Life Cut Short...

I am weary of death. I saw far too many people die while I was working hospice, and comforted so many loved ones.  I still think about them all. On occasion, something requires that we return to New Bern and, as we drive past various streets, I remember those whose deaths I attended. Some had lived to a ripe old age and some were still young. Each death was a loss, but a few had become special to me and I felt those losses the most.

In the last year I have lost three friends of varying degrees of friendship. All in their early sixties...far too young...far too soon.

The one year anniversary of Kathy's death is nearing. I blogged about losing Kathy some months ago. She was only 61 and left behind two children in grad school...just entering adulthood. She will never see them walk across a stage and receive their degrees.  She will never have the pleasure of watching them marry, mature and enjoy some of life's successes. She will never know the pure joy of holding a grandchild and all that follows.  We will never have the opportunity to hug one another. She will be missing so much and we will be missing her.

Ann was one of my closest friends when I lived in Miami. We lived two doors away from each other and had boys the same age who became fast friends. Rarely did a day pass that we didn't spend time together. I moved 800 miles away when our boys were 9, by then she'd had a daughter about two years younger than mine. We stayed in touch, but the friendship slowly receded into the past. In recent years  Facebook helped us reconnect. Then, in June of this year, she messaged me.  The breast cancer she'd beaten over twenty-five years ago had come back and, while it responded to treatment for a couple of years, she was not winning the battle. She said she wished I was there, that she would be needing hospice soon. She was tired of fighting and wanted to die on her own terms. She said she was almost ready to stop treatment and that she was scared. We talked for a while and I gave her my cell number. She never called. Six weeks later she passed quietly. She was 66 and had three small grandchildren on two coasts who will grow up without their grandma.

Lynn was one of the beautiful girls in high school. We were not close friends but our school was all-girls and our class small enough that everyone was friendly. I learned that she was a beloved kindergarten teacher for many years. Our graduating class began reconnecting on Facebook about five years ago. It was surprising how we felt a kinship, we are TMLA sisters (TMLA being an acronym for our high school). I saw Lynn three years ago at a reunion luncheon she helped plan. She was still one of the beautiful girls. This year was our 45th reunion. Although she still lived in the area, Lynn RSVP'd that she could not attend, that she had been diagnosed with ALS and had lost her ability to speak and to eat. It was a blow to all of us. Lou Gehrig's Disease is vicious...making you a prisoner in your own body before it kills you. Lynn bravely carried on as the disease robbed her of more and more function until she was a prisoner. A week ago her daughter-in-law announced that Lynn's quality of life had deteriorated to near non-existent and that Lynn had made the decision to discontinue her tube feedings. She died Friday, leaving behind her mother, her husband, her son and daughter-in-law and a slew of former students, friends and TMLA sisters. She was 63.

Kathy's death was unexpected, with no opportunity for anyone to say goodbye. Ann and Lynn had the opportunity to say goodbye to their families as they made courageous decisions to let go. I don't know if I could be that brave...and I hope I never have to find out.  

Kathy

Wrote a few posts catching up 2012 but did not touch on the worst happening of the year.  Probably because I am still trying to wrap my head around it.

All through my trials and tribulations early on with Jack's fear of commitment and my brother's heart surgery and various other events, both happy and sad, there was one person who was always there to support me, cry with me, rant with me, and cheer me on.  Kathy.



We went to high school together, but barely knew each other then...reconnecting later in life through the miracle of facebook.  I often lamented that I wished we had known more about each other and found our connection back then...that we lost out on so many years of friendship.  She agreed, but reminded me that we had lots of years left.

She lived a full life...had many joys and endured many hardships...and came out stronger.  She was funny, irreverent, passionate and a supporter of the downtrodden.  She could put up sheetrock, lay floors, paint, move furniture.  She didn't drink, but hung out at a bar owned by a friend.  She always had room for another cat in need of a home, some of whom filled the rafters of her basement until they felt safe enough to emerge...much like Kathy who often said she was like her cats when it came to romance...hiding in the rafters, peeking out and disappearing again.  She loved the water and loved the sun, roasting to a golden brown every summer.  She dressed up as Cher on Halloween and went into the streets.  She had a way of making all her friends feel special...especially me.



 

I lost Kathy last September...the world lost Kathy last September.  She died suddenly after a short illness...leaving behind two young adult children and a legion of friends.  We won't have lots of years of friendship after all.  What we had will have to do...and I treasure every moment we had. 

I miss you, Kathy.

Love you, Sis!

Time to Retire

The stress has gotten to me.  Eleven deaths in about two weeks, five in one day, two on-call nights that had me out all night long!  It is time to retire!  My last day is April 1, 2013...three months ahead of plan.  I feel such a relief and am counting the days (19) until then.  I am excited and terrified.

Excited about the prospects of retirement and our plans to travel.  Terrified at the prospect of a greatly reduced income.  I keep telling myself - "It's only money."  There comes a time, I think, when one has to rearrange priorities.  This is the time.

Went to a funeral today.  My favorite patient died a bit unexpectedly.  I had mixed feelings about leaving him when I retire.  On one hand, because I was like part of the family, I didn't want to have to go through his death with him; on the other hand, I didn't want someone else to be there at that most difficult time of life.  He took care of it for me, by taking a sudden downturn last weekend and dying Monday morning.  It was my job to pronounce him.  I will miss our weekly visits and will likely stop in to see his wife down the road.

I have one other favorite patient...we will have to see what happens with him.  No one expected him to last as long as he has.  Either way, I will stay in touch with his wife, who feels more like a friend than a patient family member.

The rest of my patients I will turn over to other nurses easily.   I will miss co-workers and the comraderie that comes with working on a team.  I will not miss being on-call!

We have some exciting retirement plans that I plan to chronicle in another blog: Two For The Road - about living on the road in an RV.  I will likely still post here for a while, but think I will eventually transition to Two For The Road.

You may notice that my "About Me" and its accompanying photo has changed.  This is to better fit with the new blog...hoping Jack will post some there too!

A Terrifying Experience...or...Remind Me Again Why I Do This Job.

Looks like I've already missed an entire month of 2013!  Life is too busy right now and not all for the good. 

This job is high stress.  I have attended three deaths in five days...some sadder than others.  Helping the families/loved ones through this time can be very rewarding and I usually like this part of the job...though I would prefer not so many in one week.  Sometimes, when I have gotten attached to a patient and/or family, the death can feel like a personal loss.  Even when it is not, it sometimes reminds me of a loss of my own or reminds me how very fragile life is.

Then there are the increased needs or crises; responding to those throws a monkeywrench into whatever patient visits I had lined up for the day.  It can make for a very harrowing week, such as the one that is slowly coming to an end. Every day started or ended with an unexpected problem, leaving me struggling to catch up until only a few minutes ago.

But, for me, the worst is being on-call, which occurs every Wednesday night and every third weekend.  Sitting on tenterhooks, dreading the phone ringing and jumping every time it does...especially at 2AM.  I am on-call this weekend and my stress is palable.  There are weekends with very few calls and weekends with dozens, requiring one to put in twenty or more hours working over the course of two days...following and preceding a forty-hour work week, of course.

This past week included a terrifying (for me) evening.  I was trying to help out and offered to cover only two hours of call for a sick on-call nurse.  After three calls in less than an hour, the third call required a visit.  I headed out to see a patient I didn't know who lived about twenty miles out "in the country" and used my faithful GPS to find my way.  I was doing pretty well until it instructed me to turn right...onto a dirt road.  I made the turn and my GPS indicated I was on the correct road.  The road was narrow and rutted, lined with woods and thickets on each side and twisted and turned in every direction.  The night and the area was black as can be.  I could see nothing behind me and only as far as my headlights in front of me. I questioned this road, but kept going as the GPS showed I was correct and only one half mile from my destination.   About this time I came to a large puddle; as there was no way to turn around or back up, I stupidly ventured across it...and found myself stuck in about two feet of water!  My first reaction was to be terrified and when I felt the water coming up over my feet the terror turned to panic!  I scrambled over the console to the higher, passenger side of the car and took stock.  I was stranded in my car, in the middle of nowhere, in pitch black darkness with water seeping in...and no one, including me, knew quite where I was!

I called the nurse I was supposed to be helping out, who lives in the area, and told her my situation.  She was huddled under blankets and throwing up regularly, but rose to the occasion.  After I calmed down and answered a number of her questions, she figured out where I probably was...and told me to keep my doors closed as this was swampy area!  She sent her husband and father-in-law out to look for me.  The time I spent waiting in that dark, cold, wet car seemed interminable.  The headlights I finally saw in my rearview mirror were the most beautiful sight I had seen in a very long time!  The two men were able to pull my car out of the water and eventually get it back to the paved road.  Miraculously, it was still running and I was able to drive it home under my own (wet, muddy) power.  It is a smelly mess!

It was only after I got home that I began to realize how much worse it could have been.  I was lucky that my friend was able to figure out where I was stranded, and luckier still that I even had a cell phone signal to make the call, as there are so many rural areas around here where it is impossible to get a signal.

As I said earlier...a terrifying evening from which I am still (emotionally) recovering.  I'm getting too old for this kind of excitement!

Sandy Hook

The tragedy of Sandy Hook has affected me like no other.  I can't wrap my head around it.  The first two days after it happened, I couldn't watch the details on the news or look at the pictures of the victims without feeling sick to my stomach.  On Sunday, I finally brought myself to read the details and look at the pictures of the twenty children and the six adults who died with them and it still made me feel sick.  The funerals are beginning now and seeing those little coffins and grieving parents brings me to tears.  When I see pictures of their little smiling faces, I can't help but see my grandchilden's faces...and can not imagine a world without them.

What kind of monster guns down his own mother and then goes on to slaughter 20 six and seven year-olds in their classrooms?  Children are supposed to be safe in school.  My daughter drops her kids off at school every morning and goes about her business without worry.  Imagine the horror of learning your child was gunned down in kindergarten.  What of the children who survived seeing their friends and classmates murdered before their eyes?  Terrifying can't begin to describe it.

What kind of society are we, when there are people more concerned with their "right" to own guns than they are with the loss of these children?  The response of decent people is horror and a desire to prevent something like this from happening again, which naturally draws gun control into the conversation.  This is when the gun nuts come out of the woodwork.  There have even been suggestions that we need more guns and that teachers should be armed!  Where is reasoned thought and compassion?

This is not the first mass shooting; there have been others...Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, CO, Oregon mall, Gabrielle Giffords...all in recent memory.  Somehow this one feels even worse.  This one feels personal.  Two mothers wrote a piece examining why, entitled What Six Looks Like. It really hit home.  I too, know what six looks like...it looks like my precious grandchildren and that makes it personal. 

Life in a Trash Bag...

Brother #1 and I spent yesterday going through my late parents' condo one last time before Habitat comes to pick up the furniture.  Brother #2 is recovering from a recent surgery.
 
It has been slow going.  Mom and Dad died 16 months ago - within a few days of each other.  It took some time before any of us were ready to face their place.  We eventually made some trips there, sorted through some things, claimed various mementos, but life kept getting in the way and slowing down our progress.  We're finally down to the nitty-gritty - emptying the place out, getting estimates for painting and flooring so we can sell.
Every time I go up there, it makes me sad.  Not just because I've lost my parents, but because this whole process seems to reduce one's life to a pile of things - many of which seem destined for the trash.  Each time we sibs gather at their place to sort and clean out, it feels like I'm throwing away my parents' lives.

We spend our lives accumulating things - then our children have to go through the pain of cleaning it all out.  Certainly there are emotionally valuable mementos...photos, military keepsakes, jewelry, cards and letters, individual items that go back to our childhood...but these are a small part of the large collection that comes from 90 years of living.  The rest gets donated...or trashed.

This experience has gotten me thinking.  I don't want my kids to go through this when I'm gone.  There's no escaping that they'll have to do some sorting and cleaning, but maybe I can minimize it.  I hope I have another thirty years left - it's time to start lightening my load...