She sounds like an incredible person, and I am so very sorry for your loss.
When Pam was first diagnosed in 2006, her symptoms weren’t that bad, and she didn’t want to quit working. She was an administrative assistant to the director of one of the medical research centers in Boston, but because I didn’t want to live there, she took the Commuter Rail each morning from Haverhill to Boston, a commute of an hour and a half each way.
In 2007, her symptoms grew worse, and I noticed her walking slower each day when I went to pick her up at the train station. She had already had one round of chemo in 2006, and in the spring of 2007, her doctor recommended a second six month course of Cytoxan to arrest the damage to her lungs. The first time she bounced back pretty quick, and only took one day off work after each of her monthly chemo sessions.
But the second course really knocked the wind out of her. Her doctor said her would certify her for Social Security Disability, but she refused. She had a stubborn streak which she got from her mother, and she said she wasn’t ready to quit yet. She needed to work because that’s what she had always done, and she felt she would lose an important part of herself if she quit. I think it had more to do with giving in to the scleroderma; she battled it like a sworn foe, and was loath to grant it any quarter by admitting it had gained any ground.
I told her she could go back to work on two conditions: she could only work three days a week, because it took a full day on the couch to recover for each day she went to work. And she had to give up taking the train; walking from the Commuter Rail through North Station, catching the T to Longwood Station, then walking the three blocks to her office was out of the question.
So in September of 2007, I started driving her 45 miles to work each morning, then drive back to New Hampshire, do my service calls, then drive back to Boston to pick her up. I was not about to tell her I forbid her to work. No man has used that word with her and kept his balls to tell about it.
This went on for three months, until a cold December day, she got into the car, and I could see she was whipped. She spoke quietly.
“I can’t do this anymore.” The resignation in her voice was heartbreaking. I told her it was always up to her, and that I and her doctor wanted her to quit months ago. But it wasn’t because she loved her work, or that we needed the money, or just her mother’s stubborness.
The monster had won.
I am so sorry. <3
Such a beautiful tribute to someone who was clearly so loved. I am deeply sorry for your loss.
That’s one tough broad! (and I mean that in the NICEST possible way) I wish I were that tough.
Just found this thread. My sincerest condolences, FI. I know words don’t mean anything, but I wish you strength.
I am so sorry for your loss. You painted a lovely portrait. I used to live in Stoughton, MA, a town with a large Cape Verdean population. Aww… I think I got something really big in my eye.
I’m so sorry for your loss, Fear Itself.
I’m so sorry for your loss, she sounds like a wonderful woman. You were lucky to have found her, even for so short a time.
So sorry for your loss. You paint the picture of a beautiful woman.
My deepest condolences. Pam clearly was an extrodinary person.
You were both blessed with a special love and, no matter how long you had each other, it would never, ever be long enough. I can feel your pain, and regret that I never had the chance to meet Pam. That is my loss. In time the rawness of your grief will lessen and that is what she would want. In the mean time be good to yourself, pamper yourself, let grief do its work, don’t be strong and silent, ask for what you need, and know that we are always here if you need to talk, to cry, to scream, laugh or just sit quietly and be with your friends, the Crazy People.
Fear Itself, I’m sending you my deepest condolences. You gave your wife a wonderful tribute with every single word you’ve told us about her. The time you had together were meant to be. Cherish her memory, as I know you will.
I’m so very sorry for your loss. May you find peace.
Thank you for sharing your stories - Pam sounds like she was a wonderful woman and you two were so lucky to enjoy your years together. I’m so sorry it ended so painfully and so early. My thoughts are with you.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
May I offer my deepest sympathies, Fear Itself, as well as my thanks for sharing a truly moving testimony.
I’m so sorry, Fear Itself.
I’m very sorry for your loss and touched by your love story.
I’m so sorry for your loss. Strength and peace to you and yours.
What a terrible loss. I can only hope to someday have the strength and courage you have Fear. Thank you for writing about Pam, what a wonderful person to share your life with.