up for reading and answering emails at this point and talking on the phone is getting harder for her. I’m happy to read email to her (although I may not manage a reply either), so feel free to send it to me at joanna.y.bartlett@gmail.com. My cell is 541-525-5144.

At this point, I’m not holding out hope for a curative miracle. Kevin and I have talked to Duncan and Berry via Skype about Nanny’s body not working anymore and that, when it stops working, she’ll die. It’s a hard truth, but one they need to know is coming.

It’s hard to hold sentences together when you keep getting interrupted…

People are asking what they can do to help. I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Meals are helpful – although we’re something of a large and difficult crowd to feed. I’m gluten-free, Adam is vegetarian, and then we have 4 kids.

More later. I’m off to Mum’s now.

Maybe we should stop going to the doctor

It seems like every doctor’s visit brings more bad news.

Today we learned that Mum’s bilirubin level is 3.5. About 10 days ago it was 1.8. Over 4.0 means liver failure. Things don’t look good. At this point, her oncologist estimates she has 2 to 4 weeks left to live.

I took her home from the appointment and a parade of hospice folks arrived: someone delivering oxygen and a wheelchair, a chaplain and a social worker. Their almost simultaneous arrival was unplanned.

Thanks to all of them, Mum now has oxygen at home and portable oxygen, a wheelchair in case we want to take her places, a lifeline alert system in the process of being set up, a volunteer to come over and record her thoughts and stories and a bedside commode on its way.

Christopher arrives from France tonight and will stay for 2 weeks.

I can’t imagine how Mum feels, having her time on Earth cut so short. I’m reeling, myself.

I’m not sure what we need at this point. Other than WiFi at her house so I can work from there in the afternoons. I want to spend as much time as I can with her, as heartbreaking as it is to see her body cease to function. I go between realizing that we’ll have to say goodbye soon to believing that she’ll somehow fight the cancer back and become a world-traveling evangelist for alternative cancer cures.

Keep sending those good thoughts. We need them.

Today’s cancer cure

Just finished making this delicious looking concoction for Mum. It’s Essiac tea, nurse Caisse’s original formula. The instructions said to brew it for 10 minutes, stir, cool overnight in the fridge, stir, boil again for 10 minutes, then strain. Mmmmm! I feel a bit witchy now.

Mum update

Here’s the latest update.

We went to the oncologist on Wednesday. Really nice man. His son goes to the same school as Duncan and Berry. He was compassionate, kind and funny. Well, not exactly funny, but warm.

The news isn’t good. Mum has a lot of masses in her lungs and liver that shouldn’t be there. He clearly explained the chest x-ray, telling us what is normal (lots of black space) and what isn’t (all the white bits that look like cotton balls). In her liver, she has a 13 cm mass.

In terms of prognosis, she has a guesstimate of 3 to 6 months until either her liver or lungs fail. Chemotherapy is the only conventional treatment available and that may prolong her life, on average, for an additional 3 to 6 months. However, the treatment lasts 4 months and comes with a host of unpleasant side effects. There is no known cure.

The current plan is to reduce her symptoms (coughing, shortness of breath, difficulty sleeping) so that she can feel as well as she can, for as long as she can. We’re also upgrading her diet to include lots of nutritionally supportive foods — flax seed oil, chlorella smoothies, fresh vegetable juices.

The oncologist mentioned a naturopathic physician he’s worked with. Mum has an appointment with her on June 20. Hopefully she can recommend the right supplements, dosages and diet to support her body’s own healing ability. We’ve got lots of people praying for us, too (which is very appreciated — thank you).

I seem to be compartmentalizing things. There are the things I need to do to make sure Mum has what she needs (insurance, medications, people to clean, make juice, help watch kids, etc.). There are things I need to do to make sure I’m OK (exercise, sleep enough, eat good food, keep my own doctor/therapy appointments).

At times it’s overwhelming but, so far, I’m so busy I’m handling it OK. It’s the quiet times when it gets hard. And I know there will, eventually, be harder times ahead.

But today, I have my Mum. Today is what we have.

Mum’s diagnosis

Mum was diagnosed with liver cancer on Friday (June 3, 2011). She had been getting care through Volunteers in Medicine and seeing a primary care physician there.

A couple of weeks ago, she was recovering from a cold/virus of some kind and continued to have symptoms, like shortness of breath, and made an appointment to see her doctor that week. She’d also had a couple of attacks of severe pain in her abdomen and it felt hard and swollen.

Her doctor sent her for a chest x-ray and did some blood work. She got the results of the x-ray last Tuesday (May 31) – it showed multiple nodules in her lungs. So her doctor send her for a CT scan of her abdomen on Thursday (June 2). The CT scan showed several nodules in her abdomen, an enlarged gallbladder and a large nodule/tumor in her liver.

Her primary care doctor is 100% certain that it’s cancer. More blood work shows that it originated in her liver and has spread to her lungs.

She’s been referred to an oncologist at Willamette Valley Cancer Institute and has an appointment on Wednesday (June 8).

My mum has cancer

People are being so kind.

I do wish,though, I had some sort of respectable answer for “How are you doing?” I don’t know how I’m doing. I’m half-here, half-heartbroken. Still stunned. Sad. An inch away from tears. Lost. Torn. Do I stay hopeful and believe in healing miracles? I feel guilty if I don’t.

They say (they = the online resources I’ve been reading) that young children Duncan and Berry’s age believe in magical thinking. They believe that what they think and do makes things happen. Well, so do a lot of us adults, especially the ones who have a metaphysical bent.

Mum’s cancer is in her liver and lungs. There’s lots of it. She looks quite normal on the outside, but the scans of her innards tell another story. It’s still mind boggling to me.

Here’s Mum and Berry after the kids’ ballet recital on Saturday.