My decoration boxes have been changing over the years. From cardboard boxes that were packed by the military for moves, to the plastic tubs. They've grown in number, been replaced, been labeled and been loved on. And now the elimination process has begun. Anyone over 30 years old knows the routine. What was once valuable has lost value. What was once important, loses importance. And then, what was once often shared is no longer seen by others. That's where this year's boxes land. If only one person sees the tree, the ornaments, the memories, is it worth it? If only the person who painstakingly opens every Hallmark box, unwraps each ornament, replaces the wrapping, returns the box to the tub and hangs the ornament on the tree sees it - is it worth it?
That is where I am tonight. Because after being in a home that will share a tree with parents, brothers and their families, children and grandchildren this year, I find myself once again feeling so very alone. I have no parents, no siblings, no grandchildren to share the tree with. The husband has never been a sentimental holiday type. He may be here in the house, but he's not one to care if there is a tree or not. One child will not be able to return again this holiday season. One child will most likely not return to the house while the tree is decorated. And if he returns, he won't have the same sentimental attraction. Over 30 years of ornaments, based on times, places and events of my life will be just more ornaments. Unmatching, unrelated, not uniform is size or color. Just an array of memories. My memories. In a room no one sits in or enjoys, full of memories that no one else shares. So, some tubs have not made it down from the attic. Some tubs that made the cut will not be emptied. I don't think I can let them go... not yet. I can't donate them - because the value is in the memory, not in the cost.
Half of me obviously still wants them displayed. After all, I climbed in the attic, carried those tubs down, lined them up in the living room, and put together a decorated tree. Just a tree. (And like last year, no packages under it. Gift giving has also changed over the years. Instead of all the shopping, wrapping and opening, it's a check. Money is something each child wants and needs. Material gifts? Not really.) The bag of all the Christmas stuffed deer and etc are still waiting - in the bag. I don't have the heart to take them all out, line them all up, place them in their places they have been in for years, for no one to see. Along with the rest of Christmas. That no one else will see. The tears will fall, from the memories I have of the years I DID share Christmas. Strange how tears can hurt because of the happy times they remember.
Time to do something else. Possibly get out the ceramic tree my mom made. The only Christmas decoration she brought from Llano to her apartment here. Maybe the connection with her will help. Because she would be the only one who would understand right now. Because she would never think I was silly for crying over memories made.. and lost. I miss her. I miss talking to her. And I regret ever taking those conversations for granted.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
State Fair Day, 2015: And then... Roger...
Every year since 2007, Kris and Amber Kaemmerling have invited me (and various family members along the way) to be their guests at the State Fair of Texas. My math tells me we just completed our 9th year - wow... 9 years... This year, the 6th member of the Schrimsher family made it - for his first time ever. Joel was introduced to crazy Fair traffic (made worse because it was the last day of the year, and the weather was absolutely PERFECT!), Pedro's Tamales, Fletcher's Corndogs, Turkey Legs, homemade turtle fudge and Big Tex (not to mention the new cars on display, and some fancy arts and craft booths). One last attempted stop for a funnel cake for Kristi and me, and we would be done for the year. But, that line included the new "Fried Carrot Cake" and looked to have a 30-40 minute wait. A quick agreement of "nah, we'll get one next year", and we were out of the fairgrounds, and home within 35 minutes. (Which sure beat the 90 minutes it took to get there!) We couldn't have asked for anything more ~ gorgeous weather, good friends, enough food to last the day and fun memories that will last until next year.
While standing on the driveway, saying goodbyes to Tyson and Kristi, and preparing to go to our Care Group gathering at the Chandler's, we heard (what sounded like) yelling coming from a house across the way: probably across the street, unsure of the house direction. Within a few minutes, Sadie appeared on her sidewalk yelling, "I need help, I need help!". I started walking towards her, and she added, "I need a man!". Tyson was now following me in a walk/trot when she added, "Not me, go to the backyard, my husband's trying to.... (then the words I will never forget).... kill himself!". Walk/trot becomes full blown run. Get to the gate, open the latch, run as hard as you can into a yard you have never seen. At the back corner stands a metal storage shed. I turn left, in front of the shed... looking for "something"... Tyson goes straight towards the back of the shed. In what felt like 1000 seconds but was only 3, I am at the back of the storage building from the other side. There he is - laying on his side, with Tyson's hand on his shoulder. Split second determination: he is alive and looks "okay". He is on a cell phone, and crying. He's saying, "I don't know who is here." I say outloud, for him and for the person on the phone, "It's Cindi, from across the street, and this is my son, Tyson.". Roger again says, "I don't know, I don't know" and lifts the phone for someone to take it. In this frozen nanosecond of time, I look at Tyson with the questioning eyes of "WHAT is he using?" Tyson brings his right hand up into view and is holding a loaded .38 revolver.
You remember the frozen in time feel, don't you? The slow motion, brain is not processing what I'm seeing feel. The "Wait, What, Why?" moment.... The what now thought.... The I don't know what to do next thought.... So I take the phone, asking Roger who is this, what is her name...
Hi sister, LaNell, this is Cindi, the neighbor across the street. Yes he is alive, yes we have the gun, yes we will go inside and get the shotgun, yes he is drunk, yes we will get the ammunition, yes we will check on them, here is my name and phone number.... All while I am standing on the side of the shed, fiercely holding on to an uncontrolled, inconsolable Sadie who is asking all the same questions...
Next look up, and Joel and a man I have never seen are standing behind Tyson, who has Roger in a sitting position. Sadie and I go inside to where the guns are kept, collecting everything we can and moving them to the front door. The man I have never seen: A new neighbor (angel): Jay... just moved in the neighborhood - who is a pastor at the local church, who is a NRH police chaplain, who is able to take a hyperventilating, recovering from lung surgery, medically dependent Sadie and calm her down where she can now speak without gasping for air. Tyson has left the .38 on the dining room table, bullets removed. Joel takes the arms back to our house. Tyson is now sitting on the back patio with Roger. Just sitting. Not speaking. I return to Roger. Two NRH police officers arrive casually walking in the backyard, as if they came to hand out a flyer to the Policeman's ball. One asks, "Hello, what's going on here?" Roger responds: "Who are you?" (Remember, he is legally blind, and I tell the officers that.) Tyson feels his job is complete and returns to our house. The officers identify themselves and the next hour to 90 minutes are spent assessing, asking, providing support to the family.
At the end of the officers' time at the house, they have determined that things have de-escalated enough that there is no longer a threat. Oh, I asked if I should stay longer, if I should stay the night. They assured me it would be okay. Okay... that definition is wide, isn't it? Okay - by what standard? Okay - For how long? Okay - In who's eyes? But we leave them there, to begin the healing. We go our ways, to begin our healing. There will never be a question that we were involved in a miracle. Remember - the long line for the funnel cake? Remember - the ease of getting home without traffic? Remember - we were outside talking, not inside? Remember - the new neighbor who moved in and is a pastor and police chaplain? I remember. I always will. It did not take long to see the providence of God in that afternoon. It still reminds me that He is here, He is in control, and He loves his people and will use anyone at any time to remind them/us of that love.
Yes, there were tears that night. Once during the ordeal, in one trip back and forth to our driveway, I saw our neighbor, Terry, and just seeing her face, her concern, her love: brought a handful. After an hour or so with our Care Group (yes, we went - it was the best thing to get out of the house and the police encouraged us to leave), and after finally settling enough to get into bed about midnight, many tears fell. Tears for everything: For the family across the street, for the neighborhood who knows and loves them and saw the 3 police units parked outside. For the brokenness of that couple and their fear of being alone. For my son, and what he witnessed first hand, and did to prevent something from happening. For his wife, who feared for her husband's safety, and made the call to 9-1-1 for help. For all of us, who live in this broken world - who long for people that have seen the joys of heaven and are not bound to the miseries of humanity. I missed my mom fiercely that night. It was one time where the overwhelming feeling of being alone hit, and hit hard. I longed for Cassidy - to just be able to see her and hold her - to know her world was good. But in the midst of some of those tears, was also praise for the life of Roger - that he still has a life. And thankfulness for all of the orchestration from heaven that allowed Roger to still be with us.
While standing on the driveway, saying goodbyes to Tyson and Kristi, and preparing to go to our Care Group gathering at the Chandler's, we heard (what sounded like) yelling coming from a house across the way: probably across the street, unsure of the house direction. Within a few minutes, Sadie appeared on her sidewalk yelling, "I need help, I need help!". I started walking towards her, and she added, "I need a man!". Tyson was now following me in a walk/trot when she added, "Not me, go to the backyard, my husband's trying to.... (then the words I will never forget).... kill himself!". Walk/trot becomes full blown run. Get to the gate, open the latch, run as hard as you can into a yard you have never seen. At the back corner stands a metal storage shed. I turn left, in front of the shed... looking for "something"... Tyson goes straight towards the back of the shed. In what felt like 1000 seconds but was only 3, I am at the back of the storage building from the other side. There he is - laying on his side, with Tyson's hand on his shoulder. Split second determination: he is alive and looks "okay". He is on a cell phone, and crying. He's saying, "I don't know who is here." I say outloud, for him and for the person on the phone, "It's Cindi, from across the street, and this is my son, Tyson.". Roger again says, "I don't know, I don't know" and lifts the phone for someone to take it. In this frozen nanosecond of time, I look at Tyson with the questioning eyes of "WHAT is he using?" Tyson brings his right hand up into view and is holding a loaded .38 revolver.
You remember the frozen in time feel, don't you? The slow motion, brain is not processing what I'm seeing feel. The "Wait, What, Why?" moment.... The what now thought.... The I don't know what to do next thought.... So I take the phone, asking Roger who is this, what is her name...
Hi sister, LaNell, this is Cindi, the neighbor across the street. Yes he is alive, yes we have the gun, yes we will go inside and get the shotgun, yes he is drunk, yes we will get the ammunition, yes we will check on them, here is my name and phone number.... All while I am standing on the side of the shed, fiercely holding on to an uncontrolled, inconsolable Sadie who is asking all the same questions...
Next look up, and Joel and a man I have never seen are standing behind Tyson, who has Roger in a sitting position. Sadie and I go inside to where the guns are kept, collecting everything we can and moving them to the front door. The man I have never seen: A new neighbor (angel): Jay... just moved in the neighborhood - who is a pastor at the local church, who is a NRH police chaplain, who is able to take a hyperventilating, recovering from lung surgery, medically dependent Sadie and calm her down where she can now speak without gasping for air. Tyson has left the .38 on the dining room table, bullets removed. Joel takes the arms back to our house. Tyson is now sitting on the back patio with Roger. Just sitting. Not speaking. I return to Roger. Two NRH police officers arrive casually walking in the backyard, as if they came to hand out a flyer to the Policeman's ball. One asks, "Hello, what's going on here?" Roger responds: "Who are you?" (Remember, he is legally blind, and I tell the officers that.) Tyson feels his job is complete and returns to our house. The officers identify themselves and the next hour to 90 minutes are spent assessing, asking, providing support to the family.
At the end of the officers' time at the house, they have determined that things have de-escalated enough that there is no longer a threat. Oh, I asked if I should stay longer, if I should stay the night. They assured me it would be okay. Okay... that definition is wide, isn't it? Okay - by what standard? Okay - For how long? Okay - In who's eyes? But we leave them there, to begin the healing. We go our ways, to begin our healing. There will never be a question that we were involved in a miracle. Remember - the long line for the funnel cake? Remember - the ease of getting home without traffic? Remember - we were outside talking, not inside? Remember - the new neighbor who moved in and is a pastor and police chaplain? I remember. I always will. It did not take long to see the providence of God in that afternoon. It still reminds me that He is here, He is in control, and He loves his people and will use anyone at any time to remind them/us of that love.
Yes, there were tears that night. Once during the ordeal, in one trip back and forth to our driveway, I saw our neighbor, Terry, and just seeing her face, her concern, her love: brought a handful. After an hour or so with our Care Group (yes, we went - it was the best thing to get out of the house and the police encouraged us to leave), and after finally settling enough to get into bed about midnight, many tears fell. Tears for everything: For the family across the street, for the neighborhood who knows and loves them and saw the 3 police units parked outside. For the brokenness of that couple and their fear of being alone. For my son, and what he witnessed first hand, and did to prevent something from happening. For his wife, who feared for her husband's safety, and made the call to 9-1-1 for help. For all of us, who live in this broken world - who long for people that have seen the joys of heaven and are not bound to the miseries of humanity. I missed my mom fiercely that night. It was one time where the overwhelming feeling of being alone hit, and hit hard. I longed for Cassidy - to just be able to see her and hold her - to know her world was good. But in the midst of some of those tears, was also praise for the life of Roger - that he still has a life. And thankfulness for all of the orchestration from heaven that allowed Roger to still be with us.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
More... Friends, More.. Tired ~ definitely older.
I've often said I realize I am spoiled. Being an only child of older parents born in the late 50's, I never wanted for anything ~ anything material. I wanted a lot, but not really more stuff. I wanted a big, older brother. I wanted more friends (although I had more than I deserved). I wanted to make my parents proud (ok, more proud than I could imagine). But more than anything, I wanted peace. Contentment. Acceptance: Peace. Why is that one item so many of us want, but never know how to attain? Peace. Perfect peace. Mostly, peace with who we really are, not who we think we want to be.
In 1977, I met a young airman at Bergstrom AFB. He was a fun and funny guy and we just hit it off well. He was a coworker of my 1st husband and after the husband wasn't a husband anymore, I sort of naturally migrated away from Steve. Oh, there was the typical Christmas card exchanges: nothing more. Then 3 years ago, we connected again - and Cassidy and I found ourselves celebrating a Chicago Cubs win at Wrigley with Steve and Gina. Friends... as in keeping old and making new, silver and gold. We've met up again a couple of more times - enjoying each opportunity. Fast forward to July 14, 2015. Gina and I flew into NYC (from Chicago and DFW) for a fast 2 days of laughing, walking, show watching and 9-11 Museum contemplating. For a couple of quickly made girlfriends, you would have never guessed how much we enjoyed the trip, and each other.
We were only on the ground for about 30 hours - but enough time to walk Hell's Kitchen for a couple of meals, ride the Staten Island Ferry, see Jim Parsons do a (practically one man) 90 minute monologue Broadway comedy show, and spend several hours at the 9-11 Memorial/Museum. We talked as we walked, as we rode (subway, bus, ferry), as we ate, as we waited. And we learned that we are so much more alike than we knew last week. We want the best and the most for our kids. We want to work a few more years, retire comfortably and be able to entertain grandchildren while parents catch a breather. We want to remember the good times, remember our youth, remember those who we love and miss. And we don't want to admit we are getting old(er).
Counting this trip, I have been to NYC 24 times and seen 22 Broadway shows plus several Radio City Music Hall Christmas and Spring Shows. One recent trip, the pedometer registered over 30,000 steps and 17 miles in less than 10 hours. THAT record will probably stand. Because after that, I was tired. More tired than any other time I can remember (ok, unless you count the Saturday many of us walked 20 miles the Saturday before Junior Prom for some MDA or similar cause in blistering South Texas heat in about 6 hours).
Oh, the feet ached that night - but thanks to 800 Mg of Advil and Lindy's miracle Epsom Salts and HOT water in a plastic tub, I was able to sleep. And put shoes on the next day. Another friend that I am blessed to have. Another reason I was able to spend so many nights in NYC for free - on a futon they called "mine", in a NYC apartment that I had my own set of keys to. Yes, spoiled for sure. Who else can fly to LaGuardia, get a M60 bus/Subway pass on the A train to the 207th St Stop for $2.50, and sleep for free? Yes, spoiled extraordinaire.
But each trip seems to make me more tired. Physically tired. Sometimes, Mentally tired. Often Emotionally tired. The mind wanders more on the return flight: wanting to call my mom to tell her about the trip - what happened - what we saw - where we ate. Although she never saw New York City, she would have loved to talk and hear about it. She knew how much I love it and she would love it because I did. It wanders to Cassidy - my true travel soulmate. The one who has seen and knows NYC almost as much as I do - and who loves it the way I do. The last 5 trips, I have made without her, and I miss her. Oh, there are those friends, that I truly enjoy. But nothing compares to traveling with your adult daughter. We just know each other - how to maneuver between people, how to rush to catch a train, how to check reviews at a restaurant, how to buy Broadway tickets at the TKTS booth, how to get to S'MAC, how to find the Hallal Guys at Rockefeller Center, how to dodge traffic and rain puddles like a pro. And how I miss traveling with her. Oh, the great thing is I can STILL call and talk to her after a trip. We were able to do that today, as I was leaving work, and as she drove home to Offutt AFB from Iowa, watching a best friend's 1 year old baby. But - it's not the same.
Which brings me back to peace. Although a new baby in her house would be anything but peaceful, it would be a peace for her/their heart. As much as she would love seeing more of New York with me, she will be in Nebraska, waiting. She and Jeremy will be amazing parents. They will raise children who know manners, who love and respect adults, who will appreciate sports and be allowed to play them all, and who will honor their God. Spillman children will have fun, will make memories. They will have opportunities, will be true friends and will love people - just like their parents. And I pray they will live in a world of peace. I also pray I will not be too tired to enjoy those grandchildren ~ to play with them, to run and laugh with them, and to show them all the things their mom and I love to do - when traveling - to baseball stadiums, and to New York. And to teach them about their Great Grandmother, who would have spoiled them - just like she spoiled me.. and her granddaughter.
In 1977, I met a young airman at Bergstrom AFB. He was a fun and funny guy and we just hit it off well. He was a coworker of my 1st husband and after the husband wasn't a husband anymore, I sort of naturally migrated away from Steve. Oh, there was the typical Christmas card exchanges: nothing more. Then 3 years ago, we connected again - and Cassidy and I found ourselves celebrating a Chicago Cubs win at Wrigley with Steve and Gina. Friends... as in keeping old and making new, silver and gold. We've met up again a couple of more times - enjoying each opportunity. Fast forward to July 14, 2015. Gina and I flew into NYC (from Chicago and DFW) for a fast 2 days of laughing, walking, show watching and 9-11 Museum contemplating. For a couple of quickly made girlfriends, you would have never guessed how much we enjoyed the trip, and each other.
We were only on the ground for about 30 hours - but enough time to walk Hell's Kitchen for a couple of meals, ride the Staten Island Ferry, see Jim Parsons do a (practically one man) 90 minute monologue Broadway comedy show, and spend several hours at the 9-11 Memorial/Museum. We talked as we walked, as we rode (subway, bus, ferry), as we ate, as we waited. And we learned that we are so much more alike than we knew last week. We want the best and the most for our kids. We want to work a few more years, retire comfortably and be able to entertain grandchildren while parents catch a breather. We want to remember the good times, remember our youth, remember those who we love and miss. And we don't want to admit we are getting old(er).
Counting this trip, I have been to NYC 24 times and seen 22 Broadway shows plus several Radio City Music Hall Christmas and Spring Shows. One recent trip, the pedometer registered over 30,000 steps and 17 miles in less than 10 hours. THAT record will probably stand. Because after that, I was tired. More tired than any other time I can remember (ok, unless you count the Saturday many of us walked 20 miles the Saturday before Junior Prom for some MDA or similar cause in blistering South Texas heat in about 6 hours).
Oh, the feet ached that night - but thanks to 800 Mg of Advil and Lindy's miracle Epsom Salts and HOT water in a plastic tub, I was able to sleep. And put shoes on the next day. Another friend that I am blessed to have. Another reason I was able to spend so many nights in NYC for free - on a futon they called "mine", in a NYC apartment that I had my own set of keys to. Yes, spoiled for sure. Who else can fly to LaGuardia, get a M60 bus/Subway pass on the A train to the 207th St Stop for $2.50, and sleep for free? Yes, spoiled extraordinaire.
But each trip seems to make me more tired. Physically tired. Sometimes, Mentally tired. Often Emotionally tired. The mind wanders more on the return flight: wanting to call my mom to tell her about the trip - what happened - what we saw - where we ate. Although she never saw New York City, she would have loved to talk and hear about it. She knew how much I love it and she would love it because I did. It wanders to Cassidy - my true travel soulmate. The one who has seen and knows NYC almost as much as I do - and who loves it the way I do. The last 5 trips, I have made without her, and I miss her. Oh, there are those friends, that I truly enjoy. But nothing compares to traveling with your adult daughter. We just know each other - how to maneuver between people, how to rush to catch a train, how to check reviews at a restaurant, how to buy Broadway tickets at the TKTS booth, how to get to S'MAC, how to find the Hallal Guys at Rockefeller Center, how to dodge traffic and rain puddles like a pro. And how I miss traveling with her. Oh, the great thing is I can STILL call and talk to her after a trip. We were able to do that today, as I was leaving work, and as she drove home to Offutt AFB from Iowa, watching a best friend's 1 year old baby. But - it's not the same.
Which brings me back to peace. Although a new baby in her house would be anything but peaceful, it would be a peace for her/their heart. As much as she would love seeing more of New York with me, she will be in Nebraska, waiting. She and Jeremy will be amazing parents. They will raise children who know manners, who love and respect adults, who will appreciate sports and be allowed to play them all, and who will honor their God. Spillman children will have fun, will make memories. They will have opportunities, will be true friends and will love people - just like their parents. And I pray they will live in a world of peace. I also pray I will not be too tired to enjoy those grandchildren ~ to play with them, to run and laugh with them, and to show them all the things their mom and I love to do - when traveling - to baseball stadiums, and to New York. And to teach them about their Great Grandmother, who would have spoiled them - just like she spoiled me.. and her granddaughter.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Another January, Another Hospital
I'm beginning to have a lot of trepidation about January. In 2009, 2013 and now 2015, I've spent too much time sleeping in one, watching people I've loved. Although the 1st two times, they came from no where, this time, it was (sort of) scheduled. At least January 8th was, and the 6 days following. Then January 17 came, and this hospital stay was anything but expected.
Where do I start? Without leading you on a rabbit trail, the story is this: August, 2014, Joel was diagnosed with a massive DVT (blood clot) in his right calf and femoral artery. A regimen began with an anti-coagulant. With no known cause (yes, we had just flown to Chicago, but really? That was a cause? Psh...), he was prescribed Xarelto. His PCP (primary care physician) wanted to do more tests -what really caused it? Since cancer thickens the blood, she asked questions and ordered tests. December, Joel has a routine colonoscopy where a malignant tumor was found in the wall of his colon. Surgery to remove the portion of the transverse section of the colon was performed, and he started walking the halls, to wake up the colon, get it to working, so he could go home. Mission accomplished! :) Cassidy was here from the night before surgery (Jan 7th) until Sunday afternoon (the 11th) when all looked good for him. Which it was. We left North Hills with some new hospital buddies (nurses) and had no reason to look back. Until...
Saturday morning, Joel almost fainted - weak and short of breath. After consulting with my nurse (Cassidy) and calling the surgeon, we were on our way to the ER. A few tests later revealed blood clots in both lungs. Four hours later of trying to find a) the right doctor who knew b) the right procedure who was available and c) had a hospital with an open bed in a cardio vascular ICU and we were off by ambulance to Baylor All Saints hospital in Fort Worth. That night, the room was a hornet's nest of activity: intake evaluation, another chest x-ray, ultrasounds on his legs, lab work, visits by 2 doctors and a nurse practitioner, and I don't remember what else - all to talk to an interventionist radiologist to decide if he needed that specific procedure that sent us here.
Yes, and that was accomplished on Sunday afternoon, from 3-4 pm, with automatic results. He was awake through it all, and talked about it on the way back to his room. Amazed. Speechless. And in awe of the power of prayer that had been said for him from all over the US. His color was normal, his breathing was at the regular depth, his countenance was brighter and the whole world seemed to be singing how wonderful our God was for solving yet one more human frailty.
Then the waiting began... today.. minutes felt like hours. The clock seemed stuck - between "wait til you see the doctor", and "we're not sure he's coming today". Wait a minute... you said wait to see him... he left? we are.. waiting for what?
I know I'm not exactly calm and rational. Okay, I'm anything BUT calm OR rational. I'm exhausted. I've slept on a recliner with a blanket for 9 days out of the past 12. I've been interrupted by doctors, nurses, lab technicians, x-ray and ultrasound folks, internists, hospitalists, intensivists, bathroom needs, 'let's go walk down the hall' needs, and just not able to turn the brain off. It has been anything but unemotional. You go from a routine exam, to cancer Stage 2, to a visit with an oncologist, to a doctor telling you, "I've got good news and bad news: The bad news is you have a saddle embolism - blood clots in both lungs, the good news is that you're not dead." Wow. Because most people with this kind of blood clot don't arrive at the hospital breathing... they die before anyone can help them. Then you hear there are 7 specialists deciding what your best option is - to live. Not an easy walk in the park, is it? One ambulance ride, another hospital to learn, make sure you let people know what is going on when they ask, and oh, by the way - keep it all together, will you?
When doctors give the patient the ability to choose their own treatment - I'm lost. "Yes, you have cancer, it's up to you whether you want chemo or not." or - "Yes you have multiple blood clots in both lungs, and your right heart ventricle is pumping blood at more than twice the norm ~ it's up to you whether you want us to break those clots up and reduce the pressure in your heart." Seriously? Just why are we paying these guys? Isn't the decision making part of the process? YOU doctors have the knowledge, the training, the experience - why are you giving it to amateurs like us?
So - if we must choose - we choose life, and the ability to live it longer. A catheter is placed in Joel's neck with leads going to his heart and his lungs. One hour later, and we have a verdict: the heart pressure is below normal, an IVC filter has been placed to block any more clots moving into the lungs, and the clots already there are already beginning to dissolve. Wow - and you medical folks all credit the heprin for doing that. Thank you God, for heprin. But more importantly - thank you God for giving so many of us the ability to speak to you FOR Joel - to show him how you want to hear from us, how you can heal us miraculously and how we KNOW where the true physician is... HE is sitting on the throne, blessing his people who cry out to him for a loved one. People who have never met Joel, people who have brought his name to your feet begging for healing. People that you love, and want to show your glory through. Thank you for letting us all plead for Joel - and thank you for answering those pleas so quickly, and so strongly.
It's well after midnight. Joel has been asleep for over 2 hours. Sleep comes to us at completely different times. He can sleep any time of any day. I have to be bone tired, almost in a twilight zone before I can sleep. He wakes up, and watches television. IF I wake up, I look at the stars out our window, and fall back asleep - sometimes after starting the music that stopped earlier - sometimes not. Tonight, I'm starting music. A different playlist now. One that is soulful.. even sad at times. Because that is what I am - soulful, but sad. More to think about - more to write about - more to process. I don't want to be sad. It just seems that it's a role moms take on. And we carry it many times to our graves. Mom, I miss you. I wish I could talk to you tonight. YOU would probably still be awake anyway at almost 1am. :) We always had that in common. There are so many things we could talk about: cry about (I'd be doing the crying), and you would be comforting me - like you did so many times when I was really the child. Not this grown adult that is supposed to be the strong one. Sadly, it IS supposed to be this way - I'm now the mom - the strong one. And it's hard. Have to admit this - not a fan. Really... not a fan.
Where do I start? Without leading you on a rabbit trail, the story is this: August, 2014, Joel was diagnosed with a massive DVT (blood clot) in his right calf and femoral artery. A regimen began with an anti-coagulant. With no known cause (yes, we had just flown to Chicago, but really? That was a cause? Psh...), he was prescribed Xarelto. His PCP (primary care physician) wanted to do more tests -what really caused it? Since cancer thickens the blood, she asked questions and ordered tests. December, Joel has a routine colonoscopy where a malignant tumor was found in the wall of his colon. Surgery to remove the portion of the transverse section of the colon was performed, and he started walking the halls, to wake up the colon, get it to working, so he could go home. Mission accomplished! :) Cassidy was here from the night before surgery (Jan 7th) until Sunday afternoon (the 11th) when all looked good for him. Which it was. We left North Hills with some new hospital buddies (nurses) and had no reason to look back. Until...
Saturday morning, Joel almost fainted - weak and short of breath. After consulting with my nurse (Cassidy) and calling the surgeon, we were on our way to the ER. A few tests later revealed blood clots in both lungs. Four hours later of trying to find a) the right doctor who knew b) the right procedure who was available and c) had a hospital with an open bed in a cardio vascular ICU and we were off by ambulance to Baylor All Saints hospital in Fort Worth. That night, the room was a hornet's nest of activity: intake evaluation, another chest x-ray, ultrasounds on his legs, lab work, visits by 2 doctors and a nurse practitioner, and I don't remember what else - all to talk to an interventionist radiologist to decide if he needed that specific procedure that sent us here.
Yes, and that was accomplished on Sunday afternoon, from 3-4 pm, with automatic results. He was awake through it all, and talked about it on the way back to his room. Amazed. Speechless. And in awe of the power of prayer that had been said for him from all over the US. His color was normal, his breathing was at the regular depth, his countenance was brighter and the whole world seemed to be singing how wonderful our God was for solving yet one more human frailty.
Then the waiting began... today.. minutes felt like hours. The clock seemed stuck - between "wait til you see the doctor", and "we're not sure he's coming today". Wait a minute... you said wait to see him... he left? we are.. waiting for what?
I know I'm not exactly calm and rational. Okay, I'm anything BUT calm OR rational. I'm exhausted. I've slept on a recliner with a blanket for 9 days out of the past 12. I've been interrupted by doctors, nurses, lab technicians, x-ray and ultrasound folks, internists, hospitalists, intensivists, bathroom needs, 'let's go walk down the hall' needs, and just not able to turn the brain off. It has been anything but unemotional. You go from a routine exam, to cancer Stage 2, to a visit with an oncologist, to a doctor telling you, "I've got good news and bad news: The bad news is you have a saddle embolism - blood clots in both lungs, the good news is that you're not dead." Wow. Because most people with this kind of blood clot don't arrive at the hospital breathing... they die before anyone can help them. Then you hear there are 7 specialists deciding what your best option is - to live. Not an easy walk in the park, is it? One ambulance ride, another hospital to learn, make sure you let people know what is going on when they ask, and oh, by the way - keep it all together, will you?
When doctors give the patient the ability to choose their own treatment - I'm lost. "Yes, you have cancer, it's up to you whether you want chemo or not." or - "Yes you have multiple blood clots in both lungs, and your right heart ventricle is pumping blood at more than twice the norm ~ it's up to you whether you want us to break those clots up and reduce the pressure in your heart." Seriously? Just why are we paying these guys? Isn't the decision making part of the process? YOU doctors have the knowledge, the training, the experience - why are you giving it to amateurs like us?
So - if we must choose - we choose life, and the ability to live it longer. A catheter is placed in Joel's neck with leads going to his heart and his lungs. One hour later, and we have a verdict: the heart pressure is below normal, an IVC filter has been placed to block any more clots moving into the lungs, and the clots already there are already beginning to dissolve. Wow - and you medical folks all credit the heprin for doing that. Thank you God, for heprin. But more importantly - thank you God for giving so many of us the ability to speak to you FOR Joel - to show him how you want to hear from us, how you can heal us miraculously and how we KNOW where the true physician is... HE is sitting on the throne, blessing his people who cry out to him for a loved one. People who have never met Joel, people who have brought his name to your feet begging for healing. People that you love, and want to show your glory through. Thank you for letting us all plead for Joel - and thank you for answering those pleas so quickly, and so strongly.
It's well after midnight. Joel has been asleep for over 2 hours. Sleep comes to us at completely different times. He can sleep any time of any day. I have to be bone tired, almost in a twilight zone before I can sleep. He wakes up, and watches television. IF I wake up, I look at the stars out our window, and fall back asleep - sometimes after starting the music that stopped earlier - sometimes not. Tonight, I'm starting music. A different playlist now. One that is soulful.. even sad at times. Because that is what I am - soulful, but sad. More to think about - more to write about - more to process. I don't want to be sad. It just seems that it's a role moms take on. And we carry it many times to our graves. Mom, I miss you. I wish I could talk to you tonight. YOU would probably still be awake anyway at almost 1am. :) We always had that in common. There are so many things we could talk about: cry about (I'd be doing the crying), and you would be comforting me - like you did so many times when I was really the child. Not this grown adult that is supposed to be the strong one. Sadly, it IS supposed to be this way - I'm now the mom - the strong one. And it's hard. Have to admit this - not a fan. Really... not a fan.
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