I didn’t post about this at the time, because I couldn’t find the words. I’m going to give it a try now, and see if I can adequately express my thoughts. On Februrary 29th, 2004 a close relative to my husband died. It was very sudden, and although not entirely unbraced for, nevertheless heart breaking.
Background information. She had been fighting breast cancer, and winning for about four years prior to this. It had metastisized, and spread to her back and leg/hip at one point. The tumor in her hip area weakened the bones enough to cause a fracture, which eventually meant hip replacement surgery, because the cancer had eaten out the upper portion of her femur.
In the Summer of 2003, she was told that the cancer was in “remission” but it was decided to continue with a different regiment of chemotherapy. (Which, didn’t cross the brain barrier, this is important later.) I remember her telling me that she was breathing easier, since that diagnosis. She was so happy when her hair grew back and she could stop wearing wigs to work. Looking back, I get a chill though, as I remember her saying “If I get brain cancer, I’m not going to fight it, I’ll just die, I don’t want to fight those odds, because I wouldn’t even be the same.” She found a job she enjoyed that summer, teaching adult education to help people better themselves. She gave her all to that job, and honestly rooted for her student’s success.
About this time, we noticed that she lost her temper more easily, and would forget things. She also lost her balance a lot, (re-breaking her bone and dislodging the metal plate, which became infected and required surgery that fall) and became less active. (This was partially due to the fact that she needed a cane and a special shoe to walk because the surgery shortened her leg.) She chalked it up to the side effects of her various medications, and with her assurance, so did we. She became more erratic as time went by though, saying things that were out of character. Again, we chalked it up to stress and medication.
By December of 2003, she complained of headaches, and thought she had the flu. I urged her to tell her doctor about the headaches, but I don’t think that she or the physician thought very much about them. By this time, my husband and I were rather worried about her, which she would fiercely fend away saying “I’m fine, it’s just the medicines.”
By the very end of December, we found that she was hardly eating or drinking due to loss of appetite and nausea, couldn’t get rid of her headaches, was drowsy, and fell a LOT. (These were also side effects of her various medicines, it could cause dizzyness, and memory loss, and personality changes, as well as headaches/appetite loss/nausea.) She also couldn’t remember anything, and would refer to things that were long past. (For example, a family pet that was long dead.)
We both watched her, urging her to go with us to the doctor, which she refused to do. She had enough vigour, and could command you well enough with her prescence, that she convinced us she was under a doctor’s care for flu. Once she made such a statement, it wasn’t possible to continue the topic, she had that much force of will. (I don’t know if she told the doctor what was going on or not, she was very good at hiding how ill she was, if you weren’t family, and in her house often, you couldn’t tell.) She had a home health nurse that came by to administer medicines, so we were lulled into thinking she would get well.
Two weeks went by, and we checked in on her regularly, and were horrified to see that over a weekend she had worsened to the point that she had slurred speech, and no idea of her surroundings. We made a pact, to carry her to the doctor’s that Monday. An excuse even presented itself, she fell when we were checking on her, and lay on the drafty hardwood floor in her nightgown, dazed, crying, and not wanting to get up.
We got her into the doctor’s office, and after taking the physician aside, and explaining that although she was protesting that she was fine, for days she had been in a daze, unaware of her surroundings, dizzy, nauseated, unable to eat or drink much, couldn’t tell us what day of the week it was after she fell, or the year, and had been having ongoing headaches and loss of coordination. That got her attention enough that she decided to check and see if she had a concussion at least.
The found a brain tumor in her brainstem, and she was hospitalized right away. We were told that she had six months to live, and began making arrangements for nursing and a hosptial bed. She came home, and her husband took time off work to care for her. We braced ourselves for the reality of having to wipe her after she eliminated, and spoonfeed her, because we were the ones who would have the time and lived near enough to do so. Her husband would have to go back to work, to support the family, so that left my husband and I to care for her. We tried to be strong, knowing we would watch her waste away and die. A day or two after she came home, more extensive tests found several tumors throughout her brain. Her husband said “Her brain looks like swiss cheese.” The tumors were growing rapidly, pressing on her brainstem, and the doctor said “It’s fatal”.
She had to go back into the hospital, in intensive care. Day by day, she talked less, and you could see less of her razor sharp wit gazing back at you. Two weeks after she was diagnosed, she passed away peacefully in her sleep. I firmly believe, that at one point she was lucid enough to take in her diagnosis, and realize what it meant.
I saw a resolve in her face, the last few days of her life. Her eyes were turned away from life, and towards death. She embraced it as a mercy, not wanting us to see her waste away. (She was fiercely proud, and independent.) She decided to willingly walk down the path towards death, to exert her will in that direction, so there would be less suffering. It was a final gift she gave us. She just decided to go to sleep, and did. I admire her, for embracing ineveitable death, and not being afraid. It took great courage, and love to do that.
She was an amazing lady in many ways. She had an ascerbic wit, that could strip through the bullshit in a statement, and get to the truth of a matter with one sentence. She loved to bake pies, cookies, breads, and garden. (She had heirloom variety vegetables that she’d plant every year.) She tended heirloom roses, and hoped her pear tree would one day give her fruit. She was very much into ecological conservation, and often spoke of renovationg a missle silo to live in, because it would be recycling, and also take less energy to heat or cool. She was good enough at carpentry, that 20 years after the fact, the portion of her backyard porch she roofed doesn’t leak, while the parts she didn’t build do. She believed you should respect all life. She did what she felt was right, not what others felt was right. She loved classical music, but also liked Rock and Roll, and even some Pop music. She was exceedingly well read, and had the ability to light the spark of enthusiasm for learning in people on first meeting them. She gave respect to everyone, and got respect in return.
My husband is of course, grieving still. It hasn’t even been a year. This was the first family death he’s really felt as an adult. I think he’s starting to accept what happened, and is trying to move on. Although I didn’t know her for very long at all, I’m still reeling with the loss. After her death I was in shock, unable to believe it all. It wasn’t until summer that it all sunk in, and I got angry. Angry that her husband didn’t take her to the doctor sooner. Angry that she ignored my pleas. Angry at the cosmos for being so cruel, and striking her down, just as she’s finally taking an easy breath. I’m moving past the anger, and am finding ways to keep her philosopy alive. I accept that she couldn’t help getting sick, I accept that it was fatal. I’m learning to let go, and move on. I know she’d be urging me to go on living, as the best tribute I could give her.
We love you still Tonya, and miss you greatly, but we are moving on.